My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero (17 page)

“Now I feel terrible,” I say. “I didn’t see it and I was always flirting and joking with you. You must have thought I was so cruel.”

Travis kisses the top of my head again and tucks the wisps of hair that escaped around my face behind my ear.

“I wouldn’t want you to be anyone except yourself around me. That’s exactly what I like about you.”

“Really?” I ask, smiling at the compliment. “What else?”

He smiles indulgently. “I like everything.”

I squirm in my seat, getting myself comfortable. “I’m going to need more details than that.”

“Of course you are,” Travis says. “Alright, you’re really smart.”

He softly kisses my cheek bone.

“And you are always thinking about other people.”

He makes his way to my other cheek.

“And you have the craziest imagination. It keeps me on my toes.”

His lips are now hovering over mine, but he isn’t making the final move.

I’m breathless with the act, staring at his lips.

“Do you want to know what I like about you?” I whisper.

I see the corner of his lips lift. “Nope.”

“What?” I ask, leaning back slightly. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t need to know why. I just care that you
do.”

H
e finally captures my lips again and for a few moments I forget what he’s just said. Lost in everything.

Though, how can he
not
want to know?

The confusion is probably written all over my face because Travis sighs and pulls me closer to him, wrapping his arms around me.

“You know what your problem is? You overthink things
way
too much. When things aren’t going well you get all worked up as to how you can fix them. Then when things are going well, you get all worked up in preparation that they
may
go wrong.” He runs his hand up my arm. “I like you. You like me. We like each other. We are going to be fine.”

I look at him and open my mouth to say something but he covers my lips with his again and after a few minutes I can’t remember anything I was going to say.

“Okay, enough stalling,” he says, kissing the tip of my nose. “I’m trying one of these crab and mushroom things.”

“They’re Portobello Crab Cakes,” I say, trying to look confident in my skills.

He leans forward and takes one, shoving the whole thing into his mouth.

I take one into my hands and take a smaller bite.

Hmm… well they are definitely interesting.

They have a distinct taste for sure. Kind of like…

Dirt.

I manage to swallow my small bite and shoot my eyes to Travis, who is barely able to control the look of disgust on his face.

“Shall I start the second course?” I ask, raising my eyebrows, waiting for him to complain.

He is finally able to swallow, and after a moment turns to me looking wary but trying to hide it behind a smile.

“Can’t wait.”

I kiss him again, mainly because he didn’t spit it out, and make my way back into the kitchen.

I open the door to the refrigerator just as I hear him open the container for the Pepto-Bismol.

Chapter Fifteen

“So, how are things going?” Lisa asks as I settle into my chair in her office.

“Good,” I say, and can’t help the beaming smile on my face. “Great, actually. Never been happier. My boyfriend and I are getting along so well. We are even going to a vineyard this weekend in Niagara!”

I got one of those great deals off the internet for it. I didn’t exactly tell Travis about it until after I booked it, mainly because it looked so cool in the photos, but I wasn’t entirely sure riding through a vineyard on tandem bikes was Travis’s ideal way to spend a weekend.

And, there was the little issue of his facial expression when I brought it up.

But then I told him about the sports bar down the road where we could spend the evenings and he perked up.

See, we are already compromising like a proper couple.

Also, I get very tipsy off wine and always make a spectacle of myself, so he’s got that to look forward to.

“I meant with the book, actually,” she says. “But that’s nice.”

“Oh, sorry,” I say, blushing.

“Are you nearly finished the first draft?” she asks, excitedly leaning forward.

“Well, I got a little behind,” I say, reaching for my bag. “But I brought you the first couple of chapters.”

Lisa offers me a small smile. “That’s great Etty, but I really need the whole manuscript. My contact is waiting for it.”

“Well, the novel kind of took on a new direction, so I had to start again,” I say to her in way of explanation.

“A new direction?” she says, and this time her impatience shows through. “I thought we agreed on the storyline.”

“It’s still the same,” I rush to assure her. “The thing is some of the characters have changed a little.”

“Which characters?”

“Well, I told you about my friend Travis,” I say, trying to remind her of that fun conversation we had when we were chatting like best friends only a few short weeks ago.

I’m not really getting the best friends vibe at the moment.

“He went on a few dates but all the women were completely wrong for him,” I try to say this as matter-of-factly as possible, and not like a super jealous girlfriend.

Which I am not.

Except when we saw Tina at the grocery store yesterday and I forced Travis to hold my hand and walk back up the aisle we’d just come from.

I
had
forgotten my favourite cereal.

And it was just a weird
coincidence
that Tina also happened to be coming up that aisle as well.

“Anyways, then he asked
me
to go out with him−”

“He asked you?” she asks.

“Yes, and I said yes, but I was still unsure if I should go out with him, or if I even felt that way about him−” I say.

“But you went out with him,” she guesses.

Honestly, she’s stealing my thunder a bit with these interruptions.

“Yes, and now we’re dating,” I say. “He’s my boyfriend!”

God, I love that word. You know how some people know famous actors or musicians and name drop them into a conversation any chance they get? Well, I do that with Travis, my
boyfriend
. Like when I was at the nail salon the other day and my phone rang. “That’s probably my
boyfriend!
” I announced to anyone who would listen. Or when we went to my parents’ house for dinner last week and I told them, “My
boyfriend
is just parking the car.” My mom had to remind me that she’s known Travis his whole life and I can refer to him by his first name. I referred to him as my boyfriend for the rest of the night anyways.

“So you’re going to write about you and Travis falling in love?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding.

I wait for her response. She sits back in her chair, just like she did the first time we met, and mulls it over in her head.

“I love it!” she finally exclaims and reaches over the table to grab my hand.

And just like that we are best friends again. I know it sounds crazy, and she obviously is only my friend because of the novel, but I still remember all the rejections from publishers, and so I soak up all the attention she is willing to give me.

“I might even have a second buyer. We can market it with the memoir angle which is really hot right now. Maybe get a bidding war!” She raises her eyebrows excitedly.

“That would be great!” I say.

“But I need that manuscript,” she warns, and I shrink in my chair again. “My main concern is about the conflict.”

“Conflict?”

“The conflict− all the great love stories have it. It’s what the MTV generation feeds off. If Ronny and Didi aren’t fighting in every other scene, the kids switch channels. It’s proven.”

So she knows who Ronny and Didi are, too.

“Well, Travis and I don’t really fight,” I say.

Which is true. Maybe because we know each other too well. Or maybe we are more compatible than I ever realised. We bicker. We sometimes have arguments, but it’s over little things, like when I told him to close my patio door last night. He said he would, he didn’t, and the carpet was wet in the morning because it rained last night. I looked annoyed, he had the grace to look somewhat sorry, and it was dry by lunch time.

“Well, this is
based
on a true story,” Lisa reminds me.

“So… you want me to write that Travis and I fight a lot?” I ask.

“Not a lot, just on some things. The important things,” she says.

I almost want to laugh. Aren’t you supposed to agree on the important things and fight over the little things in a relationship?

“You just need the big hurdle that seems insurmountable that the two of you get over together,” she prompts. “All the other stuff can be what actually happened.”

I nod, but I’m not sure I am actually agreeing with what she’s suggesting.

But the truth is, I am writing a novel. What does it matter if I stretch the truth a little here or there? It doesn’t affect me and Travis in real life. It’s to sell books− and that is what I want to do.

Chapter Sixteen

“Remind me again what this is all for,” Travis says, leaning over my shoulder.

He’s sprawled on the couch in his living room and I’m sitting on the floor nestled between his legs, working on my storyboard project. Travis’s apartment is a little more spacious than mine; it has an actual bedroom and separate kitchen, so we spend most of our time here rather than my tiny place.

“I’m a visual person,” I remind him, adding some more glue to the back of a picture before attaching it to the board. “It helps me map out the story.”

“Are you putting these pictures in the book?” he asks, pointing to a picture of us when we were kids.

“No, I’m just trying to get a feel for the story. Figure out what to include,” I say.

I am using the storyboard to try and figure out what kind of fight I can pick with him to fulfil Lisa’s wishes. But we look so freaking happy in all of these pictures, so it’s not really inspiring any massive breakup scenes in my head. I can’t think of a single fight between Travis and myself that wasn’t solved within a day, and I can’t come up with anything that would make us so angry that we wouldn’t speak to each other. This is supposed to be fiction, so why is it so
hard
?

The trouble is: Travis is too easy going. He caves into my desires and needs too much; he goes out of his way to make sure I’m happy.

How am I supposed to work with that?

“So, you’re writing about our whole life?” he points to a picture I have included of the both of us on my first day of school. Travis and Scott walked me to school that day and my mom took a picture of the three of us on our front doorstep.

“Just as backstory,” I mumble, my eyes desperately searching the storyboard.

“What are the numbers for?” he asks, pointing to the numbers scattered all over the board.

“I have corresponding notes to the numbers,” I explain. “Ideas for things I want to write about that will happen in the story.”

“What’s the glitter for?”

“That’s to make it look pretty,” I say, waving away his question.

I run my hand through my hair and start chewing on one of my nails.

It’s no use. There isn’t a magical imaginary conflict coming to my mind. There isn’t even a hint of one.

Which means it’s time to create an actual one.

“We should do something spontaneous, get crazy,” I say, looking at him over my shoulder.

“You’re already crazy enough for the both of us,” he says, kissing me on the top of my head.

“I’m serious!” I say, waving my hand at the board. “Look at this. Do you know what this says?”

“Travis and Etty, surrounded by little glittery hearts?” he answers.

“No, it says we are
safe
. We need to do something that is
unsafe
.”

The frown on Travis’s face makes me think he isn’t getting it.

“The best love stories have action… adventure!” I argue.

Also, action usually raises tension. And tension usually equals a good argument.

So, that’s it. That’s my answer. We go to the Congo; we stumble upon some drug lords and bam− if that’s not conflict I don’t know what is.

Except, I can’t go the Congo because I have to work tomorrow.

But the theory is still valid.

“I would suggest skydiving, but I know because of the height issue that’s out,” I put my finger to my mouth in concentration.

“Because that’s the
only
reason why that wouldn’t be a good idea,” Travis says.

“Should we go to the casino and bet it all on red?” I ask.

“Have you forgotten you’re still taking overtime shifts to pay off the inflatable day of fun?” Travis argues.

“I’ve got it!” I exclaim, shooting my arms up in victory. “Let’s go drive down to the docks and see if we can witness a crime.”

“Where are ‘the docks’?” Travis says, smiling indulgently at my new idea.

“I’ve heard people say that in movies,” I say, shrugging. “I was hoping you would know where it is.”

“I think it’s time for a break,” he says, running his hands over my shoulders, his lips find their way to my neck and I close my eyes, tilting my head so he can have better access.

Maybe our epic argument could wait for just a few more hours.

“I’m throwing out all of your clothes,” he mumbles against my neck. “I like you in my shirt. You look amazing and you can’t go anywhere.”

“But what will you wear?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

He sighs, lifting his shoulder. “Well, if you’re wearing all my clothes, I guess I won’t be able to wear
anything
.”

“I’ll get the garbage bags,” I say, my lips finding his.

I turn to face him, rising to my knees and wrapping my arms around his neck. He leans down, grabbing my thighs and pulling me up until I am straddling his lap.

The end of the shirt, which usually comes down to my knees, is bunched up to my middle, the sleeves rolled up to my elbows. My mouth opens to his as his hands start to undo the few buttons on the shirt that I bothered to button. When he’s finished with the last button, I grab the bottom of his t-shirt pull it over his head before Travis puts his hands in my hair and brings my face back to his.