I hate dancing.
Which is ironic considering Georgia used to drag me onto dance floors every chance she got.
Case in point.
“Georgia, let go.”
She laughs and spins herself under my arm pushing her ass against me and swaying her hips.
“Don’t be a prude! You use to love this”
“Georgia.”
“Dean.”
Nothing’s changed.
She’s still beautiful.
Fucking hot.
Really hot.
Perfect rack.
Pressing her tight ass against me.
Still dramatic.
Still impossible.
And somehow that thought doesn’t make me happy.
It just makes me tired.
Because Georgia Mitchell and I were never really in a relationship.
Hell, we barely qualified as a situationship.
Second year.
Too much alcohol.
Too many parties.
Too many bad decisions.
Way too horny.
She was fun.
I was fun.
Neither of us wanted anythi
