Page 25 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HANNAH

I almost kissed Travis. Again.

I’d decided I wasn’t going to do that, but it feels like he just opened up his lockbox of secrets and invited me take a peek. Nosy bitch that I am, I want to burrow deeper and learn everything.

And, yeah, I suppose I’ve been obsessing about what happened between us on Wednesday night…

I took that first step toward him without meaning to, but I definitely pulled him closer on purpose. I fully intended to ravage him with my mouth, but the brunette woman who’s been following us around put a stop to that.

I noticed her checking Travis out earlier, but I figured she was staring for the same reason his ex-girlfriend keeps going to his shows and pushing her way to the front of the crowd.

Namely, he’s pleasant to look at. But now she’s giving off superfan stalker vibes, which is strange because I’ve been to a lot of Garbage Fire shows recently, and I’ve never seen her before.

“You heard the man,” I say, bristling. “Want to tell us who you are? ”

“Oh, sorry,” she says, then stuffs a hand into her purse with intent.

“Whoa, what’ve you got in there?” I ask, trying to shield Travis by stepping in front of him.

He frowns at me, then sidesteps the motion, trying to place his much bigger body in front of me .

It’s like we’re doing a dumb slapstick dance, which proves totally unnecessary when the woman pulls out a crinkled receipt and a child’s marker.

“Can you give me your autograph?” she asks Travis, her eyes alight.

Travis gives me side-eye before glancing back at her. “Why? Are you a fan of Garbage Fire?”

“We’re going to your afternoon performance tomorrow,” she gushes. “We can’t wait.”

“Is that the royal we?” I ask, trying to maneuver in front of Travis again because the stalker lady is still holding out the marker and receipt. “Or are there other people who are obsessed with Travis?”

She flushes. “I wouldn’t say obsessed , but we’re all avid Ships Ahoy fans.

We couldn’t believe it when we heard Evan Thomas’s son is living here in Asheville.

” Her smile widens. “Ships Junior himself. We’d been saving up to go to the museum in Upstate New York, but when we found out you live here, in our very own state, we decided it would be a better use of our funds. ”

I look over at Travis. He seems to be at a loss for words as he studies the woman, but after a moment, he collects himself enough to ask, “Who told you that?”

She squints at him. “It is you, isn’t it? I recognize you because of the birthmark. You were so cute in those little sailor suits you used to wear. I loved that outfit with the suspenders too.”

He clenches his jaw, because that was obviously the worst thing she could have said. “Yes, but I won’t be signing any autographs. I wasn’t in those movies.”

Her mouth purses into a disappointed pout. “But you’re Ships Junior!”

“They never made that show,” he mutters.

“But we came all this way…”

“How far?” I ask, letting curiosity take the wheel.

“Well, I’m here from Charlotte, which isn’t very far, but Garrett’s from Raleigh, and Jeanie came all the way from Wilmington.

You know, Jeanie met your dad at a fan event back in 1990, and she said there were some real sparks.

Maybe she could have been your mother if things had gone differently.

Wouldn’t that be something? It was right before he met your mom. ”

“It sure would have been,” he murmurs. “And you are?”

“I’m Alice,” she says brightly.

“Four of you drove all the way to Asheville because you heard a rumor that the son of an actor you like was living here?” I ask in disbelief.

She looks a little embarrassed now. “We’re superfans,” she says.

“Those movies changed our lives. We just wanted to show Travis our appreciation.” Turning toward him, she adds, “And we were hoping you might be willing to tell us some stories about Evan. You know, the inside scoop that fans wouldn’t know about the great man. ”

Her gaze shifts to our shopping cart, abandoned just in front of the floor piano, before rising again. “Do you have a family?” she asks, then turns to me. “Are you his wife?”

“No,” I say with a snort.

Travis’s entire body looks tense, his hand curled around the handle of the shopping cart.

“That’s none of your fucking business, Alice, if you’ll excuse my language.

My father might have enjoyed parading his family around, but I don’t allow other people access to my family or my friends.

I realize you came a long way, and I’m sorry for that, but I didn’t ask you to.

I’d prefer to keep the past where it belongs. Let’s go, Hannah.”

He grabs the cart and heads toward the front of the store without pausing. Without grabbing the adorable drum set either, not that I’m surprised.

I hang back and ask, “How’d you hear that Travis lives in Asheville?”

Alice is watching him with a slack expression as he walks away, either because he just ripped her a new one, or because the man does have a very fine ass. I snap my fingers in front of her face, and she jolts out of her trance.

“Who told you?” I ask again, keeping my tone pleasant. She’s vaulted over several boundaries, but I don’t think she has bad intentions.

“Oh,” she says. “Do you think maybe he’ll change his mind?”

“No,” I say, “he’s a pretty private person.”

“He’s in a band,” she protests.

“I know, but I think that’s because he likes playing music, believe it or not. Look, I need you to answer my question. Who told you about this?”

She nearly fumbles her phone onto the floor in her haste to get it out of her purse. After pulling something up on the screen, she gives it to me, her hand shaking a little.

“Someone new posted in our online community. She had a photo of the band, and she said she was pretty sure the drummer was Ships Junior. So we did some poking around, and sure enough…”

I peer at the screen, taking in the photo, which has a drawn-on arrow pointing at Travis’s junk and this caption:

Y’all, this guy is Travis Thomas, the would-have-been Ships Junior. He lives in Asheville, and he’s in this band Garbage Fire. GODDDD, he looks just like a young version of his dad, don’t you think? Let’s give him the appreciation and attention he deserves.

The poster has a generic name—MaritimeLaw69.

A sneaking suspicion itches at the back of my brain.

Rachel knows who Travis is.

Rachel holds a grudge against him.

Rachel is exactly the sort of petty bitch who’d go online anonymously and distribute his personal information to a bunch of possible stalkers, knowing he’s a man who values his privacy.

Alice and her friends sound pretty innocuous, but what if someone dangerous shows up?

Not cool.

Very not cool.

No one messes with Travis but me, and both of us are protective of Ollie. Which means I’m going to have to shut down Rachel, or whoever else was behind this.

I take a screenshot of the post and text it to myself. Then I save my number on her phone: NOT TRAVIS’S WIFE.

“Text me if you or any of your friends hear from this person directly or see more posts, okay?”

She wrings her hands. “Will you tell him we don’t mean any harm?”

“I’ll talk to him,” I say, then pat her shoulder because she seems legitimately upset. “But no more following him. It’s super creepy, Alice. How would you feel if someone was following you around, spying on you from down the aisle?”

“You saw me? ” she asks.

“Oh, yeah, I did, and I’m sure he did too. So no more stalking. You’re not very good at it, which is probably for the best.”

She nods, her eyes a bit shiny, like she’s on the verge of tears. “He doesn’t sound like he liked his father very much.”

“This is why you should never try to learn more about your idols. It almost never ends well. Now, promise me that you and your friends aren’t going to show up at the performance wearing sailor suits.”

Her lower lip wobbles. “We got them dry-cleaned.”

“No sailor suits. And don’t pull a paparazzo He doesn’t want his face splashed over any Ships Ahoy websites.”

“We don’t mean any harm.”

“Then don’t cause any,” I say. “Go and enjoy the show if you’d like, but be respectful. Take it easy.”

I hurry to the cash register, where Travis is standing stoically as the clerk rings up the enormous stuffed dog.

I flinch, because it’s ninety bucks. Ninety bucks for a stuffed animal?

He definitely doesn’t have to get that for me.

I mean, sure, my apartment doesn’t allow real animals, and I love petting soft things, but ninety bucks is absurd.

“I don’t need it,” I whisper to him. “I’m thirty.”

“Just like I don’t need that painting kit,” he says dismissively. “We’re getting it.”

The cashier has paused, noticing our exchange, but Travis nods at her. “We’re getting it.”

She keeps ringing up the purchases. When she finishes, the total is staggeringly high, enough to make me queasy, but he doesn’t so much as blink when he hands over his credit card.

I didn’t think that kind of thing would do it for me, but it sends a little shiver down my spine.

Or maybe it’s Travis himself who’s doing that.

His usual self-control has shattered, and I feel like he could do anything right now.

Push me against a wall and ravish me. Rip into someone.

Play a riff that will go down in history…

“You’re staring at me,” he comments, his voice low and ragged, as he returns his credit card to his wallet and nods his thanks to the cashier .

“I am,” I agree. “I’d like to do it some more if you don’t object.”

“I do,” he says roughly. “When you look at me like that, it makes everything…”

“Harder?” I ask with a hint of teasing in my voice.

He shakes his head almost savagely. “You’re not going to make me laugh right now, Hannah. There are some things not even humor can fix.”