“How about we get a couple of pictures of you two together?” A photographer waved them closer. With each new pose, her awareness of Travis King grew to an alarming level. Little details. The mole on the side of his neck. The scent of spearmint on his breath. One especially long curl that hung onto his forehead. Like a blond Superman. He had a slight bump in his nose. His hand was warm against her back. The gravel timbre of his voice. The more he smiled, the more she wanted to grab him and… Push him far, far away. She didn’t exactly push him, but she made sure to put space between them just as soon as the pictures wrapped up. With a smile and a wave, she was out of the press room… She wasn’t exactly sure where she was going—only that she needed to get Travis out of her head. She glanced at the sign on the wall, turned, and headed for the dressing rooms. If Bree was there, she’d change and attempt a quick exit. “Loretta.” Travis called out. No. At this point, there was nothing left to say. Don’t look back. “Hold up.” He was getting…