Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1)(26)

He crossed his arms. “I’m good right here.”

Calculation danced across her face a second before she marched up to Travis, crooking her finger like she had a secret. Keeping his attention locked on Pete, Travis leaned down so she could whisper in his ear.

“Dale is my vibrator.”

Travis choked. Had he heard that right? Her smug smile told him he had. The innocent memory of Georgie lying on his bed and mumbling that she needed Dale took on a whole new meaning. Before he could stop himself, his sick mind conjured those frayed shorts being tugged down her legs, her right hand guiding a shuddering device between her thighs. Her head tossing back, mouth forming an O. A little mewling sound left Imaginary Georgie’s mouth . . . and his own hand took control of the shaking toy. “I’ll be outside.”

She dropped back on her heels. “That’s what I thought.”

He walked out of the house in a daze. Since when did a woman talking about sex in any capacity throw him off his game? Nothing caught him off guard when it came to the pleasures of the flesh. He’d seen, done, and heard it all. Not when it came to Georgie, though. She’d been frozen in time in his mind as a gangly preteen. That wasn’t her now, obviously. And that image he’d held of her for so long was beginning to thaw. Rapidly. She was a woman now who . . . masturbated. A woman who didn’t wait around for whatever scrap of attention her brother and his best friend decided to throw her. That message had come through loud and clear tonight.

A minute later, Travis climbed into his truck and watched Georgie and Pete through the front window of her house. Watched her slowly warm back up after their tiff and start to get excited about the design, nodding and beaming as Pete gestured to the old brick fireplace. Travis knew a man’s body language when he was asking a woman out. Pete had it. In response, she shoved her hands in her pockets, probably stuttering through an answer.

Goddammit. This was none of his business. She didn’t want him here. Why couldn’t he turn the key in the ignition and drive home?

Instead of doing the logical thing, he waited for Pete to leave the house, sharing prolonged eye contact with the man through his windshield. Had Georgie said yes to their date? The man betrayed nothing with his blank expression, except for surprise that Travis was still standing—or sitting, rather—guard outside the house.

Join the club.





Chapter Eight


In a testament to her unusual life choices, neither Bethany nor Rosie blinked when Georgie walked into their first Just Us League meeting in full clown makeup. There hadn’t been time to change or wash her face after the seven-year-old’s birthday party. Baby wipes might have been just the remedy, but frankly she didn’t mind hiding behind the mask today.

Talk about a one-two punch.

The birthday party had started off fine. Wild squealing mayhem, sure, but that was par for the course. Toward the middle of the festivities, however, she’d started to feel like one of the kids. At one point, the hostess had patted her on the head and handed her punch in a Dixie cup. Georgie totally understood her being hired to entertain the kids, but lately she’d become so much more aware of the division between herself and the other adults. While they all stood off to one side sipping sangria and swapping handyman recommendations, she was relegated to eating half-slices of pizza at the kids’ table. The parents didn’t mean any harm—they were lovely people.

They just looked at her and saw a clown. Only a clown. Not a businesswoman.

Or even a fellow grown-up.

Right on the heels of Travis invading her fireplace appointment and needling her sorest sore spot, even the laughter of children hadn’t soothed her troubled soul.

This was just a little act of rebellion, but she’s over it now.

Teeth grinding, Georgie hopped up onto a stool beside Rosie. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt as helpless as Travis made her feel—and that was saying something. She’d been an idiot to think he could see her as a friend. An equal. Good thing she’d revealed Dale’s true identity and given herself an excuse to avoid Travis until the day she died. Oh my God. Had she actually done that? Knowing Travis would prefer not to see his best friend’s little sister as a sexual object, she’d thrown it in his face, banking on the awkwardness sending him running.

On second thought, maybe she’d revealed the secret so he would be forced to treat her like an adult. One who schedules her own fireplace work, dammit. Too bad she hadn’t unmasked Dale before he’d made her feel the size of a thimble.

“You look pretty depressed for someone dressed like a clown,” Bethany remarked from her lean against the kitchen island. “Did the party mother give out Super Soakers and pin a target to your back again?”

“No. And we don’t talk about the Great Drenching of 2017.”

“Right,” Bethany drawled, pushing away from the kitchen island. She went to the freezer and took out a chilled bottle of tequila and three frosty little shot glasses, setting them down on the polished granite with a flourish. “I was going to propose we make it a tradition to open every Just Us League meeting with a shot of Patrón, but I didn’t realize it would be so necessary. You both look like the bachelorette who didn’t get a rose.”

Georgie sent a glance in Rosie’s direction, noting that the other woman did, in fact, seem kind of . . . frozen. Graceful though she was, Rosie’s arms were crossed loosely at her middle, her shoulders in an uncharacteristic hunch. The only one of the three women who appeared upbeat was Bethany. Nothing new there, though. Bethany embodied the term “upbeat,” whether discussing a five-hundred-dollar scratch-off win or a cheating ex-boyfriend. Positive or negative, her poise never slipped, especially in her element. And her sleek, sophisticated all-white kitchen was most definitely Bethany’s element.