by Tessa Bailey
This was where he was supposed to thank her or find something else to talk about, but he had the urge to confide in her. Wanted to hand her a piece of himself, because he knew she would take care of it. “It’s him, mostly. My father.” He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “My mother was young. She got trapped in a bad marriage and didn’t know how to cope. If he played the same head games with her that he played with me, I don’t fault her for wanting to be anywhere else.”
Georgie wanted to argue, but he winked to let her know he was fine, and she relaxed.
“It’s my dad who got to me,” he said after a moment. “Who . . . gets to me. He made sure I would hear his voice in my head long past the point I should.”
“What does it say?”
He exhaled. “That I’m not as good as I think I am. That I’m a fake.”
She pressed her lips together until they turned white, then let them fill with pink again. “There was nothing fake about the way you slid into home and knocked that ball out of Ted Church’s glove to win the second game of the Series. You’re a part of history. Some people just can’t stand knowing they’re not even a footnote.”
Warmth spread in his stomach. How did she know exactly what he needed to hear? Not some tired platitude, but a real, tangible thing he could recall in his memory and reinterpret through her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Do you think I’m silly and selfish for wanting more from my pretty amazing and semifunctional family when you got nothing from yours?”
“No.” He reached across the table and twined their fingers together without thinking. “No, baby girl. I don’t. You have to fight for what you deserve. What you want is no more or less important than what anyone else wants.”
Georgie studied him for a moment. “When I walked into your apartment that first day, you told me coming back here as a supposed failure made you just like your father.” She shook her head. “You not only tell me but make me feel important . . . How can you think you don’t have the potential to be a hero, on or off the field?”
This time Travis did change the subject. He’d heard a lot of empty idioms throughout his career in sports. The kind of motivation that ends up on a poster in a high school locker room. What she’d said, though, made him think. He might have left his hovel and rejoined society, but part of him had remained in the dark. Every moment spent with Georgie brought him a little further into the light, however.
They talked long after their coffees dwindled, Georgie telling him about plans for a new advertising campaign for her business and a new zombie birthday party theme she was considering. In turn, Travis told her about the time in college his team’s bus had broken down on the way to a game and they’d had their engine serviced by cult members. It felt good to make her laugh. Felt good to laugh with her. By the time he walked her to the exit an hour had passed and he was overdue back at work.
Out in the sunlight, she smiled up at him in a sort of breathless way, a hand restless at her throat. And for the first time since Stephen told Travis that Georgie was in love with him, he actually wondered if it could be true. Did Georgie love him? If so, he should not be spending this kind of time with her. He’d hurt her when they’d both gotten what they wanted—and hurting this girl would kill him.
Travis opened his mouth, intending to tell Georgie what Stephen had told him, praying she would deny it. Right? He didn’t want her in love with him. At all.
“Do I look smitten enough?” Georgie said with a cocked eyebrow, before he could speak. “Our friend is snapping away across the street.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Idiot. Of course she wasn’t in love with him. It was just for the camera, same as it had been since their arrangement started. “I, uh . . . wasn’t sure he’d waited.”
A beat passed. “Are you going to kiss me?”
He wanted to. Her mouth looked ripe and incredible, and she would taste like caramel and Georgie. Why did it suddenly feel wrong to kiss her so it would be immortalized in a picture? “Yeah,” he rasped, leaning down and pausing the barest distance above her lips. “Yeah.”
Georgie’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, cutting a sidelong glance along the street. “Travis?”
Finally, he dropped his mouth to hers and inhaled, pulling deeply on her mouth, barely stopping himself from giving her his tongue. Claiming her. With a serious effort, he eased back, steadying Georgie on her feet. “When am I going to see you again?”
“Um . . .” She blinked. “Will you come to family dinner on Sunday?”
Remembering the vow he’d made to himself to do more to help Georgie, Travis nodded. “I’ll be there.”
She smiled up at him and he bit down on his tongue to keep from kissing her again. “What about you? Any more progress with the network?”
It was proof that his relationship with Georgie was bordering on dangerous that he’d completely forgotten to tell her about the latest call from his agent. He’d totally lost sight of why they were fake dating in the first place. “The head of the network, Kelvin, invited us to dinner at his house. Next week, in Old Westbury.” He watched her face transform with cautious excitement. “That probably means I’m the top candidate—”
“Oh my God, Travis. And this could be the final test.” Her wide eyes turned unreadable. “Things are changing for me already. For the better. If you get the job . . . we wouldn’t have to do this anymore.”
“Have to.” His nod was jerky. “Yeah.” Christ, he needed to get his head together. This dread churning in his stomach was not a good sign. “I’ll let you know the details about dinner,” he said, laying a final peck on her cheek and backing away. “Bye, Georgie.”
“Bye, Travis,” she called over her shoulder as she sailed across the street, scarf clutched to her chest. “You did it, by the way!” she said—a little too brightly?—giving him one final look before turning to leave. “I’m in a great mood!”
That made one of them.
Chapter Seventeen
Well, this was fucking awkward.
Stephen frowned at Travis from across the Castle family living room, bottle of beer in a white-knuckled grip. They’d worked together a handful of times on the flip since news outlets had started splashing pictures of him and Georgie across their pages, but they’d avoided conversation that didn’t involve building materials or floor plans. Grunts, pointing, and manly throat clearing had become their communication method of choice. Which worked on a noisy construction site, but not so well in a quiet living room.
Restless, Travis started to pace in front of the fireplace. Where was she?
The front door opened and Travis’s muscles tightened, but Bethany breezed into the house instead of her sister. Travis hadn’t seen Bethany since high school, although he remembered her well. And he wasn’t fooled for a second by her bright smile. She hated his guts. If he recalled correctly, she’d written You’ll get yours, playboy scum in his yearbook.
“So good to see you, Travis,” Bethany enthused. “Thank you for taking a break from your busy schedule of ruining the lives of women to be here.”
“Please.” Ignoring the hollowness in his stomach, Travis saluted his beer. “It’s the least I can do.”
She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Selfless as always.”
Kristin bounced out of the kitchen and stopped in front of Stephen, popping a canapé into his mouth. Chewing, he grumbled, “If anyone should be taking shots at him, it should be me.”
“Teamwork is key in this family.” Bethany set her purse down and dusted off the arms of her blouse. “While we have you to ourselves, I should tell you I am completely fine with you dating Georgie.”
Travis raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh, I can tell.”
“She’s smart. Funny. Selfless.” Bethany ticked Georgie’s merits off on her fingers. “And she’s taken charge of her sexuality.”
Stephen interjected a loud sigh. “Gross.”
“As soon as this whole business is finished, she’ll be wading through options.” Ano
ther brush of her sleeve. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Travis’s stomach pitched. In the kitchen, pots and pans banged together loudly, mingling with the Castles’ signature bickering. Sights and sounds from his youth, and he was grateful for them now, because they distracted him from his seasickness. Georgie dating other men. Recognizing the best thing to ever happen to them, they would lock her down in a heartbeat. Travis would be nothing more than a stepping-stone. In the past. Before Bethany could rain down another blow, the front door opened again.
In the split second before he saw Georgie, he was hit with anticipation and . . . joy. Yeah, joy. Everything would be fine now. She was here with her wit and funny facial expressions and that way she looked at him. Like she understood his every thought without him even opening his mouth. That was before he saw her.
Holy motherfucking shit, Georgie, are you trying to murder me?
She looked so good it hurt. As in his dick. Hurt.
Why? The long-sleeved dress wasn’t even revealing. The V-neck showed off the swell of her tits, but the buttons came up high enough that you couldn’t classify what was showing as cleavage. No, it was the high hem at the bottom that made his mouth water. The yellow dress was loose around her thighs, but it showed so damn much of them, he wanted to cry. He was scared of her turning around. Didn’t even want to know where that hem hit her ass. Were her legs always so shiny—
Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute. They’d been waxed.
These were lounging-poolside-at-a-resort-in-Vegas legs. Which led him to a seriously disconcerting question. What else had she gotten waxed?
“Georgie,” Kristin said, clapping her hands together. “Look at you.”
Bethany put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. “Hide your sons, Port Jefferson,” she drawled, sending Travis a wink. “A fashionably late entrance and everything. The student has become the master.”
“More like I got caught talking to Mrs. Casey about a party for her triplets.” Georgie set down the bottle of wine she’d carried in, her eyes briefly landing on Travis. A red blush overtook her face and, goddamn, that uncalculated reaction increased his hunger tenfold. This girl could make a man crawl and had no idea. “She wants an underwater theme, so apparently I’ll be wearing a snorkel and flippers.”
“Do they make clown bathing suits?” Bethany said on a laugh.
“No,” Travis growled. “They don’t.”
Everyone stared at him, including Georgie. He liked having her undivided attention. Putting himself in this awkward situation was worth it just to have her look at him, ground him, show him that rare, honest quality he couldn’t get anywhere else. Yeah, he was staring, too, so he was grateful when Vivian and Morty ambled out of the kitchen with yet another cheese plate.
“I’ll carry it,” Vivian said out of the side of her mouth. “That way you’ll stop eating olives before everyone has a chance to see my masterpiece.”
“It’s food,” Morty pointed out, patting his pocket for his eyeglasses. “Food is supposed to be eaten, not styled.”
Vivian skidded to a halt and thrust the cheese plate at her husband. “Georgie! Is that a dress? Are you wearing a dress?”
“Is that what this is?” Georgie looked down. “I must have worn it by mistake.”
“No! No mistake.” Vivian circled around the back of her daughter. “Oh, excuse me. Someone’s got a pair of pins. And not the kind that go in your hair. What do you think, Travis?”
“Don’t answer that,” Stephen called, draining his beer.
“Mom,” Georgie groaned. “You’re pretty much ensuring I never wear another dress again in this house.”
“My lips are zipped.” Vivian patted her hair and grabbed the cheese plate from Morty, just in time to thwart his olive stealing. “I just think it’s nice, Georgie bringing a date to Sunday dinner. I don’t mind the short notice at all. About the extra place setting or the actual relationship. I find out things when I find them out, I guess. That’s a mother’s lot in life.”
Travis almost laughed as all three siblings traded a wince.
“Dinner is almost ready,” Vivian said breezily. “Everyone have a glass of wine and relax, okay? This is so nice. All our kids in one place.”
The Castles disappeared back into the kitchen.
“Stephen,” Kristin said, tugging on her husband’s arm. “I have some cupcakes out in the car. Can you help me carry them in? I made enough to feed two armies.”
Stephen eyed Travis and Georgie, obviously dubious about leaving them alone. “Sure, honey.”
“Nope, I’m not going to be the third wheel. I’ll go make a call,” Bethany muttered, sliding the glass door open and dipping into the backyard. And that was how Travis and Georgie ended up alone in the space of minutes. The turn of events sent his pulse thrumming, made his blood heat. Not helpful. Nothing could come of it. There would be no relief. Their objective was to convince the outside world they were dating, not to satisfy each other with touches. Or kisses. There was an attraction here, but he wouldn’t act on it. Not when moving on was inevitable.
Travis couldn’t make himself issue any of these warnings out loud, though, as Georgie crossed the living room in his direction, her legs giving a sexy little flex beneath that fluttery hemline. Had he once actually referred to her legs as normal? I was a fucking idiot. They were petite and lithe and the color of warm sand. He wanted to . . .
Georgie stopped in front of him, hijacking his thoughts. Pretty. So pretty with her chewed-on lips and sun-kissed nose. Had she been outside? Maybe it was the way she only reached his shoulder that sent protectiveness surging up to his jugular, while somehow—at the very same time—he wanted to seek refuge in her.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Georgie whispered something to herself that Travis couldn’t hear and shifted side to side. Before he could ask her to repeat it, she touched him. Georgie touched him and there wasn’t a single camera around. She placed her flattened palms on his pecs and . . . her lips parting on a nervous breath . . . she slid them up and around his neck, bringing their bodies flush.
“What are you doing?” Travis said hoarsely, the impact of her unexpected touch making him unsteady on his feet. “Georgie—”
She’d gone up on her tiptoes in order to get her arms around his neck. When she wobbled a little, Travis could do nothing but wrap a protective arm around her back. The other followed, tugging her tight against him. His mouth found its way into her hair, exhaling, every inch of him reacting to having her body molded to his hard planes so securely. The chaos that had been churning inside him all week settled, while a different kind of commotion took shape. She parted her lips against his neck and his groin tightened to the point of pain.
Oh my God.
“What is this?”
“We’re hugging,” Georgie whispered, her lips brushing his skin again. “That’s all.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t talk to me in that innocent voice. Not when all your sweetest parts are pressed up against me in that cock-tease dress.” Trying and failing to maintain an awareness of their surroundings, Travis angled his hips and listened to her breath stutter. “You’re turning me on and you’re very aware of it.”
“Am I?” Georgie leaned back just enough to study his mouth for one beat, two. “I’m trying to be authentic. Isn’t this how a girlfriend greets her boyfriend?”
A low thudding began and spread throughout Travis. In his heart, testicles. Hell, both. Simultaneously. They both hurt like a son of a bitch, so all Travis could manage was a gruff “How would I know?”
Georgie ran her hands up his shoulders, cupping the sides of his face. “I’m glad you’re here. I like having you around.”
With those words hanging in the air, Georgie shifted out of his hold and left the living room, sauntering into the dining room like a certified seductress. The pulse in Travis’s ears hammered nine times for every one of her steps, his hands bereft without the privilege of touching her. What in t
he ever-loving hell had just taken place? He’d been prepared for an uneasy dinner, considering her siblings wanted to lop his head off with an ax. Instead, she’d walked in here and completely thrown him off-balance.
As if in a trance, Travis joined Georgie in the dining room. As a young man, he’d always sat between Stephen and Morty, but the seat beside Georgie had been left open this time. They traded a look as he sat down, more of that sweet blush darkening her skin and making his tongue feel heavy. They should talk, shouldn’t they? Unfortunately, they weren’t alone for more than a couple seconds. Morty and Vivian came in shoulder to shoulder, bumping off each other like tethered planets, both of them trying to carry the platter holding a roast. Bethany slunk in and fell into her seat across from Georgie—but Travis was focused on Georgie and therefore saw only the look of concern she sent her older sister, followed by a bolstering smile. Something was up.
“All right.” Stephen stomped into the dining room and sat to the right of Morty, Kristin floating to the chair beside her husband and perching with a beaming grin. “Bethany, you called this dinner. What’s your gripe?”
“Who says there has to be a gripe?” Vivian protested from the opposite head of the table, wineglass poised in midair. “Can we not exchange pleasantries first? Your sister wore a dress, Stephen—tell her she looks nice.”
Georgie hid her face behind a napkin. “Oh God. Mom.”
Stephen sighed. “You look nice, Georgie. Yellow suits you.”
“Well, it’s no clown suit . . .” Morty started, laughing at his own sarcasm.
The rosy glow faded from Georgie’s cheeks and Travis frowned. Before he could say something in her defense—what, he didn’t know—Stephen spoke up again. “Is it this women’s club that’s got you dressing up? Or him?”
“It’s not a women’s club.” Bethany drilled her brother with a look. “We don’t meet to do makeovers, you moron. We’re not twelve.”
“I’m just saying, Georgie, you were fine in the overalls and the . . .” Stephen wiggled his fingers above his head, making reference to Georgie’s missing messy bun. “Seems like someone should like you for yourself, not how you look.”
