She loved torturing me, and I loved it. The only thing I loved more than her torturing me about being inside her was actually being inside her. I was a masochist, without a doubt. At least when it came to Georgia. I heaved a sigh and stood to try and walk off the excess energy. Charlie jumped up and gave his tail a wag. “Outside, boy?” I gave him a scratch before opening the French doors to let him out. He ambled down the steps and turned the corner of the house. I walked back to the TV and turned it off, meaning to step outside to keep an eye on Charlie, until I heard Georgia’s voice. She sounded sad and forlorn and I instantly knew why. She was talking to Drew about the letter. Telling her what it meant. Her fears about reliving the past and that night when two strangers had broken into her house and robbed and murdered her parents, all while a twelve-year-old Georgia hid under her bed. I clenched my jaw when I heard Kyle’s name. Why the fuck had Kyle been brought up? Dammit, I loved living on the beach just as much as the next guy, but the constant roar of the waves made eavesdropping pretty fucking difficult.
