Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1)(41)

“Keep this up. I understand.” Georgie wet her lips. “That should be more than enough time for everyone to reevaluate their opinion that I’m nothing more than a silly clown.” She widened her eyes and prompted him again to shake her hand. “After the dinner we end it, no muss, no fuss.”

After a few beats, his warm palm slid against hers and gripped, although his expression continued to be wary. “Deal.”





Chapter Twelve


I have a girlfriend. A fake girlfriend.

Travis flipped off the table saw and stepped back, pushing his safety goggles onto his head. He really shouldn’t be operating heavy machinery while being so epically predisposed to getting a hard-on. There could be a serious tragedy. He’d have a new nickname: One Bat.

That scary possibility should have been enough to ease the thick pressure in Travis’s cock, but as he’d learned last night after his third round of beating off, there was no relief. Every time he let his mind drift, it returned to Georgie’s tight little ass cheeks. The dribble of lube on those smooth curves, the liquid trickling down the center to be absorbed by her silk panties. He’d had no finesse yesterday. No game. Once she offered herself up, he’d been incapable of hitting pause. Or catching his breath. Or doing anything but getting there getting there getting there.

What scared him the most was he’d gotten that way from kissing her.

As soon as their tongues touched, there had been this urgency crowding him. To take as much as he could. Taste every inch of her and hope his mouth didn’t forget. Had anyone ever kissed him with so much trust? No. No one kissed or exposed themselves like her, honest and unrestrained. No one had ever pulled him in so deeply. He’d forgotten about work and responsibilities and vanity. Christ, he hadn’t even minded holding her when it was over.

Oh, you didn’t mind it? Right.

He was full of contradictions lately, wasn’t he? Hook up with Georgie again? Nope. Bad idea. But he didn’t want anyone else to lay a finger on her. Hell, he wasn’t all that thrilled knowing about her vibrator, Dale. It made exactly zero sense to Travis.

This relationship was phony, so where was this possessive streak coming from? It was almost as if he was . . . jealous. Georgie was adorable and funny and date-worthy before that inconvenient makeover. Now she was walking around Port Jefferson looking like the girl next door had decided to fulfill every man’s naughty librarian fantasy. At least that’s how she’d looked yesterday. He’d seen inside the bags, though. There’d been all kinds of girlie shit in there. For all he knew, she was in the town square dressed in pasties and a tutu while he sucked sawdust.

Pull back, man. Listen to yourself.

Travis removed the goggles from his head and tossed them on the workbench. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he attempted to center himself the way he used to do in the locker room before a big game. Think. Release the negativity. Embrace the focus.

He was attracted to Georgie. Couldn’t-keep-his-dick-down attracted. But he’d get over that part. They hadn’t engaged in the main event, so he probably just had some extreme form of blue balls. If it meant spraining his fucking wrist, he’d handle the problem sooner or later. It would not be solved, however, by touching her again. What he’d said yesterday wasn’t arrogance talking—it was simply more common for women to get attached when sex was part of the equation. Basic science, right? The idea of hurting Georgie made him feel like the buzz saw was spinning in his stomach, so he wouldn’t go there.

Associating himself with her could go a long way in getting him the commentator job. Her family was prominent in Port Jefferson. She was the epitome of wholesome. Until he got her on her back, apparently. Nothing wholesome about how she came.

His dick pushed against the front of his fly and he cursed.

He was dating Georgie to help secure the job. That needed to be the only reason for this arrangement. When he was a kid, the ballpark was the only place he’d ever felt truly at home. At peace. It embraced him when no one inside the four walls of his home ever bothered to. Hesitantly, he let himself smell the freshly cut grass, dirt, sweat, spilled beer, and tobacco. That familiarity had been moved outside his grasp, and it still stung. If he couldn’t still be the best, why bother? This sport he’d loved had become a tool of disappointment in himself. But in a way, commentating was his way back onto the field, without having to get too close and feel that failure again. He needed this. He needed this to save him from being a has-been at twenty-eight, the way his father assumed he would.

Fake dating Georgie could not have anything to do with getting her sexy curves underneath him again. And it certainly couldn’t have shit to do with wanting to simply be around her. Or with the fact that letting his guard down around her gave him the same sense of peace as the ballpark.

Temporary. It would only ever be temporary. Baseball was forever.

At the sound of gravel crunching, Travis turned and looked out the window to find Stephen arriving in his god-awful minivan. His baby-brained friend hopped out of the van with a tray of coffees, stopping to talk to Dominic. Energy snapped in Travis’s shoulders the way it hadn’t in months. That drive that had been missing was back, breathing oxygen into his body, which had felt flat and sluggish since getting cut from the league. The catalyst for the change had to be the possibility of a new job. A new purpose. That’s where he needed to put his focus. Getting his name to the top of the short list.