Fix Her Up Page 17

  Stephen pointed at Bethany. “This is your fault. Putting ideas into her head.”

  “You’re the one that forgot her pecan chicken!” Bethany burst out. “That shit is important.”

  “Oh, now she thinks so,” Georgie drawled, reaching for the tequila.

  “You’re one to talk, Georgie. This”—he waved an angry hand around—“girls’ club has taken away your common sense.”

  Georgie ignored the twinge of pain in her chest, keeping her features schooled as she filled the glasses. “I’m guessing you saw the pictures.”

  “Don’t remind me. I saw them coming and I still want to blind myself.”

  Hope replaced the discomfort in her chest, floating up like a dozen balloons. “You saw them coming? How?”

  “Travis told me you were seeing each other a couple of days ago.” He continued on as if he hadn’t made his sister capable of floating up to the moon. “It was only a matter of time before everyone took an interest. You’re not exactly a likely pair. For good reason.”

  Bethany muscled up to her side, shooting a glare in Stephen’s direction. “Don’t take that line of thought any further. She’s heard enough for tonight.”

  A flicker of nerves—maybe even sympathy—passed across her brother’s face. “He’s going to chew you up and spit you out, Georgie.”

  “That’s my problem, Stephen. Not yours,” Georgie returned, her voice vibrating. And damn, it felt good to not only stand up to her brother, but to have him reevaluate her with a look. That’s right. I’m not just your dopey little sister.

  “Fine,” Stephen finally grumbled. “I’ve got my own problems to deal with right now.”

  Kristin shot to her feet. “Oh, I’m a problem now?”

  “No. No, honey, I . . .” Stephen shoved a hand through his wet hair. “Can we talk about this at home?”

  His wife crossed her arms and waited.

  Their brother shifted in his boots. “I missed your chicken like hell, Kristin. I was going to tell you all about how leaving it behind ruined my day, but then I got to looking at the calendar. You know, the one that says when you’re . . .” He cleared his throat loudly. “It says when you’re, you know, ovulating. So I was trying to get the day cleaned off as fast as I could, so we could . . . uh. I wanted to—”

  “I think we’re good here,” Georgie said, raising her hand. “I’m pretty clear on what happened and don’t need any more details. Who’s with me?”

  Everyone’s hand went up besides Kristin’s and Stephen’s.

  “You may take me home now, Stephen Castle,” Kristin said, lifting her chin. “Girls, you can keep the muffins.”

  She’d barely finished her sentence before Stephen scooped up his wife and left the way he’d come, kicking the door shut and leaving the room awash in silence. Georgie’s pulse was still pounding a thousand miles an hour in her ears, though. Travis hadn’t told Stephen anything about their plan. Her brother couldn’t lie for shit, so that much was obvious. He’d kept their secret. He’d respected her feelings without her having to ask. It made Georgie all the more determined to rock her end of the bargain. To validate Travis’s hopes the way he was doing for her. To be on his team. In order to do that, she needed to know more about him. The things she’d missed through the lens of youth.

  “You guys were in Travis’s grade, so you remember what happened with his parents. I was younger, so the details are a little blurry.” She laughed without humor as something occurred to her. “Actually, it might be the one thing we haven’t spoken about.”

  Bethany winced. “It was a pretty nasty divorce. I remember overhearing Mom and Dad talking about it.”

  “Nasty how?”

  “There was a custody battle. Neither parent was happy with the decision, so they kind of used him to piss each other off.” Bethany frowned. “Ugh, this is making me feel bad for being mean to him. Subject change soon, okay?”

  “I was so wrapped up in Dominic back then, everything else is a blur,” Rosie said. “But I do remember him always needing a ride to school. He’d show up on foot some days, on the bus others. Sometimes your mother brought him. Rarely his own parents.”

  “He got passed around a lot,” Bethany added. “There was no real . . . stability.”

  “Passed around,” Georgie echoed quietly, her pulse slowing along with time, thudding in a morose pattern. “That’s awful.”

  You’ve always been my wife’s hall pass. Those remembered words from the night before brought back a whole host of memories. Travis pictured with another woman every day of the week in the newspapers, during those early days of his career. Until he simply wasn’t anymore. Around the same time, he’d started getting passed between teams faster than he could probably decorate his locker.

  Passed around.

  I’m no one’s entertainment anymore.

  Had Travis ever had a stable relationship in his life? Did he know what one looked like?

  Had anyone ever made him feel worthy of a lasting one?

  She’d always held to the truth that Travis was her soul mate. That was before she knew him, though. Those beliefs were founded on a childhood crush. What she’d begun feeling for Travis since he returned home? That wasn’t in the same league. That had depth and . . . fears attached.

  Georgie didn’t hold any illusions that she could be Travis’s one. But she couldn’t deny an odd sense of responsibility to prove to Travis he was worthy of finding and keeping his one. Even if it wasn’t her. When no one else had been up to the task of forcibly removing Travis from his downward spiral, she’d thrown lo mein at his head. Did she have the courage to take one more step?

  They might be in a fake relationship. What if she could make it feel real?

  Real enough that Travis realized what he was capable of.

  “Georgie, are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Georgie tapped her lip. “Um . . . what’s next on your infamous agenda?”

  But as Bethany perked up and started to read from her clipboard, Georgie was forming her own.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Georgie slicked paste onto the final cutout for her zombie birthday party vision board, placing the green slime recipe just below a scene involving dry ice and a strobe light. Hello, next-level birthday party. She could see it now. Kids draped in medical gauze and fake guts walking in slow motion through the backyard, trying to complete the apocalypse scavenger hunt before time ran out. Until now, she’d been entertaining the five and below set, but it occurred to Georgie she was missing out on the older kids. They wouldn’t scare as easily, and zombies never went out of style. She couldn’t wait to put this option on the website.

  The doorbell rang and Georgie leaped from her position on the living room floor into a battle stance, a scream lodged in her throat.

  So much for the under fives being the scaredy-cats.

  Gathering her composure, Georgie made her way to the door and opened it. There was no one on the other side, but whoever had rung the bell had left something behind. Even after she stooped down to pick the object up, it took her a minute to realize what it was.

  A trophy had been left on her front porch. It was cheap and garish, with a little plaque on the bottom that read WINNER, TRAVIS FORD DATING CONTEST. Upper lip curled in disgust, she searched her cul-de-sac for whoever had left the unwanted object and spotted no one. With a sniff of indignation, she slammed the front door of her house, entered the kitchen, and shoved the trophy as deep as it would go in the garbage, burying it beneath coffee grounds and eggshells.

  When the deed was done, Georgie paced her kitchen. The trophy made her even more determined to show Travis his worth—and she needed to act. Now.

  Unplugging her phone from the charger, she meandered her way into the living room, plopping down into a cross-legged position on the floor. Georgie had texted boys before—she wasn’t a total newbie. Having always been the type to get friend-zoned, she’d never phone flirted, though. But if she was going to clue Travis in to his own
potential, she’d reasoned it was better to dip in a digital toe, instead of diving right into the deep end.

  Georgie rubbed the phone against her lips, trying to conjure the perfect, easy breezy text message. She couldn’t make her ulterior motives obvious, but she wanted him to talk to her like . . . a boyfriend. A real one. The key would be for her to remember their relationship was all for show and nothing more. She frowned as she dropped the phone into her lap, her fingers moving over the screen.

  G: Heyyy youuu.

  Deleted.

  G: Hey, did you call me? Sorry I missed it. While I already have you . . . wanna talk flavored lube?

  Nope.

  G: I hear sea salt caramel mochas put people in a good mood. If you’re free, I’ll let you put me in one.

  “Dude, that’s pretty bleeping good,” she murmured, her finger hovering over the send button. “Dare I send this perfectly crafted text message, or do I chicken out?”

  She tipped her face up toward the ceiling and breathed deeply through her nose, dropping her thumb to the blue icon. Sent. There, it was done. She’d invited Travis for an afternoon coffee date and he could very well say no—

  Georgie’s phone vibrated and she snatched it up off the floor.

  T: What was that?

  G: What was what?

  T: A very flirtatious tone, Miss Castle. Don’t think I missed it.

  G: Are you going to put me in a good mood? Or do I have to do it myself?

  Wait. Was that flirty or sexual? Flirty. Probably. No, definitely flirty. As soon as she sent the message, Georgie fell back onto her area rug and closed-mouthed squealed. Oh my God. This was why her friends in college had walked around in a hormonal haze. There was something exhilarating about making yourself vulnerable to the opposite sex. And the anticipation of their reaction? It was like a free fall. A little voice in the back of Georgie’s mind told her it wouldn’t feel like this with just anyone, but she ignored it and lifted her phone as it buzzed again.

  T: Your good mood is better when I’m the one giving it to you. Grinders in 20.

  “Twenty minutes?” Georgie was off the floor like a shot, stumbling on her way to the bedroom and pulling out the first outfit she spied upon opening her dresser drawer. A jean skirt and a blue tank top. She stripped off her yoga pants and T-shirt, shoving her body into the new clothes, ripping off the tags as she kicked open her closet in a search for shoes. A moment later, she jogged down the hallway, her sandals slapping off the hardwood floor—and out the house she went.

  It wasn’t until she parked at Grinders did she remember a bra.

  Or remember she’d forgotten to wear one, rather.

  If there wasn’t a camera on Travis’s tail again today, he wouldn’t have agreed to the coffee date. At least that’s what he continued to tell himself as he parked outside Grinders and watched the white Escalade pull along the curb across the street. He wasn’t here simply to get his Georgie fix. Or because she’d given him a hard-on via text. This was about business. His agent was excited about his chances of getting the job. Hell, he was calling more than he had while Travis was in the league. He was in the position to be their top pick. But he needed her to make it happen.

  He scanned the street for Georgie. Despite his eagerness to lay eyes on her, he nursed a dose of guilt. This plan of theirs felt like it was benefiting him far more than her. Sure, everyone in town—and beyond—was buzzing about how she’d defended him in the Waterfront the other night. Most of the headlines ran along the lines of “Don’t Mess with Two Bats’s New Girlfriend.” A lot of men might have felt like their masculinity was being challenged by having a woman come to their rescue, but goddamn, Travis felt the exact opposite. This warm glow wouldn’t dissipate, no matter how much time passed.

  He needed to give something back to Georgie, to make fake dating him worth her while. Her family was the main reason she’d struck her end of the bargain, wasn’t it? When would he get to return the favor she’d done for him the other night? Simply taking her out for drinks or coffee didn’t seem adequate.

  The fingers he’d been tapping on his thigh stilled when he spied Georgie crossing the street. Christ Almighty, she looked sexy as hell for a midweek coffee date. That skirt was pure sin wrapped around her hips and ass—but why was she wearing a scarf?

  Travis pushed out of the truck with an eyebrow cocked. “You realize it’s summer, right?”

  “Yes,” she returned quickly, stopping on the other side of the vehicle’s door, which was open between them. “I’m cold.”

  Concern trickled in. “Are you getting sick?”

  She visibly latched onto that. “Probably. That’s probably it.”

  Again, the need to do more for her prodded Travis. His rule about avoiding being alone with her went right out the window in the face of her needing help. Needing him. “Let me take you home, then. I’ve got a smoothie recipe that’ll help ward it off. Used to make them before games when I felt myself getting a travel bug.” Before he could stop himself, he reached over the top of the door and twisted a piece of her hair around his finger. “Sound good, baby girl?”

  Georgie swayed a little but seemed to catch herself. “Is there a camera?”

  “A what?” It took a moment for her meaning to penetrate. “Oh. Yes. White Escalade.”

  Did he imagine the spark dimming in her eyes? Her head dipped before Travis could make a judgment, Georgie coming around the open door of the truck and wrapping her arms around his waist. The perfect melding of her curves to his planes almost took the wind out of him. All he could do was focus on keeping his breathing even as he dropped his mouth to leave a kiss on the crown of her head. She snuggled closer—no, he pulled her closer. When had he started hugging her so tightly?

  “I lied about getting sick,” she said, her words muffled by his chest.

  Relieved and confused at the same time, Travis laid his cheek on top of her head, telling himself it was all for the pictures. “Why?”

  Georgie pulled back a couple of inches, casting a glance over his shoulder at the photographer. “I’m wearing a scarf because I forgot to put on a bra.”

  Before he could guess her intentions, she unknotted the scarf and tugged it open. Travis groaned, low and heavy, his dick bulging in his jeans. Taller than Georgie as he was, he could see way more than the swell of her tits. Way more than the outline of her tight nipples where they strained against the light blue cotton of her tank top. He could see straight down the middle of her cleavage to the flat stomach beneath. “Jesus, put the scarf back on. You might as well be naked.”

  Pink stained her cheeks as she covered herself again. “You should give a woman more than twenty minutes to get ready.”

  Travis let his exasperation show. “You texted me, Georgie.”

  “I didn’t expect you to want to put me in a good mood right then and there.”

  “Stop telling me to put you in a good mood,” he growled, backing her against the still-open door. “Or I’m going to do it.”

  “Family network,” she breathed, pushing at his shoulder.

  Nice to meet you, blue balls. Travis stepped back and dragged a hand down his face. “Let’s go inside.”

  “Good idea.”

  He watched Georgie put a smile on her face with visible effort, moving out of the way so he could close the door. Once he’d locked the door, she reached out for his hand, leaning into his shoulder as he took it, the whole boyfriend-girlfriend dynamic feeling far too real. He held the door as she passed him into Grinders, which was mostly empty in the post-lunch, predinner no-man’s-land. With no one there to witness them together, the realness of them hit home even more, but he found himself distracted from that worry by Georgie’s pursed lips as she read the posted menu. The way she shifted around and licked her lips, waiting for the girl to take their order, so fresh and sweet looking he couldn’t help speculating on how her neck would taste. Or the inside of her wrist.

  A few minutes later, they were sitting across from
each other at a table.

  “Do you want to see my boobs again?”

  Travis almost spit out the first sip of his sea salt caramel mocha. “What?”

  She laughed into her own sip. “I’m just kidding. You look all tense.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Okay,” she returned, mimicking his deep voice. “Would you really have taken me home and preemptively nursed me back to health?”

  “I would have made you a smoothie,” he corrected her.

  “That’s nursing. You would have nursed.”

  He was caught between laughing and shaking his head. “I have no idea what being nursed back to health is like. Not unless it includes physical therapy or an ice bath.”

  Here he was again, telling Georgie things he never expected to hear outside of his own mind. She didn’t make him regret it, though. She only looked back at him in a solemn way, as if taking it in. Taking him in. Being in the moment together without expectations or disappointment that he wasn’t the famous athlete she’d seen on television.

  “Have you spoken to your parents since you came back to Port Jeff?”

  “No.” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest, as if to hide the sudden rattle taking place in his rib cage. “Actually, I haven’t talked to them since I left for college.”

  “Almost a decade?” she whispered, looking stricken. “I was younger and kind of oblivious during the divorce and after. I’m sorry things never got better between them and you.”

  “I’m not.”

  Now that he’d made it uncomfortable, he waited for her to drop the subject, but she didn’t. “Did you ever wonder in the middle of a game if they were watching?”

  Travis chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah,” he finally heard himself admit. Out loud. It hadn’t been just once, either. “Every game.”

  He heard Georgie swallow from across the table. “They should have. They should have been watching like proud parents. They should be proud of you right now, Travis. It’s not easy to start over.”