“Dude, you okay? You look weird.” Milo’s voice snapped me back to reality.
I locked my phone screen in a panic, hoping he couldn’t see my expression in the dim light of our living room. “Yeah, fine. Just tired.”
“I’m up to 147 views,” he said proudly. “Not bad for a guy with only twelve followers, right?”
“Not bad at all.” I forced a yawn, standing up. “I’m gonna crash. Early shift tomorrow at the diner.”
I needed to get upstairs, away from Milo’s perceptive gaze. Away from the risk of him discovering what I was reading and its effect on me. Most importantly, I needed privacy to finish the chapter, find out what Holly did with her two men, and deal with my inconvenient physical reaction.
“Night,” Milo called, still refreshing his view count.
I took the stairs to the loft two at a time, book girl and her dirty novel burning in my thoughts. For the first time in a long time, I was genuinely curious about something. About someone. Not that it mattered. Rich girls with college degrees and bookstore habits didn’t mix with guys from the Flats whose greatest achievement was not dying on their motorcycles.
Chapter 3
June
Mom:
We just want you to form social connections, sweetheart. We know how hard it is for you.
I do have social connections. Right now, I’m walking to the bookstore.
Dad:
To bury yourself in another book instead of putting yourself out there?
To chat with my friend, who owns the store, and THEN bury myself in another book.I shoved my phone in my purse with a huff.
My parents hadn’t evengotten me tested for autism until I was twelve and asked for it myself, but they’d suddenly turned into helicopter parents when I’d moved out of state for a job opportunity. But I was coping, mostly. The bookstore was one of my strategies. I only let myself shop locally for paperbacks, knowing the quest for exciting new reads would get me out of the house at least once a week.
But today, I didn’t even have to force myself to go. My pre-order was finally available for pickup. And I desperately needed it because this filthy, smutty series was giving me all kinds of sexy daydreams. I’d devoured the previous three books in quick succession, staying up until three in the morning on workdays, bleary-eyed during meetings and maybe a little too horny for my own good.
Hell, maybe it would even motivate me to date a little, just so I could get some sex! Probably shouldn’t text that plan to my mom. I rounded the corner to Honeybee’s parking lot and nearly stumbled to a halt. The bikers were back, the ones that had been in front of the store a few days ago, when I left with “Three of Spades.”
Speaking of finding some sex… I bit back that thought, knowing I had no idea how to approach men like that. They’d probably expect me to flirt. Or make small talk.Nope. Not for me.But still, I took a minute to check them out before they noticed me, blushing as I wondered what they’d think if they knew I’d found them on social media. And mildly stalked them. Not on purpose, they’d popped up on my feed when Jamie from Honeybee Books had shared one of their posts, and I’d done a deep dive on their profile.In a related note, I now knew how to change the sparkplugs on a Honda motorcycle, thanks to some very instructional videos from the cute one who did all the talking.
Today, both wore helmets that obscured their faces, though I knew from my mild stalking that one was named Milo. He was Asian-American and devastatingly handsome, and had recorded a lot of content for their various channels. I’d learned quite a lot about Milo from an interesting video on lubricants.Motorcycle lubricants, sadly.Milo’s friend never talked and never took off his helmet. Their fans had half a dozen nicknames for him, most of them either thirsty or mildly offensive. Today, he was standing with crossed arms, waiting. Milo was goofing off with his phone, filming a video, maybe.
Why did they keep showing up here? This wasn’t exactly biker territory. Honeybee Books specialized in romance novels, romantasy, and women’s fiction. The bookstore’s cheerful yellow exterior and hand-painted bees on the window looked almost too cute next to the badass bikers.
And there were two of them, like some cosmic joke aimed at the part of my brain fantasizing about being sandwiched between two dangerous men.
I slowed my pace, suddenly conscious of every awkward movement of my body. I couldn’t still my hands, so I smoothed down my skirt, tucked that same stubborn strand of hair behind my ear again. I probably looked like I was having some kind of neurological event. Graceful, I was not—especially not when my nerves were already frayed from my parents and their late-stage helicopter parenting.
The quiet one turned my way, his face hidden by a visor. I imagined I could feel the weight of his gaze. That was ridiculous, of course. He was probably looking at something behind me. Something more interesting than a slightly disheveled engineer in a wrinkled cardigan.
Men like them—young, attractive, radiating that intangible aura of danger and freedom—they didn’t notice women like me. They went for the gorgeous, confident types who knew how to flirt.
Shit. I needed to get a grip. It wasn’t like I wanted to date the biker guys.
I fumbled with my phone, pretending to check a message while swiping away something from my father that kind of looked like he was trying to set me up with a date with an engineer from Berkeley, which made me growl and open the bookstore’s door with an aggressive shove.
Once I was inside the familiar cocoon of Honeybee Books, I took a deep breath, letting the scent of paper and honey-lavender tea calm my racing heart. The store was perfect for my sensory needs; always quiet and calm, never too crowded, with a little cafe in one corner that only served tea and muffins. I hated when bookstores had an entire restaurant inside and smelled of all sorts of random non-book smells. Shaking off my racing thoughts, I forced myself to focus on why I was here: to pick up “Four of Hearts.” Which meant I needed to go talk to Jamie and retrieve my book. She was busy arranging a display of new releases. Her colorful reading glasses hung from their beaded chain, swinging gently as she moved. She spotted me andsmiled, already reaching under the counter before I could say a word.
“Looking for this?” she asked, holding up a glossy paperback with a playing card design that matched the rest of the series.
I nodded, but couldn’t stop my eyes from darting to the large front window. From this angle, I could see the bikers still outside, and I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed them. A blonde woman had approached them, her hair catching the sunlight. Even from inside, I could tell she was gorgeous—tall and slender with the kind of confidence I’d never mastered. She wore shorts that showed off her long legs.I looked down at my legs, wondering why they were just regular length. Maybe the shorts were some sort of optical illusion.
