Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1)(82)

Georgie almost fell off the stool when everyone started clapping. They were with her, Georgie Castle. Could it mean they viewed her not only as an equal, but as a mature voice of reason? She’d been fake dating Travis in order to force everyone to view her through a different lens, but she’d ended up doing it on her own without even realizing it, hadn’t she? She’d found a new way to make people listen.

She climbed off the stool, only to be wrapped in a bear hug by Bethany. “All right,” her sister shouted over her head. “Who’s ready to kick ass and take names?”

Everyone converged on them, champagne glasses lifted in a salute.

“If you’re serious about being a member,” Bethany continued, “you can all start by signing up for the Tough Mudder on Friday.”

Another dozen women blew out the front door.

Travis stared across the street at his childhood home.

The rain had let up, but it still tapped from the roof of the rusted detached garage, probably due to a leak. Beer cans littered the yard, courtesy of local kids. A tree root came up through the walkway, cracking the concrete in half.

He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there. Only that he’d been restless as soon as Georgie left him this morning. So he’d gotten in his truck and driven there. To the scene of his nightmares.

Upon pulling up, his first thought had been a wish that he’d waited and brought Georgie along. His stomach would still be tied up in knots, but they wouldn’t be nearly as tight. She would say the exact right thing. Would read his mood and know when to push, to pull, to do nothing.

With a growl of irritation, he crossed the street and walked into his yard for the first time since he’d left for Northwestern. Since he’d walked out with a suitcase full of the essentials and never looked back. His boots kicked through the gravel, rain landing on his shoulders. Again, he wished for Georgie’s presence. But overall, it wasn’t so bad. Those nights he’d sat outside waiting for his father to get home—or for his mother to pick him up—the yard had seemed so huge and dark. Now? Now everything looked smaller than his memories. Like the set of a bad play.

Even though his name was on the deed, he didn’t have a key. Opening the door was no problem, though, since the hinges were disintegrating with rust. One kick of his boot and the thing swung open. A cat went streaking out through his legs, issuing a loud yowl. Travis took a few seconds to center himself and stepped inside.

The house layout never made sense to him—and still didn’t. There was no entryway or hall. The house simply began with the kitchen. All the furniture was gone, but the terrible green floral wallpaper had stood the test of time, and the floor was yellow with age. The house remained silent, except for the patter of rain on the roof, and Travis half expected to hear the tinny cackle of a television studio audience coming from his father’s room down the hall. That’s where the old man always stayed, leaving Travis to his own devices. Occasionally, they would cross paths on the way to the bathroom, and he swore the frown lines on his father’s face deepened every time, the bitter cascading off him in waves.

“Could I do better than this?”

A mental image of his wretched apartment before Georgie helped him clean made Travis doubtful. Something was prodding him, though. A need he’d never felt before to put down roots, without the visage of his youth haunting him and telling him it wasn’t possible. Why now? Why was he suddenly anxious to shed this final piece of his past so he could start building something new?

Georgie’s smile danced in his head, but he laughed it off. No, a lasting commitment to another person was next level. Wasn’t it? It was enough for now that he wanted stability. To win this job on the network and build a life he could be proud of. A lump built in his throat as he continued to think of Georgie. How she’d felt in his arms this morning. How natural and . . . perfect it felt to start the day with her. And it was impossible to pretend he was at his childhood home for any other reason than making progress within himself. To be better for her. To what end, he didn’t know yet . . . but with the deadline of their agreement fast approaching, the idea of letting her go threatened his sanity.

Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, Travis snatched the cell phone out of his pocket, tapping the number he’d programmed into his favorites years ago. He didn’t get an answer, but the cheerful recording told him to leave a message.

“Hi. Yeah, my name is Travis Ford. I want to speak with someone about a property appraisal.”





Chapter Twenty-Four


He’d decided to pick Georgie up in a limo at the last second.

It wasn’t a power play or a show of influence. No, if he was honest with himself, the eleventh-hour call he’d made to the limousine company stemmed from his need to soak up as much Georgie as possible. No more lying to himself. Since he wouldn’t be able to read her expressions—and, fuck it, touch her—with two hands on the steering wheel, he’d just pulled up in front of her house in a black stretch. Half the neighborhood was out on their lawns by the time he made it up the path. Tonight had a lot of the same merits as prom night. Travis was wearing a tuxedo, he was picking his date up at the door, and tonight was definitely supposed to signal the end of something.

That reminder caused a baseball to get stuck in his throat.

Travis wasn’t ready for this thing with Georgie to end.