My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero (4 page)

“Great, so the fate of women kind everywhere rests on my shoulders, then,” I self-consciously take a step closer to Travis when Justin looks back in our direction.

“I could tell him to leave you alone if you want,” he says, looking at my face. “I’ve been told I can be very intimidating.”

I smile wryly, knowing exactly what he is talking about. Travis and Scott used to scare the pants off all dates that ever came to pick me up. I finally ended up having to meet all boys at the movies or restaurant, or else they would be a nervous wreck for the rest of the night.

I shake my head. “Not worth it, it will only make it more awkward. Plus, I don’t need you to sort out my love life for me.”

“You sure?” he asks again.

“Positive. Unless I ever agree to go on an actual date with him, then feel free to shoot me.”

“So what’s up?” he asks and lifts up the blueprints again.

“I umm… I need a favour.”

He lifts his head, taking in my fidgeting hands.

“What kind of favour?”

“I− er− I did something really bad,” I whisper, and look around to make sure no one is listening.

“Oh God, I emailed you back and told you the circus idea was bad! If those elephants sit on your Mom’s house she’ll never speak to me again.”

“It’s not about the elephants,” I say, shaking my head. “Besides, the zoo moved them last summer to California or something…”

“Oh good, because seriously music and food is fine,” he starts to walk over to another work bench.

I follow closely on his heels. “I haven’t decided on the surprise yet, but that’s not what I’m here for.”

“Okay,” he says, and hands the blueprints to someone before walking off to another work station that has papers scattered all over it.

“Listen, could you just stay still for a minute! I’ve done a horrible thing.”

“What did you do?” he asks, warily. “You didn’t try and contact the magician did you? You know none of us are allowed within one hundred feet of him.”

“No, this is worse,” I say, and as I run my toe over the carpet and lower my head in shame I feel Travis’s hand on my arm.

“What is it?” he asks, and now I can hear the note of alarm in his voice. “You know I’ll help you with anything.”

Excellent, this is just what I was hoping for.

“I’m glad you say that because−”

“Travis, the plumber says he needs you on the eleventh floor as soon as possible. Apparently he won’t talk to anyone else because you’re the only one who understands his accent,” Justin interrupts, oblivious to the fact that I am trying to have a very important conversation with Travis. See, this is why we could never date.

“No one understands his accent including me, but I’ll be there in a minute,” he says and when Justin doesn’t make a move to leave Travis stares at him. “Anything else?”

“Er−” Justin looks from me to Travis, but I think he finally clues in that now isn’t a good time. “Nope.”

“So?” Travis prompts me once Justin is far enough away.

“I did a terrible thing at my book signing. It was inexcusable.”

He waits for me to continue and I hang my head in shame.

“I… lied to a reader,” I say and it takes everything in me not to let my voice break.

There is a long pause. A long, condemning pause. I sigh and look up to face the judgement, but all I see is an amused smile on Travis’s face.

“What are you smiling about?”

“You. The way you’re acting you’d think you had killed someone,” he shakes his head.

“What I did was worse. I killed my readers’ trust! What do I have left?”

“That’s pretty melodramatic,” he turns to look at the papers again.

I wedge my body in between him and the desk. “No it’s not! What I did was terrible,” I argue.

“What did you lie to them about?” he asks indulgently.

“I told someone she would enjoy my book even though I knew she wouldn’t.”

He lets out a soft laugh while shaking his head. “Isn’t that called marketing?”

I purse my lips and put my hands on my hips. “You know, you’re not helping here.”

“Well, considering you have known me your whole life, I’m going to say it was safe to assume you knew I wouldn’t garner too much sympathy for you on this. So why don’t you tell me why you are really here, so I can go have a conversation with the plumber that neither of us will understand,” he says and widens his eyes. “Kind of like this one.”

He’s right, I did know that wouldn’t work. But I had to lead up to the next bit somehow. I mean, it’s not really something you would want to open with.

“Well, the truth is: the lying thing was just the icing on the cake. The signing was a disaster.” I try not to think of the teenage boy and the fact that his mother never came to see me. I’m not sure what is more depressing: the fact that she didn’t come or that I was desperately waiting for her to show up. I even stayed an extra half an hour just in case she was running late.

“Sorry to hear that,” he says and puts his hand on my arm. “You saved me a book, right?”

“Honestly, I have one hundred and fifty and that’s just in the trunk of my car, so no need to worry about a lack of supply,” I say, the bitterness creeping through.

“So, you want me to help you sell them?” he guesses.

“No,” I shake my head and look around. “These guys aren’t really my target audience.”

Travis looks down at his watch and sighs. “Listen, as much as I always love your surprise visits, I do have to get back to work. Is there any chance of you spitting this out in the next minute?”

I look at him and try and work up the courage but no words want to come out.

“Why don’t I call you later?” he suggests and reaches around me to pick up the papers from the desk. When I see he is planning to make an escape my resolve returns and I grab his wrist to stop him.

“I need to watch you fall in love,” I say, and after it comes out my eyes widen as I realise how crazy I sound.

“Er− I’m not really sure what to say to that,” he says awkwardly.

“I’ve decided to get away from the historical romances and go more mainstream, but I realised that even then I would just get lost in the crowd. There are just too many new authors out there, and even though my writing is good, it is harder and harder to compete with them. So I need a fresh angle,” I say, rushing through my words.

“I’m still not following you,” he says. “What does that have to do with me?”

“I don’t want to just write about love. I want to
see
love and tell people about it.”

He stares at me and shakes his head. “I think I might have better luck with the plumber.”

I let out a sound of frustration and grip his wrist a little tighter when he turns to leave.

“I want to write a love story, but if I write a simple ‘boy meets girl” I just know it is going to get lost among all the other books out there. I need a special spin. So, if I follow you around on your dates, watch you fall in love and write about it… well… that’s different! Kind of like a third-person memoir.” I can’t help the excitement in my voice. “I’ve never heard of something like that before, have you?”

“Yeah, at the beginning of practically every movie. It’s called ‘based on a true story’.”

“You hate it,” I say, stating the obvious.

“No, I don’t hate it. I actually think it’s a pretty good idea. Except the part that involves me,” he adds.

“It has to be you, Travis!” I say and reach up to grasp his vest with my free hand. “You’re the perfect leading man for my book. You’re funny, good-looking, you can be moderately charming when you try…”

I try to ignore the fact that just days before I cast him as the best friend in my head. I mean, that’s just the way
I
think of him. I’m not oblivious to the fact that every other woman on the planet seems to fall all over themselves for him.

Also, I don’t know anyone else that would agree to this.

“You forgot to mention my quiet strength and dominating presence,” he says with a crooked smile.

“So you’ll do it?” I ask, hopeful of his response.

He appears to think about it for a moment before answering, “No.”

“What? Why not?” I say in outrage and when I see some heads turn in our direction, I lower my voice. “Okay, listen. I know I’m asking a lot−”

“
A lot
? Seriously? A lot would be asking me to drive you around for a week because you’re convinced someone is following you− which I did,” he says, shaking his head. “This is
insane
.”

“Oh, who is being melodramatic now?” I ask.

“Still you,” he says, pulling his arm free and walking away.

I quickly follow him and block his way.

“You go on dates, don’t you?” I ask. “All I am asking is for you to let me go on them with you. It could be like a double date.”

“Except you don’t have a date and you will be writing down everything about mine,” he argues. “Besides, no woman would ever agree to go out on a date with me if she knows she will be constantly watched and judged!”

Obviously he’s never watched The Bachelor. Or Ronny and Didi for that matter. I watched a marathon of it at my mom and dad’s house after the signing and even my dad was totally engrossed in it. He called me earlier to tell me that he saw in US Weekly that Ronny has just been arrested for a DUI. Honestly, he needs to start taking some responsibility or he is going to lose Didi for good.

“I’ll sit at another table,” I offer.

He thinks about it for a second before shaking his head.

“Nope.”

“I won’t say a thing,” I compromise, but this time he doesn’t answer, just steps around me and walks to the elevator.

The elevator miraculously opens as soon as Travis presses the button and I’ve never seen him move so quickly, before I know it he is inside the elevator and pressing the button to shut the door. Just as the doors start to close I squeeze through and get on.

He looks at me from the corner of his eye and sighs before returning his eyes to the elevator buttons.

“It wouldn’t be as bad as you think,” I say nonchalantly while shrugging. “You might even have fun.”

“Why can’t you find someone else?” he argues. “Did you ever think that maybe I’m not ready to fall in love and have my happily ever after?”

I study him, taking in his rigid stance. “That’s not your problem and you know it,” I say. “I see the way you look at Scott and his family. You’re ready. You’re just too picky. And I could help you with that− I’ll let you know when you’re being an idiot.”

“Well, as much as I would love that, I’m a very private person,” he says. “I don’t want my life nit-picked and analysed for the world to read about.”

“Is that the problem?” I ask, turning to face him. “You think I won’t write nice things about you in my book?”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares straight ahead.

I put my hand on his arm. “Travis, you are one of the most honorable men I know. I picked you because you are the only man I could think of that I would want to be the leading man of my story. I just hope I can write the character to do
you
justice.”

He studies me for a moment before the elevator doors open. I see something flicker there and I’m not sure whether it is uncertainty or hope − which actually makes me feel really bad about asking him. But then in an instant it’s gone and his lip turns up at the corner.

“Nice try,” he says on his way out of the elevator.

It takes everything inside of me not to scream in frustration.

“Oh come on! What is it going to take?” I ask, following him out.

He quickly turns back around to face me and I have to step back from the sudden movement so I don’t get knocked over by his large frame.

“Why can’t you do it? Why can’t you just write about your own dates?”

“For one, it’s been done,” I say. “And do you honestly think I have time to fall in love and write a novel?”

He shakes his head and looks around the room.

“She’s crazy,” he mutters to himself and is about to turn and walk away.

“Okay, I didn’t want to do this but you’ve left me no choice,” I say.

“What?” he asks, his one eyebrow raised.

“Cheryl Grate,” I say, and Travis’s shocked look makes me grin.

Cheryl Grate. There was a time when that name would make us all duck and run. She was Travis’s first girlfriend when he was fifteen. She lived in the same apartment complex as him and worshipped the ground he walked on. I mean, we are all a little boy crazy at that age, but Cheryl was certifiably nuts. And all that craziness was solely directed toward Travis.

She loved Travis, loved absolutely everything he did. I was a little too young to really understand it, but now I realise that she went
way
too far in her pursuit to capture Travis’s heart. It got particularly bad when she kept following him one summer. So bad that Travis stopped laughing about it and started looking over his shoulder everywhere he went. She left presents on his doorstep. She would wait outside their building and just stare at his window. She mailed him a lock of her hair.

The girl was obsessed, and Travis just couldn’t handle it anymore. He came home one day, to find his mom in one of her very rare good moods, hanging out with Cheryl and drinking lemonade. Travis was furious. He told Cheryl that she needed to leave, that it needed to stop, but Cheryl wouldn’t hear it. She just followed him more, convinced he was testing her devotion.

When we were at the pool on the hottest day of July, there she was, sitting across the pool and staring at the two of us.

She walked right over and said, “Is this her?”

I looked at Travis with confusion, wanting to know what she was talking about.

He looked conflicted for a moment before he nodded.

“And this is your final decision?” she asked.

He nodded again.

She looked at me, for what I assumed was confirmation, and I nodded as well, though I had no idea what I was nodding about.

It turned out the one thing that Cheryl couldn’t stand at the age of fifteen was a cheater (maybe she wasn’t as crazy as we all thought). And Travis had just told her I was his girlfriend.

And that one nod got me the best I.O.U of my life.