“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” I say in a huff, tugging my beanie back down over my head and exploding out of the booth.
“That’s fine. Connor and I are meeting up soon, anyway.” She hums, an evil grin peeking from behind her giant mug. “Yes, doing something for myself feels nice.”
She doesn’t mean just the coffee. “It’s a slippery slope, Jenny,” I mutter over my shoulder. “And when you get hit by karma or a truck, nobody will be there to pick you back up.”
I slam my palms against the door’s glass panes, rushing out into the mild Texas winter. The sun gleams down on me, and I roll my flannel sleeves to my forearms. It’s too hot, and I’m too frustrated to suffer today. With a sigh, the swirled ink silhouette of me walking out onto a football field reveals itself on my lanky arms. Of course, I had to get a tattoo so complicated covering it is damn near impossible.
Ah, well. I bury that regret with many others, marching forward with one destination in mind.
The bookstore.
There isn’t a problem in the world a good book can’t help you ignore.
Do I have a TBR pile waiting in my dorm room large enough to fill an Olympic Swimming pool? Sure.
But part of buying a book and then reading it while your towering stack mocks you is that while you’re reading, you worry about never catching up on your TBR instead of actual, real-life things. Like how your best friend’s possessed.
It's better to worry about books than life.
Ten out of ten would recommend it.
I wouldn't have to worry if I were still a douche-canoe. But ah, well.
Things were so much simpler then. When all I had to do was play football, nothing else mattered. People were dying to be my friends. Kennedy was still in love with me, and I didn’t know the cold reality of how much of my value lay in my ability to throw an egg-shaped leather ball.
My hand grips the cold brass knob of A New Chapter Bookstore, and I tug open the hard wooden door. A brief chill swirls around me, entering the store.
Hairs stand on the back of my neck. A shiver terrorizes my spine.
Shake it off.
There’s probably a weird AC system here, judging by how old the place is.
My feet carry me on instinct to the New Releases Romance winter display. Without reading a single fucking blurb, I scoop up as many books as my arms can carry. If Jenny insists on this rabid personality, I will need something to support my impending reclusive lifestyle.
Romance books are always the answer.
A brown, tabby Bengal cuts across my path, and I wobble with my stash, barely making it to the counter before they avalanche out of my arms with a dramatic crash. I scan the store, searching for an employee, but I've yet to see one in the two times I’ve been here. Hopefully, the crash will draw someone’s attention.
“Oh, he’s here. Right on schedule!” A voice squawks from the back room. A woman with blonde hair piled high on her head blinks rapidly, entering behind the counter like she hasn’t seen daylight in quite some time. Judging by the putrid scent emanating from her, she hasn’t seen a soap bar, either. “Oh yes,” she glances down at my pile of books. “You do like your romance novels. Don’t you? I think that’s your aura’s doing—knows you were supposed to have this beautiful love story about healing, but Jack did you dirty, took that away from you.”
My stomach twists itself into a knot. The word aura has been used far too much this week for my liking, but maybe even more concerning—how does this woman know about my affinity for romance novels?
I should leave and go to my usual bookstore. I don’t know why I came here.
I just… did.
The lady makes a quick move in my introspection, lunging towards my face with a pair of scissors, and I shut my eyes, ready to be massacred or something.
Her fingers tug on a strand of hair, pulling tight against my scalp. The snip of the scissor follows, and my alleged murder is over.
“What the—” My fingers tangle in my curls and find one significantly smaller than the rest.
“Hair makes the man.” The Scissor Fiend exclaims.
Yeah, I should leave now. I step back on my heel. A careful, slow retreat shouldn’t cause a ruckus.
“Oh yes, that’s a good twist. I love it. He wants his old life back. We heard him say it, and he’d be such a good foil that way.”
