Page 23 of Fashionista's Playbook

I gave Dozer’s massive hand a playful smack when he reached for a rib, then handed him a plate. “Yeah, that’s it.”

****

I laid out the cutlery, remaining plates, and washed my hands. When I turned from the sink, Travis was leaning against the island with two plates in his hand.

“Stay, eat.” He thrust a plate forward in an almost caveman-like motion.

I smiled wide to hide the half laugh. “Thanks, but I’ve got some stuff I want to finish up this evening.”

He lifted his shoulders in an almost shrug and leaned over me to stash the other plate on the counter. “You sure?”

His face was so close to mine, if I stretched on my tiptoes just a little, I could put my lips on his. His dark eyes caught mine and held and there was a flash of the desire I felt shining there.

I could fall right into the sleepy warmth of his gaze.

I clenched a fist in front of my grumbling stomach and lied. “Positive.” Eating ribs in front of elite professional athletes? Nope. Not happening. Especially after Travis made me feel all trembling and nervous.

“Well, you know where it is.” He offered as he pulled away.

Was I imagining the reluctance he moved with? Probably.

“Ya know, I am tired. I’ll probably just head home and get some sleep.”

“There’s a bed here.” The corner of Travis’ mouth twitched as soon as he realized what he’d said and he leveled a suggestive glance at me.

I didn’t have to wonder if he was flirting with me, it was obvious.

Whoa.

Little static tingles prickled at my chest and neck, no doubt my skin turning pink.

“G’nite, Moriah. See you in the morning.”

It was a blessing he disappeared into the other room with the rest of the guys, as I was a few seconds from throwing my panties at his feet.

****

It was a Gucci skirt, with soft lining and beautiful black material that shimmered in the light. When I finished, the garment would hang to my knees not mid-calf. Cutting into the fabric the first time was a gut wrench. But, like ripping off a bandage, once it was done, I could carry on with the alteration process and bring my vision to life.

And make it fit someone bigger than a size six.

Measurements had been taken and pins had been carefully placed. There was special thread in the machine and above all else, endless patience and a love for fashion. Besides, it saved me from explaining to size-six women that Gucci didn’t make a size fourteen skirt.

And if I was going to be rubbing elbows with the football elite on Travis’ behalf, I had to look the part. It was a professional courtesy.

Who am I kidding?

I’d salivated over the skirt when I saw it. A side benefit to spending most of my time in such an affluent area—more high-end window-shopping options.

Cranking up the volume on my Bluetooth speaker, I set about the task, easily forgetting I was in Travis’ house. I sliced through the material with an expert’s touch. The chipper pop music kept my concentration on what I was doing and not how close I’d come to kissing Travis Madera yesterday.

Being alone, not having a partner, was never something that had bothered me before. And yet, now, almost kissing a guy uncovered this vast pit of emptiness inside me. Elise had always needed a guy to complete her, to make her feel whole. Not me.

What was different? There wasn’t some biological countdown going on or anything.

I spent most of my free afternoon altering the skirt, using extra material I’d cut from the bottom to widen the back and waist, the new seams virtually invisible. The finished product had a slimming, whimsical effect.

The time and money to work on my own stuff, to plan my business, was possibly the best part about working for Travis Madera. Never would I have imagined a professional football player would hold the door open to my career dreams.

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