"We should do it," I blurt before I can talk myself out of it. Jazz is right. I didn't move here and open this place just to play it safe. That would be letting the Ban the Books crowd win, and I'm not about that life. So why not sell sex toys? If we need a license, I'll just apply for it. It can't be that hard.
"Really?" Jazz stares at me like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Yes, really." I laugh, tossing a piece of crinkled Kraft paper at her. "Let's do it."
"Yes!" she cries, shaking her ass right there at the counter. "We're selling sex toys!"
Sarah decides to join her in her impromptu victory dance, both of them chanting, "Sex toys! Sex toys!" as they shimmy and shake their asses.
About the time Jazz pulls me to my feet and starts trying to twerk on me—try being the operative word here—the bell over the front door dings.
I'm mid booty shake when I glance up, right into the greenest eyes I've ever seen in my life. Laughter dies on my lips, and I stumble to a stop. Sweet Jesus and all his saints. The man is gorgeous. My heart skips a beat, and my damn hands actually get clammy as I look him over.
Those green eyes are paired with full lips and the sharpest jawline I've ever seen. Locks of dark hair fall across his forehead, too unruly to be tamed despite how put-together the rest of him is. His tailored three-piece suit fits his muscular frame a little too well.
I'm not sure how he stumbled into my store, but if he's buying books for himself, I might die. And if he's buying them for someone else, jealousy may eat me alive because I would absolutely allow him to star in my fantasies.
Smut, who? Give me this man in nothing but a smirk and a tie.
"Welcome toBook of Love," I call, internally cringing when my voice comes out sounding like I'm doing an impression of a sex-line operator. I smooth my hands down my body…like that's really going to change the fact that I'm in a t-shirt that says, "Got smut?" and jeans with a hole in the knee while my best friend twerks on me.
Jasmine and Sarah realize at the exact same moment that there's someone else watching their little dance routine. Jazz just tosses her hair and saunters behind the counter like it doesn't matter to her. But Sarah squeaks, practically diving for cover. Books, she can do. Hot men? Not so much. She's an anxious little bookworm, through and through.
I hurry across the store to help the hunk in the suit. Whoever spots the man-candy first gets to help the man-candy. It's an unspoken rule around here. Sarah refuses to play, but it keeps me, Jazz, and Sarah's best friend, Olive, entertained. Lucy and Loralei, the town librarian, even play along when they're here. Although…Oliver gets cranky when Lucy plays along and goes all caveman on her. Honestly, that's probably why she does it.
Either way, I love free labor and this game.
I'm halfway across the store to the man before I realize just how tall he is. Unlike every other woman in my family, I got my dad's height. Even though I'm five-nine, this man still towers over me like Goliath, only hotter.
Most men who walk through the doors fit into one of two camps. They're either closet romance fans themselves, or they're here to buy something for someone else. Both camps always look nervous when they walk through the doors for the first time, as if they're a little afraid of what waits on the other side.
The readers are primarily worried about being treated like unicorns—you know, rare sights to gawk at, prod, and tease. The others would either prefer to be anywhere but in a "bookstorefor chicks," or they think romance books are a waste of time and are only here to buy themselves out of whatever trouble they've gotten into.
There are a rare few male readers who don't give a shit what anyone thinks and enjoy their smut proudly. And there are those from the other camp who fully support the reading habits of the women in their lives, even if they'd rather not spend their time in the store, surrounded by manchest.
Judging by the look on this man's face, he does not belong to the first camp—the one full of men who actually enjoy reading smut, whether secretly or out loud and proud. His lips press into a line as his gaze flicks around the store like he's sizing the place up and doesn't like any of what he sees.
Rude.
We worked hard on this store. Frankly, it's amazing. The walls are painted a deep purple, making the space seem even larger than it already is. The shelves are plum, with funny signs and book dragons strategically placed between rows of books. With the couches, chairs, and plush rugs, it feels more like a cozy home library than an impersonal bookstore, which is just the vibe I wanted.
People should feel at home here. They should want to curl up with a book and get lost for a while. Comfortable readers are happy readers. We even have bookish blankets they can buy to snuggle in while they read, and a café offering coffee, tea, and baked goods.
"Can I help you find something today?" I ask, drawing to a stop in front of him.
He blinks down at me like he's just noticing me for the first time. His gaze runs over me, his expression changing from bored disinterest to…something else.
His gaze drops to my chest, and I quickly cross my arms, just in case he can see how hard my nipples are. Wireless T-shirt brasare the best thing ever, but they do absolutely nothing to hide what needs to be hidden.
"What kind of store is this?" he asks, and oh, wow, that deep, husky voice is incredible. The question, however, is nine kinds of confusing.
"What?"
"What kind of store is this?" he repeats.
"I heard you the first time," I murmur. "I'm just not sure I understand the question. This is obviously a bookstore, hence the shelves full of books."
"I've never been in a bookstore where people dance around, chanting about sex toys before." He cocks a brow. "Is that typical of most women's bookstores?"
