“Because I'll be more worried about who's looking at your tits in that shirt instead of Hoffman. - Travis”

“Travis’ mouth fell open. “Oh, hell no. Are you trying to get me killed? You’ve gotta change, Pidge.”“What?” “Get a t-shirt on…and some sneakers. Something comfortable.”“What? Why?”“Because I’ll be more worried about who’s looking at your tits in that shirt instead of Hoffman,” he said, stopping at his door.“I thought you said you didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought?”“That’s a different scenario, Pigeon.” Travis looked down at my chest and then up at me. “You can’t wear this to the fight, so please…just…please just change,” he stuttered, shoving me into the room and shutting me in.”

“Hey! Back up off her!” Travis frowned, shoving anyone who came near me. His stern expression melted into a smile at the sight my shirt, and then he dabbed my face with a towel. “Sorry about that, Pigeon.”

“She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, kissing his neck. "I'll leave my number on the counter.""Eh...Don't worry about it," He said in a casual tone."What?" She asked, leaning back to look in his eyes."Every time!" America said. She looked at the woman. "How are you surprised by this? He's Travis Fucking Maddox! He is famous for this very thing, and every time they're surprised!”

“But Travis Maddox wasn't afraid to fight, or to defend someone he cared about, or to look into the humiliated and angry eyes of a scorned woman.”

“I thought of all the times I had insisted being with Travis was the wrong decision, and how much time I had wasted fighting my feelings for him. Looking across the table at his soft, brown eyes, and the dimple dancing in his cheek as he chewed, I couldn’t remember what I was so worried about.”

“Marek’s expression was murderous; Travis looked mildly amused.”