Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1)(13)

Her nose wrinkled. “Why?”

Travis raked a hand down his face. “Come on. You have to know I’ve got something of a . . . reputation where the opposite sex is concerned.” He waited until Georgie looked at him. “Let’s just say it’s well earned.”

“Yes, Two Bats. I’m aware.” She shrugged as if she hadn’t just called out the size of his cock. “But it’s not like we’re going to—”

“No, definitely not.”

“I mean . . .” She winked at him. “I think I’m safe.”

“You are one thousand percent safe.”

“Okay, you don’t have to be quite so adamant. I do have a thimbleful of vanity and I’d like to keep it.”

Travis laughed. An actual laugh that reached his stomach. How long had it been since that happened? Months. Usually he found nothing funny about someone invading his personal space, but having Georgie in his apartment was . . . surprisingly easy. He didn’t even have to be nice to her and she just stuck around anyway. If he’d been required to entertain or charm someone, they would have been sorely disappointed, but she didn’t seem to expect that. Maybe he’d let her stay for a few more minutes.

Ten tops.

“Okay, don’t get weird, but I found this DVD . . .” As if she were unveiling the new iPhone, she pulled out a copy of A League of Their Own with a flourish. “We can put it on in the background while we clean this rat hole.”

Travis plunked his empty beer bottle down on the counter. “You’re insane if you think I’m cleaning tonight. I just spent eight hours framing a two-story addition . . .” He backed away. “Don’t look at me like that, Georgie. My ass is tired.”

“There’s no crying in construction.”

“That’s not funny.”

“You’re right, it was pretty weak. I’m tired, too.” Giving Travis her profile, she hit a couple buttons on the oven, opened the door, and then slid two of the plates onto the center rack. “So I performed at a birthday party this week. The youngest Miller kid?”

Travis went to the fridge to retrieve another beer. “No clue who that is.”

“Really? The parents graduated your year, I think. He’s a ginger. She smokes menthols and always insists she’s quitting tomorrow.”

A long-buried memory from high school trickled in—a group of seniors standing outside the homecoming dance passing around a brown bag with a forty-ounce inside. He could almost smell the cigarette smoke, mint coasting down his throat when he bummed a drag. Travis’s mouth jumped at one end. “That actually rings a bell.”

“I overheard them talking at the party. Ginger Dad is the school principal now, and they’re hoping you’ll come do a demonstration for the team. You know, for inspiration.”

A weight dropped in Travis’s stomach. “Oh yeah?” He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek until it hurt. “A bunch of kids? That’s not exactly my kind of thing.”

“Funny,” she muttered. “That’s precisely my thing.”

“Right.” He massaged his eyes. “The birthday parties.”

“Not just birthday parties.” Georgie shrugged. “I love kids. They’re basically magic little balls of optimism that love you unconditionally. I can’t wait for my own.” As if realizing she’d been speaking out loud, Georgie hastily set a spoon down. “Um. Kids don’t have to be your thing to run a baseball clinic.”

Still a little stuck on Georgie’s announcement that she wanted children, Travis asked, “Aren’t you a little young to want kids so bad?”

“Some people dream about playing in the major leagues, others dream about finger paintings drying over the kitchen sink.” She paused. “I want a career, too, but . . . yeah, I want a big, noisy, happy family. You’ve never wanted that at all?”

“No,” Travis said without hesitation, wondering why the word dropped like an anvil between them. Frankly, the idea of being responsible for a child unnerved him. Already here he was, back in Port Jeff, his professional baseball career a thing of the past. Going nowhere. The similarities were too reminiscent of his father to think he wouldn’t fuck up fatherhood, too. He tried to shake himself back to the topic at hand, but it took an effort.

Run a baseball clinic? Damn. He was surprised by how much he didn’t want to pick up a bat. Jesus, he could barely fathom trying to play the sport he used to live for. Why make the effort when he’d lost too many steps to resemble a shadow of his former self?

“Your brother was just saying it’s the busy season right now.” Feeling Georgie’s searching eyes, he paced into the living room, snagging dirty socks as he went. “Everyone is remodeling before fall temperatures set in, and he’s short a couple guys. I can’t leave him high and dry.”

“You could teach them more in an hour than they’d learn in months from someone else. It wouldn’t have to be right away, either. There’s plenty of time before the season starts.” She smiled at him over her shoulder. “They love you. It would be like a dream come true.”

“Drop it, Georgie.”

Hurt danced across her features before she could turn away and hide it, and she continued to load his fridge with enough food for the next few nights. Travis leveled an inward curse at himself. Hadn’t he wanted people to talk to him about baseball and stop walking on eggshells? This girl had done it twice without any prompting. Where did he get off snapping at her for poking a sore spot he hadn’t even been aware of having?