Swallowing back the acid in her throat, she had the urge to tell Travis to go somewhere else, but she felt a little presumptuous doing do. “It’s fine,” she lied.
The pub was a ten-minute drive from her building, and when they neared the small establishment, her stomach churned. The bright neon sign read something different, but she could still remember the one and only time she’d been inside. With Scott Wade, a boy she’d had a crush on. She’d been so thrilled when Scott had asked her out, so impressed when he’d brought her to this cool place for their date. And so damn shattered when he’d tried to have sex with her in the alley behind that cool place.
What’s the matter, Foster? Think you’re too good for me? His harsh laughter still rang in her ears. Well, that’s not what I hear. You’ll do it with anyone. Just like your whore mother.
“Rachel? You okay?”
She pushed aside the painful recollection and forced a smile. “I’m fine. Let’s go in.”
They walked into the pub, and Rachel was grateful to see that the interior had been completely transformed. Instead of booths, the place now boasted scattered tables and a small dance floor. Instead of bright fluorescent lights, a dim yellow glow bathed the room, mingling with the cigarette smoke that hung in the air. The front counter had been turned into a bar, and Rachel saw that only adults occupied the stools. This wasn’t the same place, and with the new atmosphere, she didn’t feel as uneasy.
Travis led her to a table in the corner of the room, and they sat. Seconds later, a tall, redheaded waitress sauntered to their table with a pair of menus.
“I have a weakness for bar food,” Travis admitted, perusing the menu. “There’s something about juicy burgers and greasy fries that really gets my blood going.”
Rachel picked up her menu and pretended to study it, but inside, she was trembling. It wasn’t burgers and fries that got her blood going. It was this attractive, no, sexy man sitting in front of her.
God, why couldn’t she turn off her desire like a light switch? Why couldn’t her body remember it wasn’t allowed to feel this way? For so many years she’d tried to ignore the betraying sensations of her body. When she’d met that designer in New York last year, she’d been so tempted to accept his offer for dinner. She’d ignored the fluttering of her heart, the dampness of her palms, the sensitivity of her breasts.
Since she was eight years old, since that first time she’d walked into Hattie’s bedroom and seen a strange man violating her mother, she’d promised herself she’d guard her body. She’d let down that guard once, with a man she’d thought loved her, but when that relationship had exploded like fireworks in her face, she’d raised the wall again. Higher this time, so no man could penetrate it.
Why then did Travis seem to scale that wall with such ease?
“Bar food, huh?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and casual. “You’d think with all the money you have in the bank you’d be eating gourmet every night.”
He made a disgusted face. “I hate gourmet. Only eat it when I’m having dinner at my mother’s.”
“How is your mom, by the way?”
Rachel suddenly got an image of Travis’s petite, dark-haired mother, remembering how the woman had sat in the front row of the bleachers for every football game Travis had played. Though the Gages had always been wealthy, Travis’s parents would show up at the school dressed casually, eat hot dogs and sip sodas, and cheer their son on. If she remembered correctly, Lauren Gage had also organized every charity and fundraising event Jefferson High had put on, from bake sales to car washes.
A far cry from Rachel’s mother. Hattie had never even stepped foot into that school, skipped every parents’ night to get drunk, and used her daughters’ report cards as drink coasters. Funny how the Gages, the owners of one of the largest software companies in the country, found the time to involve themselves in their son’s life, while Hattie Foster had never spared a single second for her daughters.
“Mom’s doing great, actually,” Travis replied, jarring Rachel from her bitter thoughts. “She just got appointed as the activity director of the country club and she’s having a blast organizing posh parties and ladies’ bridge nights.” He chuckled fondly.
Rachel ignored the envy creeping up her throat. “I don’t get you.” When he arched a brow, she felt compelled to continue. “Instead of spending your days lounging in the country club and enjoying your wealth, you choose to work as a detective. I bet you don’t even cash the checks the department gives you.”
A small grin tugged at his delicious mouth. “My checks go directly to charity,” he admitted.