Farraway Mist ?A Wattpad featured story?

Chapter 13: Awkward AF

George sighed and looked around the kitchen as he switched on the dishwasher. He noticed both dogs were staring at him. They'd uncharacteristically stayed behind when Scout left.

"What?" he asked them.

They continued to stare at him. He felt like if they could talk, they'd both be calling him an unflattering name. And maybe laughing at him a little bit.

"Oh, sod off," he said to them.

He was completely depressed, and nowhere near ready for sleep, he realized.

Upstairs, Scout was sinking into a tub of deep, hot scented water. It was blissfully warm, and she felt it to her bones. She found it hard to believe that just twenty-four hours before she'd been so cold she felt like she'd never be warm again.

She put her head under the water for a few seconds, holding her breath, enjoying the feeling of being completely submerged in the fragrant tub before beginning to shampoo her hair and wash her body.

She wasn't offended by the fact that George thought she was gay. Obviously there was nothing wrong with being gay. Just like there was nothing wrong with being a man.

But.

She sighed and continued to cleanse herself.

She was a clever girl, a kind person, a moral, ethical human being, she knew these things about herself. She knew, on an intellectual level, that the world was full of all kinds of people, and that attraction consisted of all kinds of things, a combination physical and emotional things, and that somewhere out there was a person who would respond to her particular combination of things.

She'd thought that Will was one of those people. She thought her body pleased him, her mind, her sense of humor, her intellect, the things that made her who she was. He'd pleased her, too, she thought. In retrospect, the whole thing with Will confused her and made her feel sad. She'd trusted her brain her whole life, and it had never steered her wrong, until that whole mess. It had really let her down. She could no longer trust her mind, she felt.

And now there was George. She was so drawn to him, physically. Well, who wouldn't be? He was damned near perfect, wasn't he? But he was a rock star. How cliche. How embarrassing and dumb. How could she fall for someone so superficial? He'd been married to a Victoria's Secret model, for Christ's sake.

But he wasn't superficial, was he? He'd turned out to be clever, and kind, and funny.

And still in love with his dead wife.

It was so unfair.

Besides, he wasn't attracted to her at all. He was so not attracted to her he thought she was a man.

He thought she was a fucking lesbian.

But.

Last night, on the ledge, Little George had come out to play.

With her. Scout.

Surely that wouldn't have happened if he didn't find her a little attractive? If he really thought of her as a man? Would it?

Scout pondered the implications as she pulled the plug and grabbed the towel. She began to dry herself, and realized as she did that she'd kind of put herself in the mood, thinking about George in the tub, or more specifically, thinking about Little George.

Great.

She was horny. She was horny, and she was going to be sleeping in a bed, twenty feet away from the object of her desire without even a closed door between them.