He nods but says nothing and, all of a sudden, I notice the thin rim of gold that circles his irises. The air around us seems to heat and my head starts to spin. I draw in a deep breath trying to get my thoughts in order, but all I do is pull in the scent of sawdust and pine. It always reminds me of Travis. But right now, his gaze dips down, then right back up. Did he just look at my lips…like he wanted to kiss me?
Heat rolls through me like a slow, lazy breeze, warming my blood and leaving me even more breathless. I find myself leaning in close, needing this closeness, needing something…I don’t know what.
There’s a knock at the door, loud, obtrusive and whoever it is should get a raise, because I almost kissed Travis. My cohost and best friend’s brother.
Her younger brother.
Jesus.
I sit back and release Travis’ hands.
“Yes,” I call out, not missing the breathless quality of my voice.
The door opens and one of the gophers—I think his name is Phil—stands there with an irritated look on his face. “You guys need to get your makeup done, and we need to go over the schedule for today.”
“Sure thing. We’ll be there in a second.”
“You’re already late.”
“Well, I guess I can forgo changing my tampon, but I thought maybe that was important.”
The little ass pales a bit and I try not to laugh. “Fine. Hurry up though.”
He slams the door and there is a long moment of silence before a rusty laugh escapes Travis. I look at him.
“I take it that was a lie?”
I smile at him. “Tell a man something like that, and there’s a good chance he won’t argue with you.” Our smiles fade just a little. “So, ready to do this?”
He draws in a deep breath, then releases it slowly. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Always remember we’re in this together.”
He nods, his gaze locked with mine. The determination I see there sends another wave of heat running through my blood. “Together.”
Present Day
My phone vibrating on the counter pulls me out of my thoughts, but it is, thankfully, no one I am related to by blood.
Syd: I’m sorry.
Me: Why? What did you do?
Syd: Just remember I’m only looking out for you.
Oh, damn.
Before I can respond, there’s a knock at my door, then my phone buzzes again.
Mrs. Peterson: Travis is at your door.
Jesus. I roll my eyes. Like I need someone to tell me that. I don’t move immediately. Maybe if I’m quiet, he’ll just leave. I know it’s cowardly, but right now, I don’t want to face him and everything he brings with him. Those memories I just sifted through left me raw, my emotions even more ragged than when I walked out of the party yesterday.
God, was that just yesterday?
The knocking starts up again, then, “You know the LOLs will report you wouldn’t let me in, and then you’ll have to deal with the questions.”
Dammit. He’s right and I hate it. I hate everything about this, especially because my heart is still bleeding. I draw in a deep breath and shoot off a text to Syd.
Me: You are in so much trouble.
I know that she’s trying to fix things for us, make it work so that we can save the show. It isn’t just a job to her, not our show. She loves us both. So it comes out of a good place, but it still pisses me off. I need to heal, and this isn’t going to help.
I walk to the front door, pause briefly, then open it. And there he is. Standing so tall and beautiful, the late afternoon sun adding a bit of a glow behind him. Really, universe? You’re working against me making him look like some kind of photoshopped cover model for one of those romance books with bearded heroes that our friend EJ sells in her bookstore. Life is so not fair.
He’s dressed in his usual way. An old t-shirt, a little worn, which just adds to the charm. It molds to his arms, showing off the corded muscle, and stretching across his chest. He’s wearing a pair of jeans. There are faint splashes of paint on them. Most men would look like a bum in these clothes. Travis looks like a wet dream come to life.
Fuck. My. Life.
“Hey,” he says, his wary gaze taking in my appearance. I definitely don’t look like a photoshopped model. More like the before picture of a makeover, but I tell myself not to care. I really don’t want to, but…I kind of do. Dammit.
“What do you want?”
“Can we talk?”
“We are talking.”
Yeah, I’m being rude, and I don’t care. Not much. But I am trying to hold my ground and save myself. If I let him talk me into coming back, nothing will change. He will continue working his way through women, and I will forever be heartsick in love with him.
“Listen, I deserve anything you want to say to me, but I don’t want to talk here on your porch. I’d rather have the conversation inside where we don’t have an audience. I would also not want to read about it on the Express.”
I look around him and sure enough, there’s Mrs. Peterson typing away on her phone. God, that woman.
“Fine. But don’t think this means anything.”
All of a sudden, his expression clears and while he doesn’t really smile, his mouth curves slightly. My entire body yearns…just flat out yearns for him. Fucking stupid body.
I step back and let him in my house. He’s so big, so obtrusive in my environment. I want to tell him to leave, to just go away. Every time he’s here, it gives me a memory of him in my space.
“Want to sit down?”
“No. You’re not going to be here long enough.”
His mouth flattens again. I bite the tip of my tongue. Otherwise, I would have opened my stupid mouth to fix it. To make everything better. We continue to stare at each other, but he says nothing. I cross my arms under my breasts. Did his gaze just dip? Nope. That’s my imagination screwing with me. Why would he look at my barely C cups when he tends to go for the double D’s?
He still stays nothing, so I decide to get this shitshow on the road. The longer he’s here, the more of a chance there is that I will give into him.
“So, Travis Fillmore, sell it. Tell me why I should return to work with an asshole who shows me no respect whatsoever.”
His face flames and I realize that he’s at least embarrassed by his behavior. He’s not a bad guy, but for some reason, he doesn’t want to be a good guy for me. Our working relationship is toxic and it’s mostly his fault.
“Nancy—”
I wave his plea away and make sure he understands where we are at the moment. “Listen, I just want you to get this over with so I can kick you out. I’m giving you five minutes, then I’m kicking your ass out.”
Chapter Four
Travis
I study Nancy as I try to come up with the words to argue my case. They’re failing me now. I had a whole speech planned about how I was in the wrong. I was. I am. All the way. Full stop. I was positive it would win her back and I would get her to return to the show. But there’s a problem. The words are now bleeding out of my brain, and my tongue feels thick and useless. It’s like that first day on the set when I had the panic attack and she had to talk me through it. Just Nancy and me. But now, I’ve fucked everything else up trying to spare my own feelings and keep from embarrassing myself.