“Two more away from you going back,” he says in a near singsong. Not a happy one though. More like a dirge. And it takes everything in me not to climb over the counter, throw my arms aroundhim and reassure him that everything will work out somehow. Though even I’m not entirely convinced.
Suddenly, those stones from the collection—my potential tickets back to my usual timeline—are rough reminders in my stomach. We have little idea how this time-vacation has rippled the universe. Is this a Scrooge situation where everything I’m experiencing is a hyperreal premonition? Or is this a trueBack to the Futuresituation where my actions could have real effects on the life I drop back into?
There’s only one way to know: try.
And if we’re successful, that means goodbye all over again, with no guarantee of an impending hello on the other side.
“Considering I have no recollection of what those final crystals were and we aren’t 100 percent certain the ones we have are correct, I think it’s safe to say I’ll be here for at least a bit longer.” It’s not nearly as comforting as I want it to be, but it’s all I can offer. That, and using my presence as bait for attendance at his author event. “Which means I’m fully free to interview this mysterious author about his twisted book. If you’ll let me.” Drew holds my eyes for a moment. Thoughts skitter across his expression as it shifts from delight to surprise to stoicism like slides on a projector. “What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“Just that I forgot how much I missed knowing you.”
Those words uncork me, and before I can even question it, I’m jumping over the counter and kissing Drew with everything I have. Even though this body is on loan, it lights up with intense pleasure when it presses into Drew’s. At our contact points, he gradually relaxes, leans into the kiss, and presses a huge hand firmly to my sacrum, heaving me tighter to him so our hips are flush.
“And, somehow, I missed this, too,” he says wistfully, visibly contemplating something.
I’m caught off guard. “But we never—”
“In my dreams, we did.”
Instantly, I’m on fire for him. My hands are in his hair, messing with the styled perfection until it’s sticking up, the heat of the moment leaving it slightly damp with sweat. It’s like we’re dancing, and even though I initiated it, it’s Drew who takes the lead, waltzing us over to the door, where he breaks the kiss to flip the OPENsign to CLOSEDand to turn the lock.
My head is woozy, knowing where this is going.
“Come.” It’s a quiet command that I’m more than happy to follow.
He leads me by the hand up the sweeping staircase and into the loft, where there are more books, more displays, and, more importantly, a theme-appropriate red-velvet fainting couch that would be right at home in a creaky Victorian mansion.
With a gentle push, he lays me down on it and begins kissing my neck, his beard tickling the sensitive skin beneath my chin.
His body presses down on me, the world’s sexiest weighted blanket, and his bulge grazes my inner thigh. The plush couch beneath me bounces when he comes up to meet my mouth again, tenderly taking my lower lip between his teeth.
There’s no necessity here as we hold each other in the middle of a bookstore, surrounded by shelves, wrapped up in the scents of mahogany and the Earl Grey tea Drew’s been drinking all afternoon—the canister left open near the electric kettle.
In the privacy of the loft, I finger the hem of his shirt before he gets the hint, hiking it up over his head to reveal smooth, milky skin, a small tuft of red chest hair, and two perfectly pink nipples. I pitch forward and take one in my mouth, which makes Drew groan so deeply that I back off, worried.
“No, do it again,” he growls. “I like that.” And it occurs to me again that Drew isn’t the guy I left back in 2023. He’s sitting on seven years of experience. Eighty-four months of kisses and touches andorgasms from himself or from partners or multiple partners in beds and in cars and God knows where else.
There is so much of Drew’s life in this timeline that is still a mystery to me, and right now I get clues on how to unlock him. Exhibit A: When I run my tongue over the shell of his ear, he curses. Exhibit B: When I palm the front of his jeans, he grinds and writhes with pleasure. Exhibit C: When I undress, his eyes never leave mine, even as the underwear comes off. Because it’s abundantly clear that it’s not the body I’m in that matters.
It’s me.
He wantsme.
And he takes me. In his hand. In his mouth. On the fainting couch. On the floor. Against the bookshelf, where a sliding ladder becomes a rickety gripping post, jostling the titles.
Paperbacks topple over, and my body shudders when I grip the nearest table, finally releasing in his beard and on his chest with a sigh that echoes through the shop with melodic clarity. And Drew smiles so wickedly, so charmingly, that my pumping and shuddering doesn’t stop until he’s finishing too, carefully dribbling into his hand as his chest heaves and I kiss him while laughing into his mouth.
Laughing because this is how the night of CeeCee’s wedding should’ve ended. He and I spent and breathless, sprawled together in a perfect embrace because we’d finally given ourselves over to the love we’d each been privately clutching.
Laughing because, as I look around us, we somehow turned his murdery bookstore into a place for love stories—ourlove story—in the end anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bound by Mayhem Books is no longer the sex den it was a few days ago.
Eager readers and fans line up down the street and around the block. Jessalynn, who unenthusiastically let this happen, is beside me. High heels clack menacingly on the pavement, and a bodyguard stomps right behind us.
“The fans can get wild,” Jessalynn said. “It’s for your safety and my peace of mind. Gotta protect the assets.”
