Not His Type (15 page)

“Good choice,”
the waiter said, smiling.  “Can I get you anything else?”

“Wanna split a
shrimp po’boy?”  Brooke nodded and Travis looked at the waiter.  “There you go,
two bowls of chowder and one shrimp po’boy.”

“Be right back
with that,” the waiter said, and hurried away.

“Are you warming
up?” Travis asked.

“Yes, thank
you,” Brooke said.  “It wasn’t bad till we turned the corner and faced the
wind!”

“Yeah, sorry
about that.  I should’ve suggested we drive instead.”

“No, walking was
nice,” she argued.  She smiled.  “And if you’re going to feed me clam chowder
and fried shrimp po’boys, I probably need the exercise.”

“Oh, please,
tell me you aren’t one of those women who obsess about their weight and
everything they put in their mouths!” Travis groaned.

“Oh, sure,”
Brooke said giggling.  “Yeah, I’m a regular Twiggy!”  She rolled her eyes. 
“Seriously, Travis, I’m five foot three.  I’m never going to look like that
redhead of yours.”  She shrugged.  “I like to eat, so I try to exercise.  The
accident kind of messed that up, but hopefully not for long.”

“What do you do
for exercise?”  Travis leaned his elbows on the table.

“Mostly, I run. 
I used to do some boxing until I couldn’t afford the dues at the gym.  Just for
exercise, mind you, I never really boxed for competition.”

“Maybe we can
run together when the doctor releases you.”

“You run?”

“Yes,” Travis
said.  “I haven’t been very good about it lately, though.  Between building the
house, moving in –“

“Playing
chauffeur to your neighbor,” Brooke interrupted.

“Nah, those are
all just excuses,” he said dismissively.  He grinned.  “I just got lazy, that’s
all.”

The waiter set
their meals down in front of them.  He’d placed the two halves of the sandwich
on a single plate and now set it between them.  He gave the table a look;
satisfied everything was good, he left Brooke and Travis alone again.

Brooke took a
spoonful of the creamy soup in her bowl; she closed her eyes and sighed
contentedly.  Travis watched her enjoying the chowder.  The look on her face
was downright sensual and suddenly Travis wondered if someone had been a little
overzealous in adjusting the thermostat; he tugged at his collar and dropped
his gaze to his own bowl.

“Mmm, this is
good!” Brooke said.  “This is so much better than my cold sandwich!  Thank you,
Travis.”

“Thank
you
,
Brooke,” he replied.  “You saved me from having to eat by myself.  Thanks for
coming with me.”  They ate in silence for a moment before Travis pushed the
plate with the sandwich a little closer to Brooke.  “You haven’t tried the
po’boy.”

“I guess I was
enjoying the soup too much.”  She took a bite of the sandwich, her eyes
widening.  She put a hand in front of her mouth and talked around the food. 
“Oh, that is so good!  I didn’t think they could top the chowder, but that just
might do it!”

Travis smiled,
enjoying watching Brooke’s pleasure in the simple meal.  They finished eating
and Travis paid the bill.  Brooke looked at him sternly.

“You have to let
me make you dinner, Travis,” she insisted.  “Maybe this weekend.  Friday
night?”

Travis took his
time putting his jacket on before answering, saying, “Ah, actually, I have
plans for Friday evening.”

“Oh,” Brooke
said, a blush staining her cheeks.  She was an idiot!  Of course, a man like
Travis had plans for a Friday night!  “Sure, no problem!  We can do it another
time.  Sometime when you don’t have a date.”

“How do you know
I have a date?” he asked, tugging lightly at the scarf around Brooke’s neck. 
“It could be work, you know.”

“I just
assumed…don’t you have a date?”

“It’s not really
a date.  More like…catching up with an old friend.”

Brooke had a
moment of clarity.  She looked up at Travis and said, “Your redhead, right?”

“She’s not
my
redhead,” Travis said, holding the door open for Brooke.  His eyes didn’t quite
meet hers.

“Ha!” Brooke
snorted.  “I saw that kiss!  If she’s not yours, what’s the story?”

“We used to see
each other.”

“See each
other?”  Brooke burst out laughing.

“Okay, we
dated,” Travis admitted, wondering as he did why he was so reluctant to say the
words.  “We dated for about six months before I left for my last tour of duty.”

“She didn’t send
you a ‘Dear John’ letter, did she?” Brooke gasped.

“No, nothing
like that,” he chuckled.  “I was actually the one who told her she should date
other people.  I didn’t think it was fair to ask her to wait.  We didn’t have
any real commitment to each other.”

“Oh, so now that
you’re back….”

“I’ve been back
for over a year, Bunny-girl,” Travis said.  “I just…didn’t call her when I came
home.  Running into her yesterday morning was a surprise.  She’s the one who
asked me out.”

They walked back
to the bakery in silence.  Travis was wondering why he’d felt it necessary to
make sure Brooke understood about Lorna; specifically, he wanted her to know he
hadn’t called the woman in over a year.  For her part, Brooke was thinking how
stupid she’d been to simply assume Travis would be free for dinner with
her
. 
Travis Cooper probably had women falling all over themselves to date him.  The
thought of all those women made Brooke just a little miserable.  It didn’t seem
to matter how often she protested to herself that Travis was out of her league;
she was attracted to the man, plain and simple.

It wasn’t
only
a physical attraction, either, although remembering the feel of his tongue
against her finger, Brooke had to admit that was certainly part of it!  But it
was more than that.  Brooke enjoyed spending time with Travis; he was kind,
caring, gentle and funny.  Brooke enjoyed talking to him, listening to
him
talk in that deep voice, telling her about his business or his family or his
time in the military.  And all of it added up to sheer stupidity on her part. 
But Brooke could no more walk away from Travis’ friendship than she could stop
breathing.  She knew, without a doubt, that she would be hurt.  How could she
not be when she was falling in love with the man?

Chapter
20

By the end of
the day, Travis had finished installing the security system.  He showed Riley
and Jazz how to arm it in various ways.  Brooke occupied herself sweeping the
bakery and kitchen; in addition to the usual “baking debris”, as Jazz called
it, there were bits of wire and shavings from Travis’ alarm work.  By the time
Travis finished showing Riley and Jazz the alarm system, Brooke was finished
sweeping and had begun mopping.

“Do you always
work this hard?” Riley asked, watching her.

“I just like to
stay busy,” Brooke answered, shrugging.  “And I believe in giving my employers
their money’s worth.”

“Exactly!” Jazz
said.  She took the mop from Brooke and handed it to Riley.  “We’re your
employers, not slave drivers.  Go home!  Travis, take her home!”

“You got it,
Jazz!” Travis said.  He winked at her and turned to Brooke.  “You heard her,
Cupcake.  Let’s hit the road.”

“I thought she
was your Bunny-girl,” Riley observed.

“Bunny-girl,
Cupcake.”  Travis shrugged, smiling.  “She’s cute and sweet, so either one
works for me.”  He tilted his head, looking thoughtfully at Brooke.  “Which do
you prefer?”

Brooke merely
rolled her eyes at him.  She reached for her coat, but Travis took it from her
hands and held it.  She looked at him for a moment before turning her back to
him and slipping her arms into the sleeves of the worn leather jacket.  Travis
put his hands on Brooke’s shoulders and turned her to face him; he zipped her
jacket and wrapped the scarf securely around her throat.  Riley and Jazz
watched the whole scene, transfixed by what they saw.

After Travis
ushered Brooke out the door, Riley looked at his wife, asking, “Were we ever
that oblivious to our attraction to each other?”

“Never!” Jazz
chuckled, leaning against Riley as they watched the Hummer drive away.  She
looked up at him.  “You walked in that door, I took one look at you, and I was
a goner!”

“Me, too, mi
amor,” Riley replied.  “Me, too.”

In Travis’
vehicle, Brooke glanced over at her neighbor and asked, “So…do you have any
work you’d like for me to do tonight?”

“Actually, yes,”
Travis answered.  “I’ve got some accounting work – billing, to be specific.  We
can do that together, so you can learn the system.  I don’t think you’ll have
any trouble with it.”

“Okay,” she
said.  “I’ll come over after I shower.”

Travis gave her
a curious glance.  “Dirty job at the bakery, is it?”

“I smell like a
cupcake.”

“I think you
smell nice.”

“I feel sticky,”
Brooke added.  “Like I have frosting all over me.”

Travis suffered
a sudden coughing fit at Brooke’s innocent declaration.  Unbidden images of
Brooke Valentine popped into his addled brain; images of Brooke, her head
thrown back in ecstasy as Travis licked frosting from the smooth column of her
throat.  Brooke, moaning softly, as Travis scattered cupcake sprinkles down her
body, between her breasts and across her bare belly.

“Are you all
right?” Brooke asked, her violet eyes wide with concern.

“Yeah,” Travis
choked out in a strangled voice.  “Yeah, fine.”

Travis had
recovered somewhat by the time he turned into his driveway.  Brooke slid out of
the passenger seat and walked toward her own house; she gave Travis a friendly
little wave over her shoulder.  Travis watched her walk away; when she closed
her front door, he dropped his head forward and groaned.  What was wrong with
him?

Even if Brooke
were the type of woman Travis usually dated – and she
wasn’t
, he assured
himself again – she didn’t seem at all interested in
him.
 Certainly,
she was attracted to him; Travis wasn’t an idiot, he knew Brooke found him
attractive.  But other than that, she’d given him no reason to think she might
be interested in anything other than friendship.

“She’s not my
type anyway!” Travis growled, turning toward his house.

“Who are you
trying to convince?”

Travis started
at the voice from the shadows on his front porch.  He recognized Nick’s lanky
form and Will’s shorter, bulky one.  He shook his head.

“Nobody,” Travis
muttered.

“I thought you
weren’t interested in her,” Will teased.  “You said she’s not your type.”

“I don’t have a
type!” Travis snapped.

“Sure you do, boss,”
Will continued, laughing.  In the stillness of the evening, his voice carried. 
“Your type is tall and cool, with legs up to here!  Your type is thin and sexy
and gorgeous!  Your type is blonde or redhead.  Your type is definitely
not
short, plain and plump!”

“Shut up,
Will!”  Travis raised his voice slightly to be heard over Will’s joking
chatter.  “There’s nothing going on between Brooke and me.  Not now, not ever.”

Nick, still
standing in the shadows on the front porch, was looking toward Brooke’s house. 
He saw the light in the bedroom nearest his friend’s house.  He saw the shadow
behind the curtains.  And he saw a hand slip between the curtains and slowly
slide the window shut.  The shadow remained where it stood for a moment,
shoulders slumped, head bowed, before moving away from the window.  The
question, he thought, was whether or not to tell Travis Brooke Valentine had
heard the whole conversation.

Travis’ cell
phone vibrated in his pocket.  He pulled it out and looked at the display
before touching the screen to answer.

“Hey, Brooke,”
he said casually.  “What’s up?”  He listened for a moment, frowning slightly. 
“Oh.  No, that’s all right.  We can do it another time.  You should take it
easy and get some rest.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

Travis hung up. 
He continued frowning at the display on his phone for a moment, as if searching
for answers to unasked questions.

“Problem?” Nick
asked.

“No,” Travis
answered thoughtfully.  He shoved his phone back in his pocket.  “No, not
really.  Brooke was going to help me with some of the paperwork this evening –
she’s agreed to help until I hire someone full-time.  But that was her on the
phone.  She said she’s too tired tonight.”

Nick’s gaze slid
back toward Brooke’s window.  He debated telling Travis Brooke had overheard
his argument with Will.  Before he could open his mouth, however, Will jumped
in on a new topic; the trio went inside, discussing business as they went.

Brooke stood in
her shower, wishing the warm water could wash away the heaviness in her heart
as easily as it did the smell of frosting and sugar.  She closed her eyes and
tilted her face up to the steamy stream, allowing it to flow down her face
along with a few wayward tears.  When the water began to cool, she turned off
the shower and reached for a towel.  She dried, dressed in lounge pants and a
camisole and reached for a comb.  She stopped, looking at herself critically in
the mirror.  Her lower lip trembled slightly.