leaving this real, breathing, complicated man in his place. He appealed to her even more.
So much more.
Travis seemed to be angling his body to block something behind him, making Georgie purse her lips. “What’s going on? More autograph seekers?”
“There’s a photographer following me.” He raised an eyebrow at her dropped jaw. “It’s now or never, baby girl.”
God, he just had to go and call her that. Thank God she was wearing her clown suit, because the nickname sent goose bumps coursing down her arms. “A photographer? As in paparazzi? That was fast.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, no longer looking at her. “The network announced their short list of candidates for the new voice of the Bombers last night.” His expression was kind of perplexed. “I’m . . . still on it.”
“Travis, that’s amazing!” Georgie lunged to her feet, joy making her want to open the gate and throw her arms around him. When she saw the raised camera, she squeaked and hid behind Travis’s impressive form instead. “Wow. They don’t even ask.”
“Nope, we’re fair game.” His blue eyes strayed to her mouth and seemed to darken, his right hand lifting to cradle her jaw over the gate. “But out in the open like this, we can decide what they see.”
“Oh,” she whispered, inhaling his masculine scent. “That’s nice.”
“Nice? Maybe.” His tongue dragged temptingly along his full lower lip. “We know I can be a little mean.” Georgie was positive he was about to kiss her, but his forehead knitted together. “So does everyone in town know you want a bunch of kids?”
What did that have to do with kissing her? “Not everyone,” she answered honestly, looking up into unreadable eyes. “Just everyone who sees me around them. Which happens a lot, because, hello, clown.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You kind of come alive around them, don’t you? Even more than usual.” She wanted to bask in the compliment, but something was bothering him. That much was obvious. “Associating with me could mess that up for you, Georgie. Might be hard to find a nice guy after being with me. Even if it’s just for the cameras.”
Just for the cameras. That’s right. Why was it so hard to remember that when he was standing so close, looking at her with something akin to tenderness? His visible concern made it almost impossible to swallow. “If a man held something like that against me, he wouldn’t be a nice guy. Definitely not someone I’d . . .”
“Make a family with,” he said quietly.
“Right.”
They continued to scrutinize each other over the gate, drawing closer ever so subtly. Because of the photographer? Or because she physically couldn’t stop herself from gravitating in his direction?
“Travis Ford?” The spell he’d effortlessly wrapped around her was broken when the father of the birthday boy shouldered past her with an outstretched hand, holding it out to Travis. “No one told me the local legend was invited.”
“I wasn’t,” Travis answered, shaking the man’s hand but still looking at Georgie. “My girlfriend here is the entertainment and I’ve never gotten a chance to watch her perform. Mind if I . . . ?”
“Of course.” The father swung open the gate. “Come on in. We’ll get you a beer.”
Travis sent her a wink. “Perfect. Thank you.”
Georgie watched with a mouth poised to catch flies as Travis waltzed into a children’s birthday party, parting the crowd of parents like a pop star through a packed arena. Just like when Travis walked through town, the reaction to his presence was mixed. Men either greeted him with man-crush vibes—overdoing the handshake and widening their stance, as if preparing to bro down over some baseball talk—or edged toward their wives and tried not to look insecure. A couple of the women pretended he didn’t exist, probably not wanting to give Travis the satisfaction of knowing he could sell a million copies of ESPN The Magazine’s Body Issue. And yet another contingency of women did their smiling, head-tilting best to dazzle him.
And then there was Georgie, standing in the middle of the yard with her trap wide open, watching Travis smoothly make himself at home. She was blown back to reality when a little girl tugged on her polyester sleeve. “Can we do the bubble party now?”
“Yes!”
A trio of kids behind her started cheering.
“Everyone get their best bubble-catching hands ready! I’ll just go fire up my nifty bubble factory . . .”
Five minutes later, Georgie was racing from one end of the backyard to the other, a bubble