CHAPTER ONE
GEMMA
When you slip on a banana peel, people laugh at you; but when you tell people you slipped on a banana peel, it’s your laugh. So you become the hero rather than the victim of the joke.
—NORAEPHRON
Karson Zellner is my hero. Not only because he’s the police officer who busted into my town house to rescue me from my roommates when he’d thought they were my captors, but also because I’m literally using him as inspiration for the hero in my next script.
He’s not aware I’m here, though, because I registered for Citizen’s Safety Academy at the door. All to prevent him from finding someone else to teach the class in an effort to avoid me.
As he scans the conference room in search of supervillains, I duck behind my journal. Not because I fit the supervillain profile, but because I’m Lois Lane on assignment.
I peek over the top of my journal.
He’s gone back to talking with another policeman by the entrance, so I’m in the clear. There’s time to take in all the details that will make my story come to life.
I scribble notes. Karson is about medium height, medium weight, and medium-brown hair, so he’s more similar to Marvel’s superhero Hawkeye than Superman, but that’s not a bad thing. Like Hawkeye, he buzzes with an inner strength and intelligence. He’s constantly on alert, ready for shootouts, motorcycle chases, and taking down corrupt government agencies.
My heart plays a drumroll in anticipation of the moment our eyes will meet. There’s nothing average about his eyes. I’d call them cornflower blue, like the weird crayon in kindergarten that looks darker than it actually shades. In the same way, Karson’s light eyes appear darker when brooding underneath his constantly creased forehead and widow’s peak.
He’s in uniform, of course. I’ve never seen him without it. Would I even recognize him in civilian clothes? It’s as if he was meant to wear a shiny badge, a black button-down, and the thick belt holding all kinds of gadgets.
He stands at the doorway to the modern conference room in the back corner. The officer next to him laughs and shakes hands with the civilians entering the room.
Karson keeps his arms crossed. He’s always so serious that it makes me feel flighty and frivolous in comparison.
“Are you hiding behind your diary, Gemma?” asks Charlie from the seat on my left. He’s got Ashton Kutcher’s good looks but not the smug smile. He’s too literal to be smug.
Charlie is only here because he’s thinking about directing a documentary on police reform. He doesn’t hide from anything and doesn’t understand why he’s always upsetting people by bringing up politics and religion. I mean, he started a Bible study at one of the most liberal film schools in America. I’m grateful because it brought the three of us together, but occasionally it can get embarrassing.
After we graduated from college, I headed for SoCal with high hopes. I wouldn’t say Hollywood ate me alive, but it did try to serve me as an appetizer. One director literally told me I was just another pretty face. So I’m back in Oregon, teaching high school English by day and writing by night. I admit this sounds like failure in many ways, but there are benefits to coming home. For example, the safety of renting a room from Charlie versus sharing an apartment with random roommates found in the classifieds section of theLA Times. I mean, if the police have only been called to our neighborhood because of me, then it’s pretty safe.
Kai, our other roommate, sits on my right. “If anyone is hiding, it should be me,” he says. He has the deep voice of Keanu Reeves, but his head is rounder than Keanu’s. Maybe I should be comparing him to Henry Golding.
I smile at Kai as I recall the moment he answered the door to a cop while I was bound to a chair with duct tape. “You’re just saying that because Karson pulled a gun on you.”
“Exactly.” Kai huffs dramatically enough that he could get a job acting in front of the camera rather than operating it. “Forget the journal and give me a bulletproof vest.”
I turn back toward my hero and find Charlie staring directly at my policeman. As I mentioned before, Charlie’s not versed in the art of subtlety. I slap his arm. “Stop staring.”
Charlie has literally turned his ergonomic seat sideways behind the long tables to face Karson. Charlie twists his body to frown over his shoulder at me. “Why?” His hazel eyes flash with confusion. “I thought you were here to watch him.”
“Not like that.” Kai answers for me. “You shouldneverwatch anyone like that.”
“Oh,” Charlie says, as if this is new information and he’s recalling all the past times he’s stared at strangers.
I tilt my head to soften the blow. “We want to observe Karson in his natural habitat, and it will be hard for him to act natural if he sees us all staring.”
Charlie holds his hands wide, still confused by the try-not-to-stare thing. “He’s the instructor. Everyone is going to be watching him once he starts.”
I’m not sure I can reason with Charlie, but maybe he’ll understand a direct request. “Will you wait until then?”
“Okay.” He spins to face forward, folds his hands on the table, and looks around as if he needs to find another purpose. He has too much energy to be good at waiting, so this is probably the best we’ll get.
I glance back at Kai with a smirk. I suspect he’s making jokes about Charlie in his head, but instead of laughing at Charlie, he’s narrowing his eyes at Karson.
What in the world? That’s even worse than how Charlie gawked.
