It's strange. I've bought four different engagement rings. But I was never nervous when I asked any of those other women. There was never a question in my mind about whether they would say yes or not. But everything about giving Georgia a ring creates a nervous circus in my belly.

"What is that?" she asks.

"Open it," I encourage.

She takes a deep breath, then opens the box. Her head jerks backward, and she opens her mouth, closes it, then bites on her lip. It's not the expression I expected.

"You don't like it?" I blurt out.

She swallows hard, then takes the ring out of the box. "Ummm...it's a beautiful piece."

"A beautiful piece? That's a four-carat flawless diamond from Tiffany's," I state.

"Yes, I can see that," she utters.

"But you don't like it?" I ask, confused. All the women I've dated would have been more than pleased to flash that ring around town.

"I um... I think I'm not used to wearing such an over-the-top ring," she admits.

She doesn't like it. How is this possible?

She quickly adds, "But I guess it's what your wife would wear, right? Something really big?"

The disappointment I try to shake off doesn't go away. I shouldn't care if she likes it or not, but it bugs me.

Maybe she's trying to trick me into thinking she doesn't like it.

She only wants me to think she doesn't care about money or material things.

I remind myself that she tried to get a million dollars out of me, so I shouldn't buy this little act of hers. But if Georgia is lying, she's doing a hell of a job. She's still uncomfortably assessing the ring. I suggest, "Why don't you try it on?" I take the ring and then shove it on her finger.

She holds her hand out, staring at it and continuing to furrow her eyebrows.

It does look huge on her.

Every woman wants a ring that big.

She smiles, but I think it's forced. She clears her throat and says, "Thank you. It's beautiful."

My erection loses all steam. I realize there's no way I'm getting in her pants right now. I ask, "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, I suppose so." She grabs the handle of her suitcase.

"I've got that," I state. I take it away from her and lead her toward the door, rolling the luggage with me.

She stays quiet, and we leave her apartment. She takes a key out of her pocket, locks the door, and we go to the elevator.

"Oh shoot! I need to go back!" she exclaims when the elevator arrives.

"What for?" I ask.

"The cupcakes!" She rushes down the hall.

I groan and hold my hand against the doors for so long, a loud beep fills the air.