Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1)(33)

He could feel Georgie’s knowing look from the other side of the car. “But you’re not interested in being that way anymore, right? Being . . . Two Bats. Unless you feel differently now—”

“I don’t.” They held each other’s gazes for a heavy beat. “Anyway, they don’t want their network associated with the guy who used to ask out reporters during press conferences.” He shook his head at the cringe-worthy memory. “Family network, family image.”

“I see.” Georgie pulled up along the curb in front of his house. “How are you going to manage that?”

He blew out a breath. “Hell if I know. Maybe I’ll get a cat.”

“A cat would definitely help with your rat problem.”

“I don’t—” Travis cut himself off and pushed open the passenger door. “Never mind. See for yourself.”

What was he doing? He didn’t need to invite her upstairs. He was perfectly capable of getting home by himself—the shoulder barely hurt anymore. But when he should have thanked her for the ride and urged her to leave, Travis guided Georgie into the building instead. All right. He’d simply prove he’d kept the apartment immaculate and send her away. They’d hang out for twenty, maybe thirty minutes tops. Just long enough so that she couldn’t make her date with Pete.

You’re a bastard. A bastard who had no business manipulating Georgie’s social life. God, though. There was something about her on a date that didn’t sit right. He couldn’t explain it.

Oh no? His body’s reaction to Georgie’s ass in that skirt as she climbed the stairs was a pretty fucking effective explanation, now wasn’t it? There was no sense pretending he wasn’t hoping and praying for that seam running down the middle of her ass cheeks to rip. Fine. Georgie Castle was hot. With a side of cute. An ass built to curve against his lap . . . and freckles. If that combo wasn’t a mind fuck, he didn’t know what was. Where did she learn to walk like that? Or was she walking the same as usual and he was just noticing every tick-tock of her hips, every curve of her thighs and calves?

When they reached the top of the stairs, Travis withdrew the house keys from his pocket and searched for a way to take his mind off Georgie’s butt. “So. A sea salt caramel mocha is the female version of an icebreaker?”

“Rosie, Beth, and I usually kick things off with tequila, but a mocha will do in a pinch.”

Travis slipped his key into the door and nudged it open, gesturing for Georgie to precede him. “Kick things off. Like what?”

“Oh, we’re moonlighting as vigilantes now.”

“Are you?” Travis followed after her, trying to see the apartment through her eyes. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d kept it clean and organized, almost nervous she’d show up and be disappointed. Now, she turned in a circle and gave him a thumbs-up, causing a ripple of satisfaction to pass through him. Damn, he liked seeing her happy with him, especially after the fireplace shit show. He could only grunt in reply, however. “I hope you haven’t been fighting crime at night in your clown costume, because that’s just scary.”

“You say ‘scary,’ I say ‘effective.’”

She went to his freezer and started wrapping ice in a dish towel. Taking care of him in a way he’d always had to do for himself. In a way he’d always wanted to do for himself, abhorring the thought of depending on another person. Why didn’t he mind when Georgie did these things?

“Anyway, clowns aren’t scary. We live to make people laugh.”

“You’re right,” he said hoarsely. “You could never be scary.”

“How do you know?” She twisted the ice-filled towel, approached him, and carefully laid it on his shoulder, causing something to stick in his throat. “You’ve never seen me perform.”

“I don’t need to watch your act to know you can’t pull off scary. You’re nothing but a sweetheart.”

Georgie’s breath hitched at his unplanned words. “Are you forgetting my lo mein fastball?” she murmured. “I’m not sweet.”

Ignoring a mental warning to stop flirting with Georgie—right now—Travis tipped his head toward the makeshift ice pack. “Sure about that?”

She let the ice pack go as if it had bitten her, forcing Travis to catch it with his good arm.

“Okay, I’m going to take off.” She stepped back with an unconvincing smirk, but Travis could still make out the concern in her eyes as she scrutinized his shoulder. “Make sure to ice on and—”

Panic caught him off guard. Over her leaving? A week ago, he couldn’t get rid of her; now she was going to put burn marks on the floor running away. “Hold on. I want to hear more about this club.”

“You do?” Visibly gathering her words, Georgie rubbed her hands down the sides of her skirt. “It’s . . . a fight club,” she said.

“Try again.”

“We’re starting our own line of organic hand sanitizer.”

“Nope.”

“Phone sex operators?”

“That’s not funny.” His chest was crowded by the urge to laugh for the first time in days. It seemed to be his permanent state around this girl. “Tell me. Or I’ll pay a visit to your mother and ask her to get it out of you.”