Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1)(44)

Georgie looked toward the gate and found Travis watching her over the painted white posts, a smirk on his ruggedly beautiful face. Every inch of her body started to buzz, her mouth going dry. Holy shit. She’d imagined him into reality.

Travis was making the first move.

“This is what your future looks like, Georgette Castle,” one of the mothers called while walking past the clown-kid dog-pile in the grass, a pizza box in her arms. “Follow me, party animals.”

Travis’s smirk faded fast. He lifted a hand to remove his sunglasses and there were his eyes. So intense. They beamed down at her like she was a thousand-piece puzzle, stirring up chaos inside her rib cage.

“Travis?” Georgie murmured, sitting up to adjust her wig as the children abandoned her to follow the scent of pizza. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw your car,” he said, sounding gruff.

When he didn’t elaborate, she noticed the building discomfort in his frame and laughed to split the tension. “You look like a live childbirth just went by in your Facebook feed.”

The joke did nothing to make his shoulders relax. Not that she was pulling off casual, either. At least not internally. Her heart was spasming like a dying fish. The last time she’d seen Travis, they were half naked and giving each other orgasms, so some nerves could be expected, right?

God, he looked mouthwatering. His heather-gray T-shirt molded to his ripped stomach, his face boasting the sprouting of a beard and tired eyes. He looked so out of place in the suburban setting—like one of those charity commercials where a famous athlete visits a fan on their doorstep. All broad shoulders and corded forearms. That was Travis Ford. A gorgeous, talented bachelor meant for a bigger, flashier life, but sent to live with normal mortals instead.

And she was sprawled on her ass in a clown suit.

Their sweaty hookup must have been a dream.

But she’d dreamed enough about Travis to be able to separate fantasy and reality. The reality was way more hands-on. And not her own hands, either, like usual.

It was definitely Reality Travis towering above her now, because Fantasy Travis never had tired eyes or seemed unsure. This man did, though. And he was the one she’d been missing.

She’d missed her fake boyfriend.

Was she crazy to embark on this mission?

There’d never been any fear of Fantasy Travis hurting her. She could just conjure up another dream, couldn’t she? A better one that ended in him kissing her under the shower of ticker tape during a World Series champions parade. But the more she got to know Reality Travis, the more Fantasy Travis started to fade, leaving this real, breathing, complicated man in his place. He appealed to her even more.

So much more.

Travis seemed to be angling his body to block something behind him, making Georgie purse her lips. “What’s going on? More autograph seekers?”

“There’s a photographer following me.” He raised an eyebrow at her dropped jaw. “It’s now or never, baby girl.”

God, he just had to go and call her that. Thank God she was wearing her clown suit, because the nickname sent goose bumps coursing down her arms. “A photographer? As in paparazzi? That was fast.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, no longer looking at her. “The network announced their short list of candidates for the new voice of the Bombers last night.” His expression was kind of perplexed. “I’m . . . still on it.”

“Travis, that’s amazing!” Georgie lunged to her feet, joy making her want to open the gate and throw her arms around him. When she saw the raised camera, she squeaked and hid behind Travis’s impressive form instead. “Wow. They don’t even ask.”

“Nope, we’re fair game.” His blue eyes strayed to her mouth and seemed to darken, his right hand lifting to cradle her jaw over the gate. “But out in the open like this, we can decide what they see.”

“Oh,” she whispered, inhaling his masculine scent. “That’s nice.”

“Nice? Maybe.” His tongue dragged temptingly along his full lower lip. “We know I can be a little mean.” Georgie was positive he was about to kiss her, but his forehead knitted together. “So does everyone in town know you want a bunch of kids?”

What did that have to do with kissing her? “Not everyone,” she answered honestly, looking up into unreadable eyes. “Just everyone who sees me around them. Which happens a lot, because, hello, clown.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You kind of come alive around them, don’t you? Even more than usual.” She wanted to bask in the compliment, but something was bothering him. That much was obvious. “Associating with me could mess that up for you, Georgie. Might be hard to find a nice guy after being with me. Even if it’s just for the cameras.”

Just for the cameras. That’s right. Why was it so hard to remember that when he was standing so close, looking at her with something akin to tenderness? His visible concern made it almost impossible to swallow. “If a man held something like that against me, he wouldn’t be a nice guy. Definitely not someone I’d . . .”

“Make a family with,” he said quietly.

“Right.”

They continued to scrutinize each other over the gate, drawing closer ever so subtly. Because of the photographer? Or because she physically couldn’t stop herself from gravitating in his direction?