Take off your shirt!”
Ignoring the shouted suggestion, Travis clamped his teeth around the pencil in his mouth and focused on the laser leveler in his hand, eventually lowering it to make notations. The major downside to renovating a house was definitely the lack of windows—there was nothing to muffle the outdoor noise. A crowd of around a dozen women and a handful of men had gathered on the curb outside the flip, snapping pictures of Travis with their camera phones—and if the portable Dunkin’ Donuts coffee dispenser was any indication, they were planning on getting comfortable. Yes, safe to say the Date Travis Ford competition was in full swing.
Out of the corner of his eye, Travis watched a petite redhead break from the pack, approaching a clipboard-holding Stephen with a casual air. “So . . . I’m thinking of doing some work in my kitchen this fall.” Her smile broadened. “Do you think I could ask Travis a few questions? I’m trying to decide between vinyl and ceramic tile.”
Blessedly clueless that he was being played, Stephen slapped the clipboard against his thigh. “Look no further. I could talk flooring for hours.”
The redhead’s smile transformed into more of a baring of teeth as Stephen launched into a presentation, complete with hand gestures and his iPhone camera roll.
“Yo, Ford,” one of the freelance workers said, wiping plaster onto the front of his T-shirt. “There’s enough people wanting to see you naked out there, you could crowd-surf over them. I’m personally offended by your bored attitude.”
“And here I thought I was being polite by not showing you up.”
“Please show me up!” He gestured toward the growing crowd. “You are mocking a gift from the Lord God himself.”
With a snort, Travis went back to making measurements. Once upon a time, he would have been front and center, absorbing the attention. Basking in it. As soon as he’d been let go from his final team, he’d learned pretty fucking fast that that kind of superficial admiration was cheap and fleeting. The women who’d once flocked to him had moved on to the next big thing, just like his coach, the team managers, and the fans. None of it had ever been real—and it wasn’t real now.
There was one advantage to having an audience outside. He either ignored them or encouraged them—and it would be a cold day in hell before he did the latter. Pretending he didn’t see the pack of admirers prevented him from looking outside. Across the street to the ramshackle old house of his youth.
Really, there was no need to look. He could picture every square inch of the place. If he lifted his head and glanced out the window, his catcalling fans would be outlined by the drooping roof. The overgrown, sun-scorched lawn. Pretty ironic, wasn’t it? At their backs stood a reminder of how the world really worked. In his parents’ case, love had bred resentment and eventually eaten it whole. For Travis, affection had been given based on his success. Once that was gone, he’d been left alone. Again. Even his stardom hadn’t changed the rules.
Hours later, Stephen had managed to disperse the crowd by lecturing them to death on insulation, allowing Travis to escape the flip without having to turn anyone down for a date. Going from a chauffeured SUV to carpooling in a minivan was a kick in the ass. Travis resisted the urge to hide his face as Stephen took a right turn, bringing them trundling straight down Main Street at happy hour. Port Jefferson natives were either picking up dinner or heading into one of the pubs for the liquid version. After spending the last few days working across the street from his childhood home, Travis wouldn’t have minded a few slugs of whiskey, but he’d have them in the privacy of his own home or not at all. He might have escaped the uncomfortable public interest unscathed today, but its presence had mentally exhausted him.
“Mind telling me why you have a fucking Dodge Grand Caravan?”
Stephen adjusted the air-conditioning from high to higher. “I have a truck I use to transport building materials.”
“Why aren’t we in it?”
“Did you always complain this much?” Travis decided that didn’t need an answer and Stephen wasn’t waiting for one anyway. “I’m trying to get Kristin to give . . . strong consideration to children. I thought this might encourage her.”
Travis frowned as a woman waiting to cross the street blew a kiss at him. “This conversation is above my pay grade.” He could feel Stephen wanting to say more and sighed. “She’s not considering having kids? Isn’t that the first thing a married woman living on Long Island considers?”
“Kristin is complicated,” he explained patiently. “She wants me to work for it.”
“Jesus. She wants you to work for something that will be nothing but work?” Travis chuckled. “How many hoops did you jump through to get a yes to the marriage proposal?”
Stephen growled. “You don’t want to know.”
“You’re right, I don’t. I’ll just be over here thanking God it’s not me.”
“Famous last words,” Stephen murmured, nodding his head at a group of waving women on the sidewalk. “You could be looking at your future bride right now.” He laughed when Travis shivered. “It’ll happen. As long as it’s none of the women in my life, we’ll be good.”
The idea of him settling down was so far-fetched, Travis didn’t even bother addressing it. The mention of the women in Stephen’s life did bring a certain face to mind, though. Georgie’s, to be exact. Over the last couple of days, she’d popped into his consciousness at the weirdest times. Her red nose and damp eyes when she’d opened her front door. That sunny yellow apron she’d forgotten to remove the price tag from. It didn’t seem right that her family hadn’t shown more enthusiasm over her stupid waffles when even Travis had managed to drag his ass out of bed to be there. He’d told himself it wasn’t his place to bring the oversight up to Stephen, but now it was Wednesday, and it was obvious that Georgie wasn’t going to give her brother hell over it.
He thought she might be . . . too hurt. Or something equally unpleasant.
How annoying that it should bother him at all. He just wanted to put his head down, sweat through the depression he’d landed in after getting cut from the league, and move forward without looking left or right. He shouldn’t be concerning himself with the hurt feelings of his friend’s little sister. They were almost to his apartment. If he could just get through one more day without bringing it up, he’d eventually forget about all that food she’d probably spent hours making for no one.
“Speaking of the women in your life, you forgot Georgie’s brunch on Saturday.”
Christ. Had he actually said that out loud?
“What brunch?”
A little spike poked up under his skin. “I was standing right there when she invited you to it, man. We were in your office . . .”
“Right.” A line formed between Stephen’s brows. “And it was last Saturday?”
Travis snorted. “Forget it.”
“Did you go?”
He coughed into his fist. “Yeah.”
“You were alone with my little sister?”
Travis couldn’t roll his eyes hard enough. “Stop clutching your pearls, Grandma. I didn’t go there knowing I was going to be alone with her. I left after half an hour.” He sent his friend a look. “Give me some credit. I’m not in the market for a woman at all, let alone the girl who used to spy on us through binoculars from the tree in your backyard. Your sister’s blessed virtue was safe the whole time.”
Stephen popped his jaw. “I trust you.”
Travis let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was one thing to be the manwhore of the sports world and another to have his best friend distrust him because of that well-earned image. Was it too much to hope that one person found him redeemable? Once again, he couldn’t seem to prevent thoughts of Georgie from popping up. You could never be a joke. “You can make up missing brunch to Georgie by fixing her fireplace. She wants to replace the brick.”
The calculations Stephen was performing in his head were almost audible. “I want to, but we’re on a tight schedule with three flips running at once. Two of my best guys won’t be back until the summer is over, so we’re short-staffed even though you’re gracing us with your moody presence. It’s going to have to wait.”
Travis nodded. There. He’d fulfilled his job by asking. Done.
They pulled off Main Street, traveling down one of the side streets to a three-family house, of which Travis was renting the top floor. The elderly owners who lived on the first floor left him alone, and the middle apartment below him was empty. A far cry from the crowded luxury high-rises he’d lived in all over the map, but right now, the quiet was exactly what he wanted.
“I’ll meet you at the job site tomorrow,” Travis said as they pulled up along the curb. “I can’t ride in this estrogen trap another day and maintain my self-respect.”
Stephen shrugged. “Suit yourself. Don’t be late.” He rubbed his hands together. “Tomorrow is demo day.”
“I won’t sleep a wink,” Travis droned, closing the passenger door behind him. “Thanks.”
The horn tooted as Stephen drove off, making Travis shake his head. He entered on the first floor, climbing the stairs to the top and unlocking the door to his apartment. He’d only managed to shuck his work boots, strip off his dusty shirt, and crack open a beer when a knock sounded on the door. Who the hell? He’d paid the rent a couple months in advance, so it couldn’t be the owners. Unless maybe there was a leak coming from his place? Travis plowed a hand through his hair, unlocked the apartment door—and found Georgie staring back at him, holding two armfuls of groceries.
A different ball cap hid her eyes this time, her standard ponytail sticking out through the back. She wore overalls with a loose T-shirt underneath. He almost closed the door in her face when he saw the script across the front. CLASS OF 2012 RULES!
This veritable girl-child was trying not to look at his bare chest and failing miserably. The combination of her high school memorabilia and the freckles scattered across her nose made him feel like a lecher for offering her the view, whether it had been intentional or not.
Fuck’s sake. He didn’t have time for this. Couldn’t he just drink his beer in peace and forget he’d landed back in his hometown working a construction gig? Getting up in the morning and putting on work boots was enough of an effort when his heart was back in the dugout and aching to be lacing up cleats instead. At the moment, there was no energy left to give.
“Why are you here?”
“Um.” She slipped past him into the apartment before he could stop her. “First of all, hi. Second, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but it’s very hard to cook for one person. They sell things in two portion sizes: family smorgasbord, and enough for two. So I keep ending up with leftovers.” She snuck a nervous look at him over her shoulder and started to unpack the first bag, setting foil-covered plates out on the counter. “You can only eat so much Chinese takeout, right?”
Her comment brought on the memory of her chucking a carton at his head. The damn apartment wasn’t in much better shape than the last time Georgie had been there. His laundry was still spilling out of the hamper in the bedroom doorway, unopened mail and glossy advertisements were scattered on every surface, sticky beverage rings, dust, clutter. It was nasty.
“Are you going to close the door, Travis?”
“No.” He jerked his chin toward the hall. “Because you’re not staying.”
She turned and propped a hip against the counter. “Afraid I’ll drop some more truth on you?”
“No.”
“Because we need to talk about your rat infestation.”
His neck prickled. “I don’t have rats.”
“Not yet.” She went back to unloading food. “This close to the water, though? You’ll have roommates within a week. They’ll be even more annoying than me.”
For some reason, Georgie calling herself annoying made him close the door.
The brim of Georgie’s hat didn’t quite hide her smile. “Okay, so there’s meat ravioli—”
“That works,” he grunted.
“Or chipotle meatloaf.”
His beer paused on the way to his mouth. “What the hell is that? Never mind, I’ll eat it.”
“Both things?”
He gestured to her tiny frame with his beer bottle. “A portion size for you is not the same as a portion size for me, baby girl.” The endearment rolled off his tongue like butter, and Georgie almost dropped one of the plates she was unloading. Why the hell had he called her that? Pet names weren’t unusual for Travis, although he’d never called anyone by this one before. Still, Georgie wasn’t one of the women who’d come and gone from his life at the speed of fastball pitches. She shouldn’t even be here. And he damn sure shouldn’t be calling attention to their size difference or making references to her body type. Not that he could make out a single curve with those overalls hanging loose around her, head to toe. He found nothing about that disappointing. “Look, thank you for stopping by with the food. But I don’t think your brother would appreciate us hanging out.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Why?”
Travis raked a hand down his face. “Come on. You have to know I’ve got something of a . . . reputation where the opposite sex is concerned.” He waited until Georgie looked at him. “Let’s just say it’s well earned.”
“Yes, Two Bats. I’m aware.” She shrugged as if she hadn’t just called out the size of his cock. “But it’s not like we’re going to—”
“No, definitely not.”
“I mean . . .” She winked at him. “I think I’m safe.”
“You are one thousand percent safe.”
“Okay, you don’t have to be quite so adamant. I do have a thimbleful of vanity and I’d like to keep it.”
Travis laughed. An actual laugh that reached his stomach. How long had it been since that happened? Months. Usually he found nothing funny about someone invading his personal space, but having Georgie in his apartment was . . . surprisingly easy. He didn’t even have to be nice to her and she just stuck around anyway. If he’d been required to entertain or charm someone, they would have been sorely disappointed, but she didn’t seem to expect that. Maybe he’d let her stay for a few more minutes.
Ten tops.
“Okay, don’t get weird, but I found this DVD . . .” As if she were unveiling the new iPhone, she pulled out a copy of A League of Their Own with a flourish. “We can put it on in the background while we clean this rat hole.”
Travis plunked his empty beer bottle down on the counter. “You’re insane if you think I’m cleaning tonight. I just spent eight hours framing a two-story addition . . .” He backed away. “Don’t look at me like that, Georgie. My ass is tired.”
“There’s no crying in construction.”
“That’s not funny.”
“You’re right, it was pretty weak. I’m tired, too.” Giving Travis her profile, she hit a couple buttons on the oven, opened the door, and then slid two of the plates onto the center rack. “So I performed at a birthday party this week. The youngest Miller kid?”
Travis went to the fridge to retrieve another beer. “No clue who that is.”
“Really? The parents graduated your year, I think. He’s a ginger. She smokes menthols and always insists she’s quitting tomorrow.”
A long-buried memory from high school trickled in—a group of seniors standing outside the homecoming dance passing around a brown bag with a forty-ounce inside. He could almost smell the cigarette smoke, mint coasting down his throat when he bummed a drag. Travis’s mouth jumped at one end. “That actually rings a bell.”
“I overheard them talking at the party. Ginger Dad is the school principal now, and they’re hoping you’ll come do a demonstration for the team. You know, for inspiration.”
A weight dropped in Travis’s stomach. “Oh yeah?” He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek until it hurt. “A bunch of kids? That’s not exactly my kind of thing.”
“Funny,” she muttered. “That’s precisely my thing.”
“Right.” He massaged his eyes. “The birthday parties.”
“Not just birthday parties.” Georgie shrugged. “I love kids. They’re basically magic little balls of optimism that love you unconditionally. I can’t wait for my own.” As if realizing she’d been speaking out loud, Georgie hastily set a spoon down. “Um. Kids don’t have to be your thing to run a baseball clinic.”
Still a little stuck on Georgie’s announcement that she wanted children, Travis asked, “Aren’t you a little young to want kids so bad?”
“Some people dream about playing in the major leagues, others dream about finger paintings drying over the kitchen sink.” She paused. “I want a career, too, but . . . yeah, I want a big, noisy, happy family. You’ve never wanted that at all?”
“No,” Travis said without hesitation, wondering why the word dropped like an anvil between them. Frankly, the idea of being responsible for a child unnerved him. Already here he was, back in Port Jeff, his professional baseball career a thing of the past. Going nowhere. The similarities were too reminiscent of his father to think he wouldn’t fuck up fatherhood, too. He tried to shake himself back to the topic at hand, but it took an effort.
Run a baseball clinic? Damn. He was surprised by how much he didn’t want to pick up a bat. Jesus, he could barely fathom trying to play the sport he used to live for. Why make the effort when he’d lost too many steps to resemble a shadow of his former self?
“Your brother was just saying it’s the busy season right now.” Feeling Georgie’s searching eyes, he paced into the living room, snagging dirty socks as he went. “Everyone is remodeling before fall temperatures set in, and he’s short a couple guys. I can’t leave him high and dry.”
“You could teach them more in an hour than they’d learn in months from someone else. It wouldn’t have to be right away, either. There’s plenty of time before the season starts.” She smiled at him over her shoulder. “They love you. It would be like a dream come true.”
“Drop it, Georgie.”
Hurt danced across her features before she could turn away and hide it, and she continued to load his fridge with enough food for the next few nights. Travis leveled an inward curse at himself. Hadn’t he wanted people to talk to him about baseball and stop walking on eggshells? This girl had done it twice without any prompting. Where did he get off snapping at her for poking a sore spot he hadn’t even been aware of having?
They could be friends, him and Georgie. That’s what was wrong. He didn’t want one—especially her. She was too young, too positive, and too related to his best friend. For some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from thanking her, though, in his own way. For thinking he was worth her attempts to wave away the gloom. “Listen . . .” She turned hopeful eyes on him and he frowned back. “Pick a day next week and I’ll come take some measurements on that fireplace.”
Her hands flew to her chest, flattening there. “You’re going to redo my fireplace?”
“If you don’t make me clean,” Travis said, crossing his arms.
Georgie threw open the cabinet beneath his kitchen sink and started rooting through whatever cleaning supplies the last tenant had left behind, since he sure as shit hadn’t bought any. “I’ll clean this whole place top to bottom if I’m getting a fireplace out of the deal. Does Tuesday sound good for our appointment?”
“Tuesday, fine. But do you understand the ass kicking I’m inviting from your brother, having you cook and clean for me? Not happening.”
She straightened, examining a bottle of Windex. “You seem to be suffering from the delusion that my brother cares how I spend my time. He just wants me out of the way.”
None of his business. None. “He cares about you.”
Her mouth moved into a little O, and Travis found himself staring at it longer than he should. Apparently this was what happened when he didn’t get laid for months. The closest woman started to look good. That was the only reason his fingers were tingling to unsnap Georgie’s overalls and get a good goddamn look at her. Relieved by that iron-clad reasoning—almost—Travis turned away.
“Fine, let’s both clean this fucking place. That’s the only way this doesn’t bite me in the ass.”
Georgie tilted her head. “You mean rats. It’s the only way rats don’t bite you—”
“Shut up, Georgie.”
“Done.”
She got started shoveling garbage and takeout containers into a black garbage bag while Travis ate yet another round of her amazing cooking, not bothering to hide his exasperation when she snuck A League of Their Own into his DVD player. A few times, when she caught him watching the screen and lifted her chin in sarcastic reproof, Travis got the urge to tickle her. Or ruffle her hair. Things he never would have hesitated to do when they were younger. Something made him keep his hands to himself this time, though. Intuition told him an innocent touch could lead down a distinctly not innocent path—and he wouldn’t be questioning that instinct or exploring it any further.
“Have you managed to avoid the dating competition?” Georgie asked while shoveling old magazines into a trash bag.
“Sort of,” he droned, catcalls from the construction site echoing in his head. “Come to think of it, how do I know you’re not a spy? Or worse, a contestant.” When she came up sputtering, Travis winked to let her know he was joking. “What about your dating situation?”
Before he could berate himself for asking Georgie about something that was damn well none of his business, she laughed. “In a word? Dire. Most of the men I come into contact with are off-the-market fathers. Not a lot of young single men hanging out at princess parties.” She picked up a petrified sock and tapped it against the wall, raising an eyebrow at him. He shrugged. “Maybe you should let the dating competition contestants take a tour of your place. Problem solved.”
“If you’re suggesting we stop cleaning, I’m in.”
“You wish,” she said, dropping the sock into her garbage bag. “We soldier onward. Especially now that you’ve drawn attention to my lack of dates. I have to keep busy now or wallow in pity.”
“Stop.” Travis wiped an unknown substance off the coffee table. “I’d say the problem is everyone in town knows your brother and doesn’t want to piss him off.”
“Again, I assure you, my brother wouldn’t even notice if I started dating.”
Travis watched her work for a moment, remembering not only brunch but the conversation with Stephen in the minivan. “Is it that bad, Georgie?”
She straightened, looking so young and vulnerable that he wondered what was wrong with him, spending time alone with her. Noticing things about her. “Is what that bad?”
Why the hell was he involving himself in this? Travis didn’t know, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “You, uh . . . seem to get left out a lot. Or not considered as much as you should.” He went back to cleaning the table. “Starting to think you weren’t exaggerating.”
When Georgie was silent for a few beats, he looked up to find her staring into space. “Remember when you were at my house the other day and you said it’s no one’s fault, you made yourself a joke?”
“Yeah,” he rasped.
“It’s a little like that for me, too. The family was already solid when I was old enough to be part of the conversation. Like all little kids, I got shushed a lot, so I had to be persistent and annoying to be heard. A pest.” She shrugged. “I’m older now, but the dynamics are the same. I guess it’s easier to let them remain than to try to change them. Because what if I failed? Or what if I really am a pest?”
Travis wanted to tell her she wasn’t a pest, despite his own treatment of her. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, but what if saying so made her comfortable around him? Made her rely on him or view him as a friend? He didn’t want a friend right now, did he? Didn’t want anyone too close. “Families are complicated,” he said, even though it didn’t sound good enough. Wasn’t reassuring in the way her words had been for him. “They probably don’t even know they’re hurting your feelings, baby girl.”
She sighed. “No, I think you’re right about that.”
“I’ve been on teams where one voice always seems to get passed over. When I played on the Hurricanes, they brought a guy up from the minors. A vet. I mean, this guy was in his forties and still grinding. He was dismissed by all the new talent, including me, as an old man. A guy who took decades to be relevant.” He rolled his shoulders. “Right after the injury, I sat beside him in the dugout for several games, and I realized . . . this guy knew more about the game than all of us combined. Pointed out things I never would have seen on my own.” Georgie watched him silently from across the room. “You shouldn’t give up or stop demanding to be heard,” he said, needing to leave her in a better place and having no idea why. “Maybe you just need a different way to make them listen.”
Georgie gave a slow blink. “Thank you for that.”
Refusing to acknowledge his relief that he’d apparently said something right, Travis grunted and went back to tidying. A couple hours later, the credits rolled on the movie to the sound of Madonna’s voice, and Travis realized he’d been standing in the middle of his living room, broom forgotten in hand, for the last twenty minutes. The apartment was pretty damn close to spotless. Where was Georgie?
He found her sprawled facedown on the foot of his bed. Fast asleep.
Travis expected to be annoyed. Instead, he stood there noticing her lack of one sock, as if she’d kicked it off in her sleep. No toenail polish. Her face was pressed to the bedspread and turned to one side, smooshing her face into a pout. If he had any kind of functioning heart left in his chest, he might have found the whole picture she made kind of adorable. Since he didn’t, though, he really needed to figure out how to get her the hell out of there. They had already spent way too much time together. Letting her stay the night at his place crossed a line—and no one on God’s green earth would believe Two Bats had done nothing more with Georgie than clean.
“Hey.” Swallowing a surge of guilt, Travis nudged her shoulder. “Georgie. Wake your ass up.”
“Have you seen Dale?” Georgie muttered in her sleep, clearly nowhere near awake. “I need Dale.”
“Who’s Dale?”
Georgie’s eyes flew open. Her legs scrambled, but she was too close to the edge of the bed, so her knee found no purchase. She flopped onto the floor before Travis could drop the broom and catch her. “Ouch.”
All right. There might have been a dime-sized portion of heart left rattling around inside of him, because the sight of a sleepy, disoriented Georgie with half her ponytail loose had him kneeling before he could think better of it, one of his hands lifted to run over her hair. “You all right, baby girl?”
She yawned so big, he could see her tonsils. “Are we done cleaning?”
For the second time that night, he got the urge to laugh. “We’re done.”
“I should go.”
He swallowed hard. “It’s for the best.”
Travis helped Georgie climb to her feet, having no choice but to grip her waist when she swayed. Not speculating on what’s under her overalls. No, sir, not me. He was ready to insist on driving her home, but she reanimated by the time they reached the front door, like she’d never been asleep at all. It was kind of freaky, actually. Before she could walk out, she turned back and threw him a smile. “I saw you watching the movie.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Good night,” she called, going down the stairs. “The rats should leave you alone now.”
He sighed. “Thank you, Georgie.”
“Me and my fireplace will see you Tuesday.”
When Travis closed the door, he could feel the grudging smile trying to mar his face.
Shaking it off with a curse, he stalked off to bed.
Who the hell was Dale?
