Fix Her Up: A Novel
Fix Her Up: Chapter 16

Georgie slicked paste onto the final cutout for her zombie birthday party vision board, placing the green slime recipe just below a scene involving dry ice and a strobe light. Hello, next-level birthday party. She could see it now. Kids draped in medical gauze and fake guts walking in slow motion through the backyard, trying to complete the apocalypse scavenger hunt before time ran out. Until now, she’d been entertaining the five and below set, but it occurred to Georgie she was missing out on the older kids. They wouldn’t scare as easily, and zombies never went out of style. She couldn’t wait to put this option on the website.

The doorbell rang and Georgie leaped from her position on the living room floor into a battle stance, a scream lodged in her throat.

So much for the under fives being the scaredy-cats.

Gathering her composure, Georgie made her way to the door and opened it. There was no one on the other side, but whoever had rung the bell had left something behind. Even after she stooped down to pick the object up, it took her a minute to realize what it was.

A trophy had been left on her front porch. It was cheap and garish, with a little plaque on the bottom that read WINNER, TRAVIS FORD DATING CONTEST. Upper lip curled in disgust, she searched her cul-de-sac for whoever had left the unwanted object and spotted no one. With a sniff of indignation, she slammed the front door of her house, entered the kitchen, and shoved the trophy as deep as it would go in the garbage, burying it beneath coffee grounds and eggshells.

When the deed was done, Georgie paced her kitchen. The trophy made her even more determined to show Travis his worth—and she needed to act. Now.

Unplugging her phone from the charger, she meandered her way into the living room, plopping down into a cross-legged position on the floor. Georgie had texted boys before—she wasn’t a total newbie. Having always been the type to get friend-zoned, she’d never phone flirted, though. But if she was going to clue Travis in to his own potential, she’d reasoned it was better to dip in a digital toe, instead of diving right into the deep end.

Georgie rubbed the phone against her lips, trying to conjure the perfect, easy breezy text message. She couldn’t make her ulterior motives obvious, but she wanted him to talk to her like . . . a boyfriend. A real one. The key would be for her to remember their relationship was all for show and nothing more. She frowned as she dropped the phone into her lap, her fingers moving over the screen.

G: Heyyy youuu.

Deleted.

G: Hey, did you call me? Sorry I missed it. While I already have you . . . wanna talk flavored lube?

Nope.

G: I hear sea salt caramel mochas put people in a good mood. If you’re free, I’ll let you put me in one.

“Dude, that’s pretty bleeping good,” she murmured, her finger hovering over the send button. “Dare I send this perfectly crafted text message, or do I chicken out?”

She tipped her face up toward the ceiling and breathed deeply through her nose, dropping her thumb to the blue icon. Sent. There, it was done. She’d invited Travis for an afternoon coffee date and he could very well say no—

Georgie’s phone vibrated and she snatched it up off the floor.

T: What was that?

G: What was what?

T: A very flirtatious tone, Miss Castle. Don’t think I missed it.

G: Are you going to put me in a good mood? Or do I have to do it myself?

Wait. Was that flirty or sexual? Flirty. Probably. No, definitely flirty. As soon as she sent the message, Georgie fell back onto her area rug and closed-mouthed squealed. Oh my God. This was why her friends in college had walked around in a hormonal haze. There was something exhilarating about making yourself vulnerable to the opposite sex. And the anticipation of their reaction? It was like a free fall. A little voice in the back of Georgie’s mind told her it wouldn’t feel like this with just anyone, but she ignored it and lifted her phone as it buzzed again.

T: Your good mood is better when I’m the one giving it to you. Grinders in 20.

“Twenty minutes?” Georgie was off the floor like a shot, stumbling on her way to the bedroom and pulling out the first outfit she spied upon opening her dresser drawer. A jean skirt and a blue tank top. She stripped off her yoga pants and T-shirt, shoving her body into the new clothes, ripping off the tags as she kicked open her closet in a search for shoes. A moment later, she jogged down the hallway, her sandals slapping off the hardwood floor—and out the house she went.

It wasn’t until she parked at Grinders did she remember a bra.

Or remember she’d forgotten to wear one, rather.

If there wasn’t a camera on Travis’s tail again today, he wouldn’t have agreed to the coffee date. At least that’s what he continued to tell himself as he parked outside Grinders and watched the white Escalade pull along the curb across the street. He wasn’t here simply to get his Georgie fix. Or because she’d given him a hard-on via text. This was about business. His agent was excited about his chances of getting the job. Hell, he was calling more than he had while Travis was in the league. He was in the position to be their top pick. But he needed her to make it happen.

He scanned the street for Georgie. Despite his eagerness to lay eyes on her, he nursed a dose of guilt. This plan of theirs felt like it was benefiting him far more than her. Sure, everyone in town—and beyond—was buzzing about how she’d defended him in the Waterfront the other night. Most of the headlines ran along the lines of “Don’t Mess with Two Bats’s New Girlfriend.” A lot of men might have felt like their masculinity was being challenged by having a woman come to their rescue, but goddamn, Travis felt the exact opposite. This warm glow wouldn’t dissipate, no matter how much time passed.

He needed to give something back to Georgie, to make fake dating him worth her while. Her family was the main reason she’d struck her end of the bargain, wasn’t it? When would he get to return the favor she’d done for him the other night? Simply taking her out for drinks or coffee didn’t seem adequate.

The fingers he’d been tapping on his thigh stilled when he spied Georgie crossing the street. Christ Almighty, she looked sexy as hell for a midweek coffee date. That skirt was pure sin wrapped around her hips and ass—but why was she wearing a scarf?

Travis pushed out of the truck with an eyebrow cocked. “You realize it’s summer, right?”

“Yes,” she returned quickly, stopping on the other side of the vehicle’s door, which was open between them. “I’m cold.”

Concern trickled in. “Are you getting sick?”

She visibly latched onto that. “Probably. That’s probably it.”

Again, the need to do more for her prodded Travis. His rule about avoiding being alone with her went right out the window in the face of her needing help. Needing him. “Let me take you home, then. I’ve got a smoothie recipe that’ll help ward it off. Used to make them before games when I felt myself getting a travel bug.” Before he could stop himself, he reached over the top of the door and twisted a piece of her hair around his finger. “Sound good, baby girl?”

Georgie swayed a little but seemed to catch herself. “Is there a camera?”

“A what?” It took a moment for her meaning to penetrate. “Oh. Yes. White Escalade.”

Did he imagine the spark dimming in her eyes? Her head dipped before Travis could make a judgment, Georgie coming around the open door of the truck and wrapping her arms around his waist. The perfect melding of her curves to his planes almost took the wind out of him. All he could do was focus on keeping his breathing even as he dropped his mouth to leave a kiss on the crown of her head. She snuggled closer—no, he pulled her closer. When had he started hugging her so tightly?

“I lied about getting sick,” she said, her words muffled by his chest.

Relieved and confused at the same time, Travis laid his cheek on top of her head, telling himself it was all for the pictures. “Why?”

Georgie pulled back a couple of inches, casting a glance over his shoulder at the photographer. “I’m wearing a scarf because I forgot to put on a bra.”

Before he could guess her intentions, she unknotted the scarf and tugged it open. Travis groaned, low and heavy, his dick bulging in his jeans. Taller than Georgie as he was, he could see way more than the swell of her tits. Way more than the outline of her tight nipples where they strained against the light blue cotton of her tank top. He could see straight down the middle of her cleavage to the flat stomach beneath. “Jesus, put the scarf back on. You might as well be naked.”

Pink stained her cheeks as she covered herself again. “You should give a woman more than twenty minutes to get ready.”

Travis let his exasperation show. “You texted me, Georgie.”

“I didn’t expect you to want to put me in a good mood right then and there.”

“Stop telling me to put you in a good mood,” he growled, backing her against the still-open door. “Or I’m going to do it.”

“Family network,” she breathed, pushing at his shoulder.

Nice to meet you, blue balls. Travis stepped back and dragged a hand down his face. “Let’s go inside.”

“Good idea.”

He watched Georgie put a smile on her face with visible effort, moving out of the way so he could close the door. Once he’d locked the door, she reached out for his hand, leaning into his shoulder as he took it, the whole boyfriend-girlfriend dynamic feeling far too real. He held the door as she passed him into Grinders, which was mostly empty in the post-lunch, predinner no-man’s-land. With no one there to witness them together, the realness of them hit home even more, but he found himself distracted from that worry by Georgie’s pursed lips as she read the posted menu. The way she shifted around and licked her lips, waiting for the girl to take their order, so fresh and sweet looking he couldn’t help speculating on how her neck would taste. Or the inside of her wrist.

A few minutes later, they were sitting across from each other at a table.

“Do you want to see my boobs again?”

Travis almost spit out the first sip of his sea salt caramel mocha. “What?”

She laughed into her own sip. “I’m just kidding. You look all tense.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay,” she returned, mimicking his deep voice. “Would you really have taken me home and preemptively nursed me back to health?”

“I would have made you a smoothie,” he corrected her.

“That’s nursing. You would have nursed.”

He was caught between laughing and shaking his head. “I have no idea what being nursed back to health is like. Not unless it includes physical therapy or an ice bath.”

Here he was again, telling Georgie things he never expected to hear outside of his own mind. She didn’t make him regret it, though. She only looked back at him in a solemn way, as if taking it in. Taking him in. Being in the moment together without expectations or disappointment that he wasn’t the famous athlete she’d seen on television.

“Have you spoken to your parents since you came back to Port Jeff?”

“No.” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest, as if to hide the sudden rattle taking place in his rib cage. “Actually, I haven’t talked to them since I left for college.”

“Almost a decade?” she whispered, looking stricken. “I was younger and kind of oblivious during the divorce and after. I’m sorry things never got better between them and you.”

“I’m not.”

Now that he’d made it uncomfortable, he waited for her to drop the subject, but she didn’t. “Did you ever wonder in the middle of a game if they were watching?”

Travis chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah,” he finally heard himself admit. Out loud. It hadn’t been just once, either. “Every game.”

He heard Georgie swallow from across the table. “They should have. They should have been watching like proud parents. They should be proud of you right now, Travis. It’s not easy to start over.”

This was where he was supposed to thank her or replace 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.