Page 49 of Fashionista's Playbook

It was like everything compounding on me, pressing in, and forcing me to face things I’d long buried.

Like Mom calling and her voicemail…It’s about Elise.

“Mariposa, I’m sorry.” Travis’ voice was tentative, like he might spook me.

The acrimony I’d heard from him only moments before was gone.

When I didn’t immediately turn around, and instead took a glass and filled it with my back to him, he continued. “I never meant to upset you.”

The tears came then, slipping silently down my cheeks as my breathing evened. Where had a guy like Travis been when I was seventeen? Or the years that followed? I took a sip, swallowed, and turned to him.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, no.” He crossed the distance between us, cradling my face and wiping at the tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Don’t cry. Do I need to kick someone’s ass?”

When I snorted a watery laugh, he grinned.

He took the water from my hand, placed it on the counter, and pulled me to him. Hugging a man as big, as strong as Travis was a comforting, inviting thing. I hadn’t realized I needed it until I wrapped my arms around his middle and rested my face on his chest.

“No. It’s…there’s…” I sighed. “I’ve got a lot going on in my head, processing a lot of things I never thought I’d have to.”

“Because of me? Did Vin say something? Something on that podcast?” An edge of panic punctuated each question.

“I mean, Vin isn’t a fan of mine, he makes that pretty clear.” I rushed to get it all out, so he wouldn’t misunderstand. “And the only thing Jersey Chasers said about you was some model had her sights on you.”

He rubbed a hand over his face.

“That episode paired with some family stuff—was....” Needing space, I stepped to the side and reclaimed the water. I held it in both hands, like a shield. The embarrassment settled in over my emotional outburst. “I’m really sorry.”

He made a face like I was being absurd. “You have to stop apologizing for everything. Especially shit that wasn’t your fault. What happened in there was on me, I was being an ass.”

I pursed my lips. “Yeah, you were.”

It took him a few seconds to realize I was teasing. When he did, he leaned against the island and grinned. “I take it there’s an asshole jock in your past?”

After a sip of water, I nodded. “It’s a good thing I’ve had a different experience with football players this time around.”

My joke fell flat. Travis’ expression remained serious. Rehashing shit that happened to me years ago wasn’t helping me move forward, creating a beautiful life for myself. Women with hot, famous lovers didn’t spend an entire evening whining and crying about stuff that happened in high school.

“Tell me who he is and I’ll make his life a living hell.” From the set of his jaw, right down to the flexing his hands into fists, he meant it.

I lifted a shoulder, let it sag and sat at the island. “It basically is already; he’s married to my sister. And I’m too damn old to be crying about a stupid high school prank.”

“You’re never too old, not if it hurts you.”

That he thought that way made him twice the man Steven was.

“I’ve moved on.” I gestured around me. “Different state, different friends, I’ve not really been back since graduation.”

“I feel you with that.” He sat beside me. “What about your sister?”

“She’s hated me for as long as I can remember. Once I realized how selfish and mean she could be—I stopped trying to be her friend and got the hell out of there as soon as I graduated.”

When he didn’t say anything, didn’t push, I shrugged again. “Our mascot was the Wild Hog. Steven, my brother-in-law, and some of his buddies brought me into their fold that year. I thought I was cool, hanging out with the cool kids like my sister.”

I took a sip and swallowed. I’d never spoken about this out loud, but something about Travis’ quiet strength made me want to.

“They invented this alternate version of the Wild Hog. Pigmo, they called it. Even created this little caricature. There was a chant we’d all shout at the bonfires and pep rallies.”

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