by Tessa Bailey
Okay, fine. Keeping things platonic was necessary for her self-preservation.
For the next little while, she was Travis Ford’s pretend girlfriend. Pretend. As long as she could remember that, she would walk away from this arrangement with the reputation of a woman of the world. Her heart wouldn’t be a crumbled mess, either. As long as she held this part of herself back.
“Why do you look relieved about the no-sex thing?” He massaged the center of his forehead. “Jesus Christ, Georgie, you are confusing.”
“How do you want me to react?”
“I don’t have a fucking clue,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Let’s go get a drink.”
“What? Now?”
“Yeah.” After the smallest hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her forehead, his audible swallow echoing her own. “We’ve got a camera following us. No better time than the present.”
“Oh, right.” She forced a flirtatious smile but never felt it reach her eyes. “There. I’m smitten.”
“Great,” he said drily. “I’ll meet you at the Waterfront.”
“Ooh.” She twisted side to side. “Fancy, fancy—”
“Too much.”
She scowled at him.
His mouth twitched. “Not enough.”
“Oh, get out of here,” she grumbled, shoving him away.
“Just right,” Travis called on the way to his truck, throwing a smile back over his shoulder that almost melted her into the pavement. “Drive safe, baby girl.”
Chapter Fourteen
Travis had an ulterior motive for asking Georgie to get a drink while she was still wearing her clown suit: it would be a lot easier to keep his hands off her in a shapeless polyester tent. Unfortunately, she’d texted him that she’d gone home to change, so he’d been waiting in the restaurant parking lot for twenty minutes with a mounting sense of doom, wondering if she’d show up wearing the skirt again. The one she’d wiggled out of in his bedroom before he’d thrown her down and humped her to an orgasm. He’d been thinking about sliding his hands beneath that skirt way too often lately.
Including right now.
Had the camera given him an excuse to get a little closer to Georgie than he should? Probably. Without that safety net sitting fifty yards away, he probably wouldn’t have risked tipping her chin up so he could clean the makeup off her face. Not kissing her had been a battle, camera or not. He’d found himself wanting to lean in and demand to know what was inside her head.
Was she over the crush?
Yes. The answer was obviously yes. He’d been around plenty of women with an affinity for him and none of them called him on his bullshit like Georgie. None of them challenged or motivated him. When a woman wanted a man, she flirted, right? There was a dance involved. She sure as hell didn’t come right out and propose he teach her about the adult arts. Didn’t that imply she would use those lessons . . . elsewhere at some point?
Travis realized his hands were strangling the steering wheel and forced himself to let go.
Yeah. There was nothing to worry about in terms of Georgie’s past crush. He was not the boy she’d watched from the bleachers. Or the man she’d watched hit home runs from her living room floor. He was a three-dimensional asshole and completely wrong for her—a girl who aspired to start a family and make magic memories.
He was completely wrong for anyone.
Travis tipped his head back, resting it against the driver’s seat. He was walking a dangerous line here by pretending to date Georgie. They needed to make it convincing in public, but not in private. He could not compromise on that, no matter how much he was tempted to do otherwise. And fuck, he was tempted. Might as well admit it. She could turn him on in a goddamn clown suit. As if that wasn’t enough to scare him, since being reintroduced to Georgie the adult, he’d run the gamut of feeling protective, possessive, and straight-up missing her.
But there was a game plan. He just needed to stick to it. Most importantly: to not sleep with her if they ended up alone. In fact, he needed to avoid being alone with her at all costs. No reason to tempt temptation itself. If he could keep his pants zipped for a couple weeks—tops—he’d be Mr. Wholesome and land himself the commentator position. And he could walk away without worrying that Georgie had grown attached.
Done.
Travis swallowed a lump in his throat and checked his mirror. The reporter in his blue Honda lay in wait a few parking spaces away, most likely thumbing through the pictures he’d already captured of Travis and Georgie. They were in it now. No turning back. If they hadn’t already set every tongue in town wagging after the birthday party, they would as soon as they walked into the restaurant together. He’d intentionally chosen the Waterfront because it was the busiest spot in Port Jefferson and had been since his youth. With an eatery in back and a bustling bar in front, it catered to young and old. With the sun setting on Saturday night, everyone would be meeting at the Waterfront for a quick dinner and a few drinks, before pub-crawling their way to a Sunday hangover—a Long Island tradition.
Headlights bounced off the interior of Travis’s truck. Georgie’s car.
Travis opened the driver’s-side door and climbed out, turning to lean up against it. By Georgie’s third attempt to back into a parking space, Travis was shaking his head.
He was prepared to question why she didn’t simply pull in headfirst, but the words died on Travis’s lips when Georgie came into view. No skirt this time, but he felt that low stirring in his belly regardless. Maybe even stronger this time around. She’d traded her clown suit for a loose summer dress and sandals that crisscrossed up her legs and tied below the knee. Hair that she’d hidden beneath an orange wig earlier was in a braid that sat on one shoulder. As she drew closer, he noticed a light sheen on her lips that made him think of bites taken from fresh fruit.
Every inch the sweet girl next door . . . until he let himself notice her tits. Kill me now. They’d been pushed up and separated and put on display in the V of her dress. Why couldn’t he look at her body and remain objective? He’d never had this problem before. Much of his life had been spent crossing paths with gorgeous women, but this one made him feel like his clothes fit wrong.
A young guy walking past her in the parking lot did a double take. After tugging an earphone out of his ear, he said hello. As in hel-lo.
“Hi,” she said back, slowing to a stop and looking at the man with an oblivious expression. “Did you need something?”
Clearly shocked that his skeevy hello had earned him a positive response, the guy backed up like a dog who’d spotted a stray treat. “Now that you mention it—”
“No, he doesn’t need anything. Christ.” Travis inserted himself between Georgie and the idiot, pulling her up against his side. His irritation plummeted when he saw Georgie was genuinely confused. “He thinks you are attractive, Georgie. He just did a shit job of letting you know it.”
“Ohhh.” Travis watched Georgie clock the reporter stationed a few spots down. “And . . .” She gave him a conspiratorial nudge. “What would be the right way?”
They weren’t even inside the restaurant yet and the danger line was blurring. It was enough to walk into the establishment holding Georgie’s hand. Buy her drinks. Put an arm around her shoulders. People inside would get the hint and so would anyone who saw the resulting pictures. He didn’t need to lean in as he was doing now, his palm sliding down her bare arm to twine their fingers together. He didn’t need to draw those fingers to his mouth and kiss them. Twice. Slow. “You look fucking beautiful.”
“You’re right,” she breathed, staring at the knuckles he was still holding. “That is definitely the right way.”
With the taste of her on his lips, taunting him for his lack of control, Travis turned and dragged her toward the restaurant. “Now you know.”
“Wait.” She still sounded breathless. “Shouldn’t we, like . . . reconnoiter?”
He stopped and faced her. “What?”
“Reconnoiter. You kn
ow . . .” She spoke in a hush out of the side of her mouth. “Perform recon. See who’s in there. Form a game plan.”
“I have a game plan.”
She widened her eyes at him. “Care to share? I’m one-half of this team.”
A flash went off over Georgie’s shoulder. “We look like we’re having an argument.”
“Trouble in paradise. Today on TMZ.” She crossed her eyes at Travis and he found himself fighting a smile. “We will be having an argument if you don’t clue me in. I’ve never had a real boyfriend, let alone a fake one.”
“You didn’t need to remind me.”
“Harsh.”
Travis lost his smile. “I didn’t mean it to sound harsh, Georgie. Only that I’m aware how much more experience I have than you.”
She gave a dainty tug of her earlobe. “And you’ve had an official girlfriend?”
Knowing he’d been bested, he narrowed his eyes at her. “Point taken. I still know how to convince whoever is watching that you’re mine.”
Did he imagine her shiver? “How?”
His body’s response to that single word was chemical. This woman whose body called to him on an insane level wanted to know, in explicit terms, how he planned to put a claim on her. How he would lead everyone to believe they were regularly sweating up the sheets. It was curiosity on Georgie’s part, but his blood couldn’t help heating at the perceived challenge. Couldn’t help heating at all of her. The inquisitive eyes and secret smile that, dammit, really made him feel like they were on a team. Her tits. God, yes, her tits. The glow of the streetlamps on either side of the entrance made them look soft and touchable. It didn’t help knowing she’d never had her nipples sucked before him and had gasped and squirmed the first time it happened. Maybe he couldn’t be the one to suck them the next time, but letting everyone think he had would have to suffice.
“Come here.”
This time she definitely shivered in reaction to his change in tone. She stepped forward, fingering the end of her braid, and Travis stayed right where he was, head tilted, waiting until a sliver of paper couldn’t fit between their bodies. Her heat rolled into his belly and journeyed lower, waking up hunger he needed to be ashamed about, but couldn’t seem to stop when they were face-to-face. His arm moved on its own, snaking around the small of her back and tugging her tight against his body. “You want to know how I’m going to let everyone know you’re mine, huh?”
Georgie pushed against his chest and backed up. “No.”
Denial crammed his belly full. “No?”
She gave him a meaningful look. “Did you already forget this position you want is at a family-friendly network?” Her eyelids fluttered. “You shouldn’t be looking at me like that.”
Fuck. How did he continue to lose his common sense around this girl? Why couldn’t he look at Georgie and see all the logical reasons that being in a physical relationship with her would be bad?
Not to mention, she was right. Being caught making out with yet another woman on camera was a good way to get his name crossed off the short list.
Yet another woman.
He didn’t want to admit to himself that Georgie felt like anything but.
Travis gave a tight nod and led her into the Waterfront, camera flashes going off in their wake. Apart from the music pumping over the loudspeaker in the bar area, the room slowly turned dead silent. No one spoke or moved as Travis guided Georgie to the closest open stools. He could feel the eyes on them—knew she must, too—but she didn’t take her attention off him once. It set the organ in his chest to pounding, and by the time he boosted her sideways onto the stool, the conversation they’d been having completely eluded him. “Uh.” He swallowed. “What do you drink?”
“I’m rusty on ordering drinks. Most of the parties I’m invited to only serve Capri Suns.” She licked her lips in slow motion. At least that’s how it happened in his head. “My go-to in college was vodka and lemonade.”
“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 Ve
gas 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?”
“No.” He heard her swallow. “Because you’re thinking about me naked, not Mr. Zeta-Jones.”
I definitely am now, baby girl. Thinking of her in that little golden thong he’d seen in one of her shopping bags, how it would look between her ass cheeks. How she’d been on her way to a date with another man with those shopping bags. Jealousy trickled into his gut again—an emotion he was neither used to nor adept at handling. Not by a long shot. The fact that he could get jealous over this girl at all was bad news.
With a warning echoing in his head, Travis stepped back from Georgie and took a long sip of his beer, forcing himself to stop staring at her and pay attention to the bar instead. As he’d expected, the photographer had followed them inside and was now taking “discreet” cell phone pictures on the other side of the room. Several patrons were watching them, some he even recognized from the past or since he’d returned to Port Jeff. There was some head shaking going on, but mostly gleeful curiosity.
