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,”