{This part is extremely long, and kinda fluffy. I wanted some more interactions with my characters, and to leave space for certain opportunities to be presented and things to unfold. Hope you enjoy, sorry if it's dreadfully long! Also this is unedited so I apologize for any mistakes or wtf moments. Please enjoy this gif of Gorgeous George. THAT SMILE THO. XOXO}
{Play "Marvin's Room" by Drake, "Brooklyn Baby" by Lana Del Rey and "My Body" Young The Giant}
G's POV
The band and I had practice tonight, and a few gigs coming up. At this moment, I was driving around town in my car, the sky all dark and lonesome. It seemed fitting.
The breeze was cool as I rolled Pearl's windows down and exhaled the smoke from the blunt I was hitting. I needed to relax, I was still so queasy about everything. What got me majorly is when I realized that both Hann and Ross knew about Matty and Claire. I understood, though. It wasn't their place to say anything. I just felt like an idiot, obsessing over this girl who was caught in my best friend's web.
My only consolation was that someday, maybe things would turn out to be okay. After Matty broke her heart or she broke his, Claire and I would go back to cross-eyed selfies and eating dessert. I'd make her laugh all over again, and she'd make me breakfast.
Matty could at least leave those bits of her for me, and me only.
The house was oddly empty without typical Matty Healy sounds: him shuffling around in his room, him making tea, him smoking and writing, singing to himself in his room while he perfected song drafts on his guitar or keyboard.
I missed my mate. He had been by my side since we were kids, babbling about life and love and everything. I called him on his bullshit for years, there was no sense in stopping now.
Granted, I was still completely, utterly pissed off at him. I wasn't a voilent person, but the thought of him and Claire together brought out something in me that I didn't even know was there. A jealous, sick, beast.
I never wanted to see that again.
Maybe he was in love with her. Maybe she was in love with him.
But I knew it would end, in one of two ways.
End 1: Claire realizes she is smart and gifted and beautiful and going places in her life and leaves Matty and his pretentious antics behind.
End 2: Matty fucks up. Big Time. Claire is heartbroken. I am left hurt as well.
Noelle was sucking me fucking dry. I had just left her house for the fourth time this week. Every moment where I wasn't working, there she was, texting, calling, showing up. I hadn't spoken a word to her about Matty and Claire, because then I'd have to explain why he moved out. I'd have to explain why I beat him senseless, and that wasn't exactly justifiable to your "girlfriend".
Noelle was starting to leave clothes behind, a bag of her makeup and hygiene crap. She didn't take the hint when I reminded her to get it in the morning.
I had no idea what I was doing.
Just wasting time, I suppose.
I'm just saying, Claire could do better.
Not sure if it was the weed, but I laughed, out loud to myself, alone in my car. I wondered if Claire had told Matty about the time we almost fucked. The look on his face was going to be priceless when he found out. He'd be sobbing into his wine bottle and hitting keys on his piano laxadaisically, writing song after song for her.
I was cruel. I wasn't good guy George. Matty was still my best friend, and I hoped he always would be.
But I was going to steal his girl the minute he gave me the opportunity.
=
"Do I really have to wear a fucking tuxedo?" Ross groaned, his bass slung over his shoulder.
I was seated at my drumset in our rehearsal room and my (and Matty's former) apartment.
Matty had nodded my way and I gave him a wave. His face still look like it hurt, and a wave of guilt plagued me. Then I remembered all the awful shit he said to me, about how great he was in bed with Claire, about how she was pracitcally begging for it.
I should have hit him a lot harder for talking about her like that.
"Yeah, it's a formal event," I explained.
"Are you wearing a fucking tuxedo?" Ross gestured to Hann.
Adam shrugged and continued tuning his guitar. "Sure."
Matty strummed his guitar nonchalantly. "I like dressing up."
Because he was a girl.
My parents' upcoming anniversary was going to be the most loathesome event I'd had to bear in a while. Firstly, it was going to be about five dozen people, from my family to my parents' snobby friends, asking me where my life had taken me. It was going to be Claire's family, and they'd probably bump into Matty. Naturally, he'd charm her mother.
But Rick McDaniel was going to fucking hate him.
That part would probably be fun to see.
"Anyways," Matty continued. "I was thinking of playing some softer tunes, mostly covers."
I nodded. He wasn't wrong. My parents probably didn't want to hear "Chocolate" at their anniversary party. Although that would be fun if Claire's Dad asked Matty what it was about.
"Some instrumentals as well," Adam added.
In a matter of a couple hours, we had created our full set list, which included instrumentals, "So Good to Me", "Unchained Melody", "Your Song", "The Way You Make Me Feel", and so on.
Matty asked if my parents had a song, and I begrudgingly stated "Something" by The Beatles.
Claire was going to probaby tear up when he sang it. Ugh.
Things were feeling quite natural in our little rehearsal room, though. Adam was focus, tactical, determinded. Ross was letting the vibes flow, feeling it all the way. I was happy, softly tapping my drums and nodding my head in how good we sounded. Matty was lively, more passion in his voice that I'd heard in ages.
As part of our rehearsal ritual, the blunt made its way around and Adam handed everyone a beer, sans Matty, who was cracking open a bottle of wine.
I put on Gypsy by Fleetwood Mac and zoned out a little.
Ross eyed me.
"Really?" he nodded his head to the little pill speaker that lied on the coffee table.
"Fuck you, mate. This song is everything," I said.
Matty was texting someone on his phone, likely Claire, and was beaming from ear to ear, though you could still see a tiny change in pigmentation from the bruises I'd left on his skin.
I nudged him as he sat next to me.
"Sorry I hit you," I mumbled.
Matty shrugged. "I understand, George. She's precious, truly."
At least he knew that. I just hoped he treated her as such.
"So, erm," I coughed. "How's it going between the two of you?" I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
Matty's eyes lit up. "Great! She's really something, George. I quite love her."
Mmmph. He'd barely known her two months.
"And how's she doing?" I asked him.
Matty looked like he was pondering something fondly, like he knew something but couldn't quite tell me.
"She's...ah. She's so perfect. I'm really happy mate," he gushed.
"Cool," I said, leaving the conversation be.
Ross hit the blunt and chugged a beer. Adam was tapping his fingers on his knee and bobbing his head to the music.
"Isn't it weird all of our girlfriends are friends?" Adam asked.
"It's quite fun," Matty added.
Ross clapped his hands in laughter. "We just need to play our cards right. Because if one of us fucks up, they'll all gang up on us."
The three of my bandmates high-fived.
And I sat there in silence, not bothering to chime in on their little-girl talk.
I had weed in my blood, beer in my belly, and Stevie Nicks in my ear.
I'd be good.
Claire's POV.
This was the third cigarette I'd stolen from Matty's unopened packet he'd left here.
I was having serious Matty withdrawls. This week had been a rush of classes and preparing for my parents to visit for me and rehearsals and work for Matty. Though I was glad my two favorite boys were seeming to be in the same room without a fight breaking out, and that I was coasting along smoothly in school, I still missed my boyfriend.
We hadn't slept togather in about six days, and I was going mad. My body felt awkward without him holding my hand, nuzzling my neck, kissing me all over.
I know it was stupid. Silly. Naive. Immature.
But I had no qualms in admitting that I literally ached for him.
Tonight, I reminded myself. He'd be home, waiting for me tonight. He'd be reading, with a glass of wine seated next to him, and a cigarette in his hand.
In the mean time, I had to prepare for this likely disaster dinner at the home of Margaret and Thomas Daniel. My parents' plane would be landing in a matter of minutes, and they had fetched their favorite gentle giant to pick them up from the airport. George had texted me to see if I wanted to tag along.
I waited for George outside, seated at the top of my stairase, one leg crossed over the other. The sun was beginning to set, a pretty shade of pinks and blues and whites as I blew in and out smoke.
I was a smoker now, I supposed. Matty will do that to ya.
Even if I smoked this whole pack, it wouldn't ease my nerves enough for Matty to meet my father. Georgie was a son he never had, and he'd given George a love for Fleetwood Mac and football. The kind where you tackle people, not kick a soccer ball.
I craved Matty, but missed my George as well. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled brightly, the way his laugh snorted out of his gorgeous mouth, how tall he was, how much he made me laugh. George would always have a special place reserved in my heart.
As I remembered to update my computer, I thought of the day George had teasingly told me it was shot. The same day we almost had sex. It seemed like ages ago, but I could almost feel his hands on me, his mouth on my neck, his big arms pulling me tight to him.
I stomped on my cigarette, shaking the thought away when I remembered him smiling between my legs.
Ugh.
That would have been a disaster, truly. We were friends. I had thought about telling Matty, several times, but didn't dare to bring it up. There would be a right moment to tell him, but now wasn't it.
Claire: Miss you!
My boyfriend texted me almsot immediately.
Matty: Miss you more.
Claire: I picked up some cute panties today...
Indeed, I'd picked up several cute matching bra-and-panties sets, along with my dress for the Daniel's anniversary party tomorrow.
Matty: Mmm. I can't wait to see them on you.
The three dots appeared on my phone and I waited eagerly to see what else Matty would say.
Matty: And then on the floor next to you.
Claire: Ugh, it'll come sooner than we know it.
Matty: But I won't love. I'll take my time.
I snickered at how dirty he was, and how much I loved it.
Matty: Can I take you to a proper date tonight?
Claire: Sure. The movies?
Matty: Sounds wonderful. I'll see you soon babe. xo.
A smile streched my face as I lit another cigarette. Matty sent me a cute picture of himself and Oliver, who was now adding master-mini-guitarist to his list of cuteness. Ollie was seated next to Matty, and the giant guitar covered nearly most of his body, but he seemed to have a good handle on things. Matty had his beautiful guitar as well, caressing it tenderly, a proud smile on his face. He and tiny Matty were wearing matching fedoras, and my heart was on the verge of exploding from my chest.
Claire: Looks like you've got some competition! Oliver has officially stolen my heart.
Matty: I'd lose it with dignity. He's a dreamboat in the making.
Speaking of competition, I knew George was approaching by the sound of his Mustang and the extremly loud bass that was blasting down the street. I chucked my cigarette down the stairs and strutted to his car.
"Hey," he said, smirking at me.
"Fucking Problems" by A$AP Rocky and friends was blasting in his guitar, and I was immediately in a good mood with my best friend.
"Aww shit!" I said, dancing my way into the passenger seat.
George winked at me and continued bobbing his head and rapping along, not a word missed. I took over the Kendrick Lamar verse as George drove, waving his free hand in the air, encouraging my silliness and grinning at me. The song ended and "Zombie" by The Cranberries began.
"Really?" I giggled at my friend. "No smooth transitions for you?" I asked, referring to the song switches.
George shrugged, "It's all gold, Claire-Bear."
I rolled my eyes at the silly nickname he'd had for me since I was old enough to tell him to stop calling me that.
"It's good, I like it. I love A$AP too. Is it weird that I think he's cute?" I asked, more myself that George.
George laughed. "No. You're just weird," he said before yanking my pony tail playfully.
I would have punched him in the gut if he wasn't driving. My Georgie; I loved how our quarrels were solved by late-night sessions of rap songs and unspoken apologies.
=
After George and I had picked my parents up from the airport and dusk had settled into dark, George had packed all of my parents' luggage into their guest room, his big arms carrying all of my mother's crap with ease.
My mother and Margaret had hugged profusely, Tom and my Dad were already talking about politics.
Can we just fast-forward through this so I can see my boyfriend? I was being so rude. But I missed my baby.
"Maggie, the filet is excellent," my Dad said, cutting into his steak.
George's Mom smiled politely at my Dad.
"Oh, thank you. I'm just so happy everyone is here. And look at our babies, they're so grown up!" Margaret said.
Babies. I was 23 and George was 26. Sheesh.
"We musn't go so long without seeing other again. We haven't all been together in ages, since Aspen I believe," my mother said, stabbing her salad with her fork.
I played with my potatoes and smirked, remembering when George, at his best passive-aggressive state, had put on my ski suit that barely covered his knees in an attempt to get out of skiing.
"I know! Soon they'll be having babies of their own!" Margaret said.
Tom scoffed at this.
"Have you got a girlfriend, Georgie?" my mother asked.
George's face looked ill. "Erm, sure, kind of. It's pretty casual."
My mother smiled in delight at George. "Well, you've gotten so handsome! I'm sure you're being a gentleman and taking it slow. I'll bet she's a lovely lady."
I chuckled to myself at both things: George Daniel taking it slow and Noelle being a lovely lady.
George thanked my mother, a mouthful of food in his mouth.
"What about you, Claire?" Maggie pried. "Have you got a boyfriend?"
I sipped my wine, a nice red that Matty would have loved if he were here.
"Uhm...well"
"Yeah," George interrupted me, shoving food into his mouth once more. "His name's Matty. He's a real gem."
My face flattened.
My father's face was also flattened when it met mine.
God damnit George Daniel.
"Yes," I gulped some more wine. "He's quite...nice."
Tom stroked his mustache as he sipped his wine as well. "Matty? George's little friend?"
Matty was little, sure. But he was big in the right places.
Tom eyed his son with demise and I groaned.
"Mmm-hmm," I played with my potatoes some more.
George's face was bright with a playful stare at me. "He's quite nice alright. Did you know that he has fifteen tattoos? That's just the visible ones, anyways."
My father clenched his teeth while I clenched my fists.
My mother's eyes, the same shade of hazel as mine, averted to me. I shrugged and stomped on George's foot under the table.
"Will I be meeting this boy?" my father asked me.
Maybe at my funeral.
"Yes, Daddy. He'll be my date to the party tomorrow."
=
Tom Daniel and Rick McDaniel were in the den, smoking cigars and reminiscing about their college days. Candace McDaniel and Margaret Daniel were in her scrapbooking room, chatting it up about different materials.
George and I were on the couch, and I was glaring at him as he scrolled through his phone. Their living room as goreous and huge, all while remaining cozy at the same time. The furniture was bean-bag soft, and I was sinking in as I stared at the lovely wall-hangings. Pieces of modern art next to adorable family-photos of George and his beautiful sisters. They were all tall and gorgeous like he was.
"What?" he asked me, looking up from his phone.
He was so annoying sometimes. He knew what I was thinking without having to ask.
"Thanks for telling my father about Matty. And about his bagillion tattoos," I said.
George locked his phone and tossed it to his side. "I have tattoos."
I sighed and brought my knees to my chest. "Yeah. But my father adores you. You could get the word fuck tattooed on your face and you'd still be is Little Georgie."
George simply nodded in agreeance.
I checked my phone to see if Matty had texted that he was off, but got nothing. He was probably closing up, or on his way home. Or singing to himself in the shower, which he did often.
"I'm bored," I said. "Is it bad that I don't want to talk about scrapbooks and politics?"
George shrugged. "Nah. Is it bad that I wanna smoke a blunt and listen to old records?"
George Daniel always had bright ideas.
I smiled at him and shook my head. "No."
Before I knew it, we had climbed the large, carpeted staircase that lead to George's room. It was unchanged from the time he was a teenager, Joy Divison posters, football awards, blue flannel bedspread and all.
George's tongue rolled across the blunt after he had rolled it, sealing it into a perfect cylinder. I sat cross-legged on his bed and he sat next to me, crossing his own long legs. He had taken off his hoody and was wearing a white tank underneath, his tattoos arching around his muscles perfectly.
"I can't get high right now," I shook my head.
"Why?" George asked, taking a hit.
"Uh, my father would flip shit," I said.
George giggled and passed me the blunt.
"Don't worry, Claire. Gorgeous George is at your service."
George put on "Beast of Burden" by The Rolling Stones and we sang along occasionally while he smoked most of the blunt by himself. I took a few hits but stopped when I started to get extra giggly and lightheaded.
It wans't just the weed, though. George had this effect on me. This calming, comforting, ease about him.
I tried to ask about Noelle, but George gave me his typical "yeah"s and "yeps". I'd never understand why he wasted so much time on her. He was tall, gorgeous, funny, and talented. He could get any girl he wanted, yet he spent countless hours with someone who I knew he didn't even like, yet alone love.
George was going to love someone someday. He was going to be a great boyfriend, and probably husband. He would make her laugh, he'd take care of her, he'd ease her when she was nervous, he'd love her with every inch of giant heart.
"Blondie," I requested when G went to put on a new record.
George high-fived me and I laid down on his bed, fanning my hair out across his blanket. He laid down as well, only across from me on his stomach, drumming the intoduction to "Heart of Glass" with his fingertips on my forehead.
I swatted him away, giggling.
"You little dick," I muttered.
George's face was over-animated as he pretended to gasp. "Potty mouth!"
He rolled over to his side and continued humming the tune, then began outright laughing, his body heaving in an eruption of laughter. I was giggling from the effects of the weed, too, but George was over the top.
"What's so funny Danes?" I poked his broad shoulder.
George covered his hands in his face. "It's just funny, because you know first-hand that my dick isn't little."
I gulped.
"Really?!"
Georgie continued giggling and then his laughter faded into the lyrics of the song as he sang along with the "da-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na-na, da-na-na-na."
I chimed in with "Riding high on love's true bluish light. Ooooh-oooh-whoa-oh."
He fist bumped me and I checked my phone for a text from Matty. Still nothing.
I rolled over to my side where I was facing George, and started gazing at all of his tattoos. He had some beautiful, intricate color work done that I was envious of. His eyes crinkled in a smile when he saw that I was fawning over his ink.
"Quit trying to eye-fuck me," he mumbled playfully.
He rolled to his back, folding his elbows out and putting his hands behind his head.
"One, I'm not eye-fucking you. Two, I'm thinking of getting a tattoo," I informed him.
George laughed some more as "Rapture" came on.
"Of what? Matty's name?" he snorted.
I smacked him his bicep. "No, idiot. I think I want a little crescent moon."
George nodded and offered me the blunt, but I shook my head.
"Where?" he said, smoking the last of it and tossing it out his window.
I sat up and kicked my foot out. Deciding to avoid a hissy-fit from George, I had taken my shoes off before we'd gotten onto his bed. Sticking my toe out in front of George's face, I pointed to the top of my foot.
"Here," I gestured.
George eyed me carefully as I tugged my sweater down to reveal my collarbone. Matty had left a little hickey there a while ago, and the skin was still flushed, though barely, with his mark.
"Or here," I showed him.
George sat up a little, his big, strong body inching its way close to mine.
"So here," he ran his finger across my collarbone. "Or here," he ran his other finger down the top of my foot.
My hands immediately went to my face to hide my blushing. "George, don't."
George's hands were cupped around my foot now.
I narrowed my eyes at him, making an attempt to be stern.
"George Daniel, I fucking mean it," I said, my voice coming out as a chuckle though I intended to be forceful.
George was smirking at me now.
No.
I shrieked when he began tickling my foot with the tips of his fingers, and attempted to kick him off amidst my laughter. George caught my leg and wrapped it around him, laughing hysterically the torture he was forcing me to endure. I was dizzy, and the room was spinning. I'd had too much wine and too much weed.
My body wiggled beneath his, my skin became tingly and alert, my face was flush.
"Geeeoooorrrggggee!!!!" I begged as he pressed himself against me, one hand clutched to my thigh, the other wandering up my shirt to tickle my ribs.
"Say the magic words, Claire," he giggled.
"Fuck you" I laughed and cotinued a feeble attempt of wiggling away from him.
My arms swatted at his face but he doged me every time, his handsome face lit with laughter. I tried to force myself against him to break his stance a little, but nothing worked. My legs were wrapped around him now as his hand continued tickling me at my ribs, just underneath my breasts.
His fingertips accidentlly (or maybe on purpose) grazed the fabric of my bra a few times, and I might have moaned a little amongst my giggles.
"You know what the words are Claire," George reitterated, pinning my wrists above my head.
A gasp came from my mouth as George pressed himself against me. He was a little excited about all of this.
I don't know why, for the life of me, but I wrapped my legs around him even harder, pulling him closer to me.
He grunted and giggled, and his muscular arm was all the way up my shirt now, tickling my neck and making me go into a hysterical laughing fit. There were tears in my eyes. My legs were wrapped around him forcefully, and I loved how is body felt against mine.
George's hand traveled down a few inches, his fingertips gently caressing the delicate bead of my hardened nipple.
He stopped tickling me then.
I was out of breath, panting hard, my chest caving in and out.
His hand still had my arms pinned above my head, the other was caressing me down my side, to my hips, around the curve of my ass.
"George," I breathed out, my nose touching his. "We can't," I whimpered.
But I didn't unwrap my legs from his torso. I didn't move my face away from his.
"Really?" he asked, his lips almost grazing mine as he spoke.
He was so hard.
My heart was eating at the speed of light, and I blinked over and over, panting, still trying to catch my breath.
"Because you seem like you want to, Claire."
I whimpered beneath him.
"Geor--" I tried to speak.
But the door was opening.
"Are you two in here? Oh!" a female voice said.
George shot up and crossed one of his legs over the other, covering his hands in his face.
"Oh dear God, Margaret," my mother said.
"What's happened?" George's mom said.
My chest was still heaving up and down in frantic breaths as I turned my head to George's doorway and saw my mother and George's mother standing there, bewildered, yet delighted looks on their faces.
"Hey, Mum. Hey, Aunt Candy," George spoke, of course using my mother's nickname.
George offered a hand to help me up, and I took it. After he pulled me up, I adjusted my clothing that George had completely jumbled about.
"We were NOT having sex," I yelled, the words launching out of my mouth before I could analyze them.
George's eyebrow raised and he chuckled.
Maggie shook her dark-blonde bob and my mother's hazel eyes were wide.
"Okay then," Mom said, blinking her lashes.
"Erm, you two have fun, now," Margaret nodded and closed the door.
Slowly, George turned his head to face me, then his giant body heaved in laughter as he clapped his hands and stomped his huge feet on the bed.
"Classic!" he said, wiping tears from his eyes.
I don't know how many times I smacked his arms, his legs, the top of his big stupid head, but he wailked in laughter the entire time. Eventually, I gave up and joined him in laughing. It was likely the most embarrassing moment of my life, but it would be a funny story to tell when I was old.
"I fucking hate you, Danes," I said, shaking my head at him.
George wrapped me in his arms for a brief moment, and he kissed me on the forehead before letting me go and standing up and sliding his feet into his Vans that were the size of my arm.
"Nah," he bent over to tie his shoes. "You hate how much you want me to fuck you."
I fluttered my lashes, unable to think of a response.
The blanket was wadded up in some places, and I rummaged though the fabric to find my phone
To text my boyfriend.
Whom I loved.
Dearly.
Claire: Are you home now?
I slid into my shoes as Geroge threw on his jacket and ran a hand through his messy hair, a mixture of brown and blonde.
Matty: Just got off. Will you be home soon?
Claire: Yes, as soon as physically possible.
I cleared my throat, running through different scenarios and speeches to make to George. Never, ever, ever can I again drink three glasses of wine and take six hits off a blunt with him.
Especially if he was singing along to records, like a big dork.
Especially if he was wearing a shirt that showed his exquisite arms and equally exquisite tattoos.
Especially if I knew that once he had me beneath his grasp, I wouldn't be able to move. Not because I couldn't, but because I didn't want to. Not physically at least.
I felt sick, uneasy, guilty. I loved Matty in a way I'd never known possible. Why was I doing this?
"Are you alright, kid?" George asked, putting a large hand on my shoulder.
Nausea hit me, hard.
"I need to use the bathroom, George," I said, pushing past him and barreling into the bathroom.
The vomit shot from my mouth and into the toilet just in the knick of time. I gagged for another few rounds, my body feeling sickly and aching.
"Geeze," George said, standing behind me and taking my wavy hair into his hands. "Too much wine?"
I puked another time, but George didn't leave me. Instead, he knelt down next to me, rubbing my back as I vomited up the last of my guts. He got into the linen closet and brought a damp washcloth to me, wiping the tears from my watery eyes and the vomit from my face.
After flushing the toilet, I put the lid down and sat on it, feeling actually much better now.
"Thanks, G," I said, resting my head against his arm.
"What came over you? Are you getting sick?" George asked, now on his knees and facing me.
He was still taller than me when he was on his knees.
"Are...are you pregnant Claire?" George's pretty amber eyes grew wide.
I shook my head. "No! Jesus Christ, George. I'm on the pill. I have been for years. There's no way."
George didn't look satisfied with that answer.
There was only a 1% chance. Matty and I had had lots of sex. LOTS of sex, but I was certain I wasn't pregnant.
"I had a big dinner, then drank a lot, then you got me high as fuck and tickled me," I explained.
George nodded. "Ah. You're such a Nauseated Nancy."
I got up and found a travel-sized oral hygiene kit in the closet and brushed my teeth. George rested his head against the wall and watched me in amusement. My phone buzzed.
Matty: Honey, I'm home.
I spit into the sink and looked back at George.
He knew what I was going to say.
"Let's get you home, kid. Don't wanna piss your boyfriend off," George said, opening the door for me.
George Daniel always knew what I was thinking.
And I really hoped he wouldn't use that to his advantage.