My hormones went haywire at the relaxed, long-legged cowboy. He ruffled his hair and some strands fell over his forehead, hiding him again.
“Good.” I wouldn’t mention that I had spent much of my time working. It’d been held against me in the past.Put that goddamn phone down. Half the time, I had expected Brock to finish withand make me some dinner. No, I wouldn’t reveal everything. I spread a hand over my book, instantly protective.
He glanced down. “Pride and Prejudice?”
“Yes, it’s a favorite. I read it all the time.” My lie tasted sour, but I was used to hiding what I read.
“I read it once.”
“Really?” I had too. Once was enough. “Did you like it?”
“Wasn’t my thing.”
“What is?” What did he do all day?
He shrugged and squinted over the hills. “If I’m not working at the distillery, I’m on the ranch. Not much time for reading.”
If my lie tasted sour, his response was downright acrid. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Perhaps like me, he’d gotten shit for his taste in books. Hurt skimmed over the surface of my skin and it was laughable. If I wasn’t willing to be transparent with him, how did I expect him to be honest with me? He had no reason to be. Couldn’t we be at least friends while we churned through the fake dating pool?
I took the fake book jacket cover off. “I’m not actually reading Jane Austen.”
His brow creased, and he leaned forward to look at the real cover of my book. The shirtless man with a smoldering stare gazed right back at him.
“I read a lot of different genres,” I explained. “Thrillers. I love psychological thrillers because there’s less gore on the page. Fewer gruesome scenes. Some women’s fiction. I used to be into fantasy...” I ran my lower lip between my teeth. Dad’s laughter when I had shown him what I was reading rang through my head. The curl of disgust on Brock’s lips when I spent money on books with a guy on the cover or a dragon. Or both.
“You like genre fiction?”
Genre fiction was a good description but not entirely accurate. I enjoyed most genre fiction. I devoured one genre in particular. “Mostly romance, really.”
He returned to his relaxed stance, folding his arms over his chest.
Whoa. The way that position anchored the fabric of his shirt to his chest started a throb between my thighs that was justwrong. We were talking about books. I was a guest in his house, and last night he’d admitted to not wanting visitors.
But he hadn’t made fun of my taste.
“Tell me about your favorite book,” he asked.
His question surprised me. I didn’t sense a taunt or an underlying purpose to explain why romance books shouldn’t have a place in my life like one of my exes had tried to do. That was likely because he had thought orgasms were mythical and had been afraid one of my books would reveal they weren’t.
I rearranged the fake book cover over my novel just to have a place for it. And because the chest made me wonder what Tenor looked like without a shirt. “I have a lot of favorites.”
He remained quiet.
Discussing this with him pumped my cheeks and my belly full of heat. “One of my favorites is actually fan fiction,” I finally answered. Why had I thought honesty was the best policy?
“Cool.” If he was shocked I’d admitted to loving fan fiction, he didn’t show it. Maybe he didn’t know what it was. Did a lot of distillery-owning cowboys read fanfic? “What makes you like it more than others?”
I swallowed hard. Brock had brayed like a donkey when I’d told him. “It is unique. Something different.”
His sharp gaze narrowed. “Has someone made you feel like shit about it before?”
I nodded, my gaze skating away. “I’ve been accused of working too much and hiding in fantasy worlds.” As if my boyfriend couldn’t get off his computer when I walked through the door and give me a kiss.
“That sucks.” Something weighed heavy in his tone like he knew how it felt to have a personal passion get laughed at. Had he ducked out of a book club because his girlfriend had said it was the biggest waste of time he’d ever heard of?
“It does,” I agreed.
“I like to work a lot too.” He crossed to me, his shadow falling over my lap. He gently pried my hands off my book, then he removed the cover and set it beside me on the swing. “This is a no-judgment zone.”
