Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1)(50)

“Cute.”

“Don’t call me cute in my gladiator sandals.” She gave him a solemn look. “I’m battling a lion later tonight—you should come.”

Warmth invaded his chest. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

He tore his eyes away from her pleased smile and gave their order to the bartender. That’s when Georgie finally seemed to notice that every eye in the place was trained on them. She sucked in a breath and he stepped closer on reflex, curving a palm to her shoulder. “You’re really good at this,” she whispered.

“What?” He looked down to find himself crowding her, his fingers playing with the tip of her braid. “Oh. Yeah, lots of practice,” he lied smoothly, abundantly aware he’d never been this affectionate in his life. Cursing himself for the way her eyes dimmed in response, Travis rushed to make it better. “Tell me more about your club.” The bartender set down their drinks and Travis handed Georgie hers. “The Just Us League. Do you have a motto yet?”

“All for one. And one for Paul. Paul is the stripper we hire for meetings.”

Travis broke off halfway through a chuckle. “That’s a joke, right?”

“Of course. A stripper named Paul would never get hired. He’d have to call himself Daddy Manroot or something.” She broke off with a laugh. “Your face right now.”

“It’s the face of anyone who hears the term ‘Daddy Manroot.’”

“Sorry.” She smiled around her straw as she took her first sip. “I really shouldn’t be telling you top secret club information. Can we keep everything between us?”

There it was again. That same team feeling. He . . . liked having it with her. “I’m a vault, baby girl.”

She made a wishy-washy sound. “I don’t feel too terrible discussing my sister, since she used to steal my Halloween candy, but Rosie’s situation is a different story.”

“Does it have to do with the newspapers Dom keeps finding stuffed under the mattress?”

“He knows about them and hasn’t said anything?” She took in that information and recentered herself with visible effort. “In other news, did you know Bethany wants to run her own project?”

Travis raised an eyebrow. “Really? I thought she liked staging.”

“She does, but she wants to make decisions on layout and swing a sledgehammer, too.”

Hell, he could relate to that. Demo day was like heaven on earth for a construction crew. Letting loose on a wall or breaking up concrete was goddamn therapeutic. It couldn’t be so different for a woman wanting to blow off steam. “Has she talked to Stephen?”

Her nose wrinkled. “He turned down the idea.”

“Stephen not wanting to break from tradition?” Travis snorted. “I don’t believe you.”

“No? He already bought the stick-figure family for his minivan window.” A few seconds passed. “Traditionalist or not, he should give Bethany a chance.”

“What if he won’t?”

“She’s going to take it somewhere else. And we’re going to help her.” She circled the rim of her glass with a finger. “That’s the point of the club.”

“And Paul.”

“Always Paul.”

They shared a smile. And then it faded and they went right on looking at each other. For too long. Until alarm started to build in Travis’s gut. Nothing about this felt even remotely fake. On the upside, they were definitely succeeding in being branded a couple. His hands couldn’t seem to stay off her. Without a formal command from his brain, Travis’s thumb continued to brush her neck, his thigh pressing to her knee. Their heads were leaned in so they could hear each other talk over the music, but he was so close, he could hear a whisper. Fuck, she smelled incredible.

“What about you, Georgie? You make any progress planning the entertainment company?”

Her whole face lit up, just inches away from his, giving him an up-close view of her shifting freckles, the stretch of her mouth. “I lucked out, actually. I put an ad on an employment website and found some freelance performers. The owner of their company moved to Vegas and they’re looking for a new home. I’m meeting with them next week.” Her shoulders bounced. “If we click and they’re as good as their references say, I can start booking twice the number of parties.”

“That’s amazing,” he rasped. “Good job.”

Looking down at his hand on her knee, she seemed to lose her train of thought. “Yeah. Um . . . and I’m working with a designer on a new website . . . and I’m taking a webinar on advertising. So basically I’m Michael Douglas from Wall Street now.”

This was how cute she could be on dates. Any man with the commitment gene and half a brain would propose before the dessert course. And it was really bad how much he wanted to kiss her, thanks to the jealousy that spawned. “Michael Douglas wouldn’t look anywhere near as sexy in that dress,” he said, his upper brain clearly not in command.

“I’d have to take it off so he could try it on,” she whispered, seeming to slow down the action of the bar around them. “Just to know for sure.”

A hungry pulse started in his balls. “Should I be worried that I’m getting turned on while you’re talking about Michael Douglas in a dress?”