My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero (3 page)

“Sure, let me just get one of my ‘Autographed by Author’ stickers,” I say, reaching into my box.

“It’s fine, I don’t need one,” he says. “I’m probably not going to read it.”

“What?” I ask, and try and tell myself to not feel hurt. “Why are you buying it, then?”

“Listen, some lady gave me twenty bucks to come over here and buy a book, but I didn’t know I was going to be called a spaz with the ladies and get verbally grilled,” he says in all his teenager outrage.

“Someone
paid
you?” I ask, confused. I look over his shoulder and meet Jill’s eyes. When she sees me looking she quickly whips her head back around the corner.

“Yeah, but she didn’t mention there was a naked dude on the cover,” he says and looks around again. “I came in here to get a book for English− what if someone sees me with this?”

“I−” I can’t help the sinking feeling in my chest. I know he’s only a young kid, but I think he’s going to make me cry. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“No offense,” he offers when he sees my sunken shoulders.

“It’s okay, I get it,” I say and try to offer him a smile.

“Listen, I’ll tell my mom to come back later. She usually gets this kind of stuff in the mail from her catalogues so I’m sure she would read it.”

Oh God, he’s talking about one of those catalogues that you can get ten books for a dollar if you sign up for a certain time, and then you end up paying hundreds of dollars to get out of it. The worst part is: I applied to have my book listed with them, and they rejected me. If it’s possible - he just twisted the knife.

“That would be great, thanks,” I hear myself say. “I’m only here till four, though.”

And that’s it. I should get out my agenda and mark this as the lowest point in my life. Not only have I been judged by a guy who probably just started puberty, but he’s willing to offer me handouts from his mother. And I’ve accepted.

The glamorous life I always imagined.

He makes a quick getaway, and I’m not sure who is more excited that he’s leaving: me or him. I shoot daggers at Jill as she cautiously approaches me.

“Did you make a sale?” she asks, her voice full of innocence.

“No! And do me a favour: don’t pay anyone else to buy my book, okay? It brings me down to a new level of low. And I think I am capable of getting there all by myself, without your help,” I pout.

“He didn’t buy the book? That little jerk owes me twenty bucks!” Jill yells and quickly goes off in the direction the kid went.

“Excuse me?” a lady says from behind me. I turn to see an older woman looking at me. “Can you tell me where the biographies are?”

“In the far corner,” I say, pointing over my shoulder.

“Thank you. Have you heard any reviews about the new astronaut book? My daughter was looking for it,” she says.

“I− umm− I’m not sure which one you’re talking about, sorry,” I say, and instantly feel guilty.

I know exactly what she is talking about. I read it. It was freaking awesome.

“Oh, well thanks anyways,” she offers.

Just as she’s about to leave I make a decision. It’s time to get shameless. It’s my only option.

“You know, if your daughter likes space she might like my book,” I say, holding up the copy of my first book.

She actually looks semi-interested. God bless her.

“Oh, does it take place in space?” she asks.

“Well, not exactly, but its very science
based
,” I explain. It’s actually about a man who goes back in time to avenge his mother’s death and falls in love with her murderer’s daughter. But obviously science had to be embraced for that to happen.

“Is it autobiographical at all? My daughter loves true stories,” she says, picking up a copy of the book from my display.

“Well, technically I have to answer no to that− for liability reasons,” I say and lean a little closer to her. “But between you and me, the heroine and I have quite a few things in common.”

Which is true. We both have blond hair. And green eyes. My father isn’t a ruthless murderer, holding me against my will, but I did have to change a few things or the resemblance would be too obvious.

“And this one?” she asks, holding up my second book. “Is this a continuation of the first one?”

“No, unfortunately,” I say, but as she starts to put it back down I quickly amend, “but there are some common elements.”

In the end she buys a copy of each of my books and although it is the most I have ever sold to one person, all I feel is shame. Cold, betraying shame.

Also, I forgot to give her a bookmark.

“Oh my God,” Jill says, running up to me. “Did that woman just buy
all
your books?”

“Yes,” I say, shaking my head.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t this exciting news?”

“I lied to her. She came in looking for a biography about an astronaut and I sold her some historical romances that don’t even mention space,” I shake my head. “What am I even doing here?”

“Listen, that’s enough of that!” Jill smacks my arm. “You are the best damn writer I know, and that woman should consider herself lucky to have the opportunity to read your work. And she’ll never know what she likes if she doesn’t try anything new.”

“It’s not just her,” I say. “What if this is it? What if this is my writing career for the rest of my life? Honestly, I’ll drown in self-pity before I turn thirty.”

“So what are you saying? You don’t want to do this anymore?” Jill asks in outrage.

“No, of course not. I love writing. But this obviously isn’t working. I think I just need to change things up a little. Maybe get out of the historical scene.”

“Can you do that?” Jill asks. “You know, just switch genres?”

“I don’t see why not. James Patterson writes psychological thrillers and romance,” I say, shrugging.

“So, what would you write about?”

I think back to my conversation with Travis at the coffee shop. Write what you know, that’s what he said. Hell, that’s what
everyone
says. The trouble is: what do I know? I’m twenty-seven years old, it’s not like I have a lifetime of experiences. The most dramatic thing that has ever happened to me is when I got my wisdom teeth out and I started trying to make out with the dentist after the lidocaine kicked in. Considering it was my bosses’ son does make it a pretty good story, but that definitely wouldn’t fill the pages of a book.

“I’m not sure,” I say, biting on my bottom lip. “I’m going to have to think about it.”

“Well, keep me updated. I have to go to work, but I’ll call you later, okay?” she asks.

“Okay, thanks.”

The same woman who asked about the romance section earlier approaches me. “It’s the strangest thing. There isn’t a single Danielle Steele novel over there. The whole shelf seems to have been emptied. Do you think they have any in the back?”

I shoot my eyes at Jill who just smiles and winks before she walks away.

“I’m not sure,” I say to the woman, shrugging.

“Well, I do need something for my vacation,” she says, eyeing my novels warily. I have the exact same expression on my face anytime anyone tries to convince me to try calamari. “You write historical romances?”

“I do,” I say.

She picks up my first book and starts reading the back. “I guess I could try one. Though I did want the new Danielle Steele…”

I smile and swallow my pride at her words.

At this point I’ll take anything.

“Mom,” a young teenage girl approaches the woman reading the back of my book. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

She shakes her head and looks like her world might be coming to an end. The dramatic life of a teenager− I actually kind of miss it.

“I’m just trying to decide on a book,” the mom says, pursing her lips. I can tell she’s still not sold on my novel. and I’m not sure whether the teenager’s hurry is going to be in my favour or not.

“Mom, seriously, if I don’t get home in the next ten minutes I am going to miss Ronny and Didi,” she whines and starts to fidget with my tablecloth.

I tell myself to calm down and let her play with it. The sale is more important than the twenty minutes it took for me to display my books.

“I’ll be one more minute,” she indulgently promises the younger girl. The teen rolls her eyes.

Okay, maybe I don’t miss being that obnoxious.

“What’s Ronny and Didi?” I ask in the hopes of distracting her enough while her mom picks out one of my books.

She looks at me with disdain, as though I am from another planet. “You don’t know who Ronny and Didi are?”

I look at her mother who is now holding my third book.

“Sorry, not really up on what’s hip nowadays.”

The girl raises her eyebrows, and even I have to admit that sounded pretty old and lame.

“Well, Ronny is trying to be a famous musician and Didi is going to be an actress− they live in Los Angeles,” she says as an afterthought. “And they totally love each other, but their parents don’t think it’s a good idea that they are living together and don’t like that they moved to LA.”

I frown, trying to keep up with her explanation.

“And Ronny hasn’t had his break yet, but Didi is picking up all these modelling deals, and the two of them have been arguing so much lately that you think they are probably going to break up,” she says, taking a moment to breathe during the explanation, “but now it seems like Ronny is trying to pick a fight with her because he is secretly planning to propose and wants to throw her off guard. And Didi would totally say yes. But now her dad is coming from Nebraska and he wants to try and break them up because he thinks Ronny is just using Didi to get further in his career.”

I can tell she has got all worked up from the explanation and I have to admit even I am kind of curious to see what happens. I mean, how is Ronny going to deal with Didi being a successful actress if his career doesn’t pick up soon?

“I haven’t heard of this show,” I say, shaking my head. “What actors are in it?”

The girl frowns. “There are no actors. Ronny and Didi are like real people.”

“Oh, so it’s a reality show?” I ask.

See, this is what happens when I don’t have cable. I miss out on all these new current trends because I don’t get MTV.

“Yep. Which I am totally going to miss if we don’t leave
now
!” she says to her mother through clenched teeth.

“Okay, Okay,” she says, placating her daughter. “I just have to go and pay for this quickly.”

I can see she has decided on my first one and I beam with success.

“I really hope you like it,” I say.

She smiles at me, though I can still see a little doubt lingering on her face. Bloody Danielle Steele makes it absolutely impossible for the rest of us.

“Are these free?” her daughter asks, holding up my bookmark.

“Sure,” I say, nodding. “You can take one.”

She looks at it and shrugs before putting it in her pocket.

They both walk towards the cashier and although it isn’t my best sale ever, I’m still pretty pleased with the results. Not only did I sell a book, but I also have a great idea for my next novel courtesy of a sullen teenager.

Chapter Three

I whip my head around the corner and when I sight my prey I smile in victory.

I know exactly what I have to do− I rehearsed this for an hour in front of the mirror at home. I tell myself it’s not manipulation if it logically makes sense. And logically, Travis is the only one who is going to be able to help me.

“I have been looking everywhere for you!” I say in exasperation.

Travis looks up from the blueprints in his hands, frowning at me.

“Where did you look?” he asks.

“The coffee shop. Your car. It’s not important,” I say, waving away the argument.

“Well, I’ve been here all morning,” he gestures around at the job site.

It’s absolutely freezing in the building since it is still under construction and they haven’t turned the heat on. It’s probably not quite cold enough to wear your coat inside, but I still zip my jacket up. Travis seems very comfortable in his shirt and outer vest.

“I was shocked when they told me you were on the thirtieth floor,” I lightly tease.

“I don’t get too close to the windows,” he smiles back at me.

“Are you nearly finished here?” I ask, looking around at the almost completed office space. It still lacks any sort of furniture, but the walls have been drywalled and painted, which means the occupancy must be pretty close.

“Supposed to be. Though it’s one problem after another,” Travis mutters under his breath as he looks at the blueprints again.

I feel an arm drape over my shoulder and look sideways to see Justin, Travis’ site foreman, lazily smiling at me.

“I didn’t know you were coming to visit me today,” he says, winking at me. I would be flattered if I didn’t already know he winks at almost every woman he comes across.

I try to step out of the embrace; there’s just something about him that rubs me the wrong way, and it’s not just because he tries to attach himself to me any chance he gets.

“We still on for dinner tonight?” Justin asks me. He always does this, asks me out as though it is already something we’ve agreed upon. It started out as a joke but somewhere along the way I don’t think Justin was joking anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice enough guy, and I would even go so far as to call him attractive. But there’s just always a small voice in the back of my head every time I see him that says “sleaze ball”. Just like I knew Wickham was a scoundrel from the first pages… I have a radar for this sort of thing.

“Keep trying, maybe one day you’ll come across a naïve, unsuspecting girl who’ll actually say yes,” I say as I pat his face with one hand and remove his arm with my other.

“Justin, did you talk to the plumber?” Travis interrupts.

“Just going there now,” he answers. Travis raises his eyebrow as Justin says to me, “See you later, babe.”

I take a deep breath and walk up to Travis. “Man, that guy gets on my last nerve.”

Travis looks from me to the back of Justin’s head. “He’s so pushy with you because you’re the only one who says no to him.”