“Cool your jets, woman. I’m not proposing to her. Why give her a ring to symbolize forever when she could take it off?” I drain my glass and put it on a side table. “Come on, Ceece. I’m a man on a mission. I’m going to get something for Georgina that symbolizes forever—that she can’t take off. Something far better than a stupid ring.”
Chapter 29
Georgina
I’m sitting on the couch in the living room of Reed’s house—or, rather, “our” house, as Reed keeps calling it—reading the final version of my article about Gates and his two enablers—the principal of my high school and Steven Price—before submitting it to CeeCee. And I love it. When I met with Leonard the day after telling my father about Gates, Leonard recommended I write this article as my best course of action—and reading it now, six weeks later, I never dreamed I’d write something this powerful.
“What’s your goal here?” Leonard asked me six weeks ago.
I replied, without hesitation. “I want to expose Gates and the men who covered up for him, so there will never be another Katrina, Penny, or Georgina at my high school.”
“Well, then,” he said, “if that’s your goal, then I don’t think walking into a police station and reporting you were the victim of an attempted rape almost five years ago would be nearly as effective as writing an in-depth, airtight account of what happened. Most people in your shoes don’t have a national platform like you do. Use it. I predict all appropriate dominoes will fall after that.”
So, that’s exactly what I decided to do: write my story, without holding back.
After our meeting with Leonard, Reed and I went straight to CeeCee’s office, where I told her about Gates, in detail. After that, after hugging me and saying some truly beautiful things to me, CeeCee immediately gave me the green light to write the article... provided I could get Katrina and/or Penny to contribute, on the record.
“Consider it done,” I assured CeeCee, brimming with confidence... and then quickly discovered my confidence was a bit premature. In actuality, when I tracked down Katrina and Penny, neither girl wanted to talk to me about Gates. Thankfully, though, after I told each girl about the other, and also about my own harrowing experience at the hands of Gates, both girls ultimately poured their hearts out to me... but only off the record. They said they wanted to take him down. They truly did. But they were scared to death they might have to pay Steven Price’s money back.
And that’s when Reed, my knight in shining armor, stepped in to save the day. He told both girls he’d cover any and all legal expenses arising from them speaking up and breaching their “hush money” agreements with Steven Price, and promised they’d never have to come up with that money. And that did it. Both girls agreed to take a leap of faith with me and let me include their courageous, heartbreaking, stomach-churning, no-holds-barred stories in my article.
And now, after six weeks of blood, sweat, and tears, not to mention daily pep talks to myself to be brave, I’ve finally finished writing my article. It’s a five-pager entitled, “Football at All Costs: How a Winning High School Coach Got Away with Sexual Assault with a Little Help from His Friends.” And I couldn’t be prouder of it. I read the article one last time, attach it to an email, and send it to CeeCee. And the moment I press send, a torrent of pride and relief surges inside me. Also, a touch of fear. But the good kind of fear. The kind that tells me I’m alive. It’s a one-of-a-kind moment for me. So, of course, I want to share it with Reed.
My heart bursting, I pick up my phone and tap out a text:
I just submitted my Gates article. I’m terrified, but mostly excited. I can’t wait to celebrate with you. Let me know the minute you’ve landed. XO
As I await Reed’s reply, I send the article to my father and Alessandra, and then wind up chatting with Alessandra on FaceTime. Alessandra gushes about the article. She tells me she loves me and is proud of me. And then, at my request, she sends me the latest mix of “Blindsided,” which, she says excitedly, Reed is planning to release in about three weeks. Finally, though, after about twenty minutes of chatting with Alessandra, my phone pings with a reply from Reed and I tell Alessandra I’ve got to go.
Reed: Landed. Coming straight home to celebrate. SO proud of you!
Me: Woohoo! Can’t wait to see you. I’ve been dying without you here.
Reed: I’ve been miserable without you, sweetheart. Can’t wait to touch you. I’m not going to make it two steps past the front door before I rip your clothes off.
Me: Promise? XO
Reed: Hell yes. XO
My body is vibrating with excitement. I knew I’d miss Reed during his business trip. But I didn’t think I’d miss him this much—like missing a limb. I thought I was “adulting” when I said I should stay home to finish my mountain of work. In retrospect, though, I wish I would have done the irresponsible thing and joined him on his trip. Because these past five days have been pure torture.
To pass time until Reed gets home, I open my laptop and edit an article I’ve been writing, off and on, for the past several weeks—a secret article I haven’t told anyone about, not even CeeCee or Reed. I’m hoping to ultimately get this piece into Dig a Little Deeper. But if not, I’ll still be awfully proud of it, and happy I took the time to investigate and write it.
As I’m engrossed in the words on my screen, I hear the best sound in the world: the front door opening behind me. Squealing, I close my laptop with gusto, sprint across the living room, and hurl myself like a missile into Reed’s waiting arms. In a flash, we’re kissing and ripping off our clothes, right inside the front door, exactly as Reed promised.
Reed unties his tie and unbuttons his shirt with frenzied fingers. He peels off his shirt, breathing hard... and that’s when I see it: a new tattoo to join Reed’s collection. This one, on his left pec. ReRiGeRi. Instantly, I know what the seemingly random letters mean. They’re a tribute to us. To our love. The beginning letters of both our names, inked onto his flesh—over his heart—forever.
“I love it!” I exclaim, bending down to kiss the tattoo. From there, I work my way down Reed’s abs, to his treasure trail, and then to his hard penis. But before I take him into my mouth, Reed pulls me up and backs me into the door. His eyes ablaze, he binds my wrists with his necktie and raises them above my head. He opens the front door slightly, throws the long end of his tie over it, and shuts it again, pinning me in place with my back against the closed door and my hands trussed over my head.
With eyes like hot coals and flaring nostrils, Reed sinks to his knees and greedily kisses my belly. And then my thighs. He lays fervent kisses around my clit, never actually touching it, until I’m moaning and begging for more. Finally, he begins lapping at my bull’s-eye with confident strokes, until, soon, I’m shuddering and bucking and whimpering with pleasure. I’m wet for him now. Swollen and throbbing and aching. He slides his fingers inside me, and, still devouring me with his mouth, begins stroking my G-spot, over and over again, without reprieve. Without letting up or changing speed. He’s a laser beam. An oncoming train. Until, finally, my orgasmic screams echo throughout the expansive living room.