Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1)(100)

His laugh booming across the expressway, Travis wrapped her in a hug and swept her off the ground. “You said yes. Thank God.” He staggered a little. “I thought I was fucked.”

Around them, horns started to honk. One at a time, until it became a cacophony of noise. Clapping and whistling reached them through rolled-down windows. His relief and joy turned everything to a blur, though, and he promptly forgot about their surroundings, despite the loud ruckus taking place. He drew her hand up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles and palm, before sliding on the ring he’d been keeping in his shirt pocket, as even louder cheers and beeps erupted around them. Travis leaned in to breathe with an open mouth against her neck, his hands riding dangerously low on the small of her back. “You just wait until I get you home, baby girl.” He drew her up onto her toes, grazing her neck with the barest hint of teeth. “I’m going to put you against a wall and—”

“All right. I think we get the idea,” said a dry male voice.

Travis turned his head to find Stephen at the wheel of the minivan, the other man clearly battling a smile. “Fine, I’ll be your best man. You don’t have to beg.”

Travis swallowed and brushed the hair back from Georgie’s face. “Thanks, man.” He looked at Stephen. “I’ll make sure she knows every single day that she’s the air I breathe. That’s a promise.”

Suspiciously teary-eyed, Georgie’s brother gave a brisk nod and rolled up the window.

Leaving Travis and Georgie kissing on the shoulder, long after the traffic cleared.





Acknowledgments


Every year at Christmastime, Port Jefferson, Long Island, turns into a Charles Dickens village. For two days, locals dress up like chimney sweeps and carolers, greeting visitors with their cockney accents. There’s apple cider, ice-skating, and old-fashioned puppet shows. Basically, it’s magical. I took my family one year, and I’ve been charmed by the small waterside town of Port Jefferson ever since. I’m so excited to set a series in this glorious little place, and I hope I did it justice.

Thank you, as always, to my family for lifting me up when I’m down and loving me through deadline weeks. Thank you to my editor, Nicole Fischer—for helping me turn our broken-down ex–baseball phenom from swoony to OH YEAH SWOONY. Thank you to my agent, Laura Bradford, for always looking out for my best interests and helping bring this series to life. Thank you to Dansby Swanson for inspiring Travis Ford and Melissa Benoist for being my mental Georgie. As always, thank you most of all to readers who continue to invest their time in my stories—I love you all.





An Excerpt from Love Her or Lose Her


Don’t miss Rosie and Dominic’s story!

Love Her or Lose Her

Coming soon!

Read on for a sneak peek . . .





Chapter One


Rosie Vega: a department-store shopper’s worst nightmare.

Really, that’s what her name tag should have said, instead of cosmetics consultant. In order to fulfill that title, someone would be required to consult her first, right? Problem was, no one ever asked to be spritzed with perfume. And really, that’s all it was. Just a little spritz. Why wouldn’t customers just let her make them smell good? Was it really so much to ask?

Rosie hobbled over to the Clinique counter in her high heels, scoping for her supervisor, Zelda, before performing a casual lean against the glass, groaning as the pressure on her toes and ankles lessened. One might surmise that Rosie was in the military instead of working as a glorified perfume girl at the mall. If Rosie was caught leaning, she wouldn’t be docked pay or anything so serious. She would just get the shittier-smelling perfume to demonstrate tomorrow. Yes. The Zelda worked her evil in backhanded ways.

She leaned over the counter and checked the clock on the register. Nine twenty-nine. A little over half an hour to go and Rosie was exhausted from standing on her feet since three o’clock. The only customers left in Haskel’s were buying last-minute birthday presents or shopping for impromptu job interview clothes. There were no pleasure cruisers at the mall this late, but she was required to stay until the very end. On the off chance someone wanted to smell like begonias and sandalwood right before bed.

A squeal rent the air and two children holding giant mall pretzels came tearing through her aisle, their mother sprinting after them with no fewer than three bags on each arm. Rosie managed to lunge out of their way, but one kid’s legs got tangled in the other and they went sprawling, both pretzels turning end over end like tumbleweeds into a Dior display.

“Kill me now,” the mother wailed at the ceiling, turning bloodshot eyes on Rosie. “Help us. Please.”

Feedback screeched over the department store PA system. “Janitorial services to cosmetics.” Both kids burst into noisy tears, neither one of them making a move to get off the floor. The PA system sent a ripple of static into the atmosphere forcing everyone to plug their ears, which Rosie could only accomplish with one finger since she was still holding the perfume bottle. “Bring a broom,” the man on the speaker finished sleepily.

Rosie chewed her bottom lip for a moment, then set down her fragrance, thus committing a cardinal sin in the eyes of her supervisor. Don’t dawdle, always have a bottle. Those words were on a plaque in the employee break room in size-seventy-two font. Desperate times called for desperate measures, however, and with her hands free, Rosie could stoop down to help the children to their feet, while their mother lamented the fact that she no longer smoked.