Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

open on my cell phone and forgot to charge the battery. But since I had plenty of time before boarding, I decided to use one of the charging stations at the gate. I didn’t account for the onslaught of holiday travelers, so all the charging ports were full. All except for one. Which was currently blocked by some guy’s dog. He was ridiculously cute—the dog, not the guy. Okay, the guy, too. But neither the dog nor the man were the problem. It was the crowd of giggling girls surrounding them that really blocked my access to the charging port. All of them were young, barely out of high school by the looks of them, and they all wore spandex leggings a little too clingy around their backsides. I noticed this because those backsides were pointing directly at me as the girls bent over, fawning over the dog—and the man.

The dog, a jumpy little Jack Russell Terrier, was wagging his tail with unflagging abandon, joyfully licking their faces. The man, well he was enjoying the attention just as much. He probably only brought the dog along to get women’s numbers.

“Excuse me.” I said cheerily, holding out my phone. I pointed to the charging station. The girls all ignored me. “Um...excuse me?” I repeated a little louder this time. One of them turned around, standing up to her full height and stared at me for a whole three seconds before turning back to flirt with the guy. She was tall and slender and beautiful like all her friends and that look she gave me might as well have said Back off, sister.

“I just need to squeeze past you to charge my phone.” I wanted to add He’s all yours. I wasn’t interested in the guy or the dog. My battery was at two percent; surely somebody would have mercy on me. I looked around me hoping to find an open port. Nope. Fancy businessmen in suits too important to give up their spots occupied half of the charging ports. The other half were occupied by teenagers—also not likely to unplug for little ‘ol me. Not that height mattered. I wasn’t as tall as that mean girl and her friends, but I more than made up for it in moxie. I got into Juilliard on my own merit, not because I had a famous brother. I was a strong woman, thank you very much. Small but mighty.

You got this, Georgia.

And so I rolled my shoulders back, lifted my chin, and tapped the girl on the shoulder.

She spun around so abruptly, the ripple effect of it disturbed her circle of friends and subsequently the adorable little dog. He barked—more of a Hooray, a new friend! sort of bark rather than a Warning, Intruder alert sort of bark. His owner looked up, deep dark eyes locking onto mine for one brief moment before the dog bounded off the charging port stool to greet me. The spandex brigade jumped back, Dog Man leaped up to reach for the leash, and cute little Jack Russell evaded him just quick enough to run circles around my feet—but not before his human hooked a finger on the leash’s loop. As common knowledge of physics would dictate, my legs were wrapped in the leash and I came crashing down with all the spectacular force of gravity. As I landed with a glorious thud, my phone sprung from my hand and flew through the air like a determined little salmon swimming up a waterfall, narrowly missing the clutches of a hungry bear. It happened in slow motion—the crazy dog, falling on my bottom, my phone in flight. And yet it was like one of those nightmares where you feel like you're moving through molasses. The phone crashed to the floor with a definitive splat.

“Are you okay?” Dog Man said. He really did have beautiful eyes. I shook off that thought, remembering I was hurt and on the verge of tears, not ogling his handsomeness.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry about that.” His nimble fingers were making quick work of the leash, untangling it from my ankles. The dog wasn’t making it easy on him with all the tugging and bouncing. “Reeses, calm down.”

So crazy dog had a cute name to match. Apparently calm down wasn’t in Reeses’ vocabulary. Presently, he was licking my hand.

“A little forward there, Reeses. We’ve only just met.”

Dog Man chuckled and swooped up Reeses, offering me his other hand to help me up.

“I’ll manage,” I clipped, perhaps too forcefully. I probably shouldn’t have snapped at him. He was trying to help me up after all. But the fall to the hard floor hurt my pride as well as my poor tooshie. I turned my eyes to my phone, shattered in a sad pile of bits of plastic and glass on the floor.

“Oh crud,” I heard Dog Man say. “That sucks.”

“That sucks?” I managed to say. It was then I noticed the makings of a suppressed laugh on his lips. “That…sucks?”

“I mean…I hope you have insurance.”

I did, thanks to my brother, but that wasn’t the point.

I forlornly scooped up the shrapnel surrounding my dead phone, mourning over it on my hands and knees. I promised Will I’d call him in Chicago between connecting flights and if I didn’t he’d worry himself sick—just what a man needs a few days before his wedding.

“Here, let me help you,” Dog Man said, no longer laughing at my expense at least.

“No thanks, dude.”

“Listen, I—”

“Just please…go away.” I was too embarrassed, and if I was being honest with myself, kinda attracted to Dog Man, which only made my face red.

So...Merry Christmas to me? The hap-happiest time of the year. Maybe.

2

Georgia

One would imagine airlines seated first-class passengers last—being closest to the front and all. But no. Having a premium seat subjects you to stares and a good measure of jealous looks from those who pass by on their way to the economy seats. Or in my case, a haughty glower of disdain from dog