one
Marshall
"You'recompletelywhipped."Istare at John across the poker table, watching him check his phone for the fifth time in ten minutes. "She's got you trained like one of those performing dogs at the fair."
John doesn't even bother denying it, just grins like the lovesick idiot he is. "Bunny made cookies for you assholes. They're in the kitchen if you want some."
Rex and Geoff abandon their cards immediately.Traitors both of them. But I can't really blame them - Bunny's cookies are legitimately legendary. The woman's turned John's sparse bachelor pad into something that smells like vanilla and has pink throw pillows on every available surface. It's disturbing to witness.
"Speaking of whipped," John says, shuffling cards with that annoying smirk of his, "you owe me, Le Croix."
"The hell I do."
"The bet. You lost fair and square. Time to pay up."
Right. The stupid bet about him keeping Bunny after their fake Valentine's date. I'd been so certain he'd come to his senses within a week, realize the age gap and the lifestyle differences were too much. Now they're practically married and she calls him "Daddy" in public without a hint of embarrassment.
"What do you want?" I pull out my wallet, but John waves me off with one hand.
"Not money. You're doing the library thing."
"What library thing?"
"Blind Date with a Book. It's some Valentine's event the library's running. You match with a book and a person based on an algorithm or some bullshit like that."
"Absolutely not. Find something else."
"You welching on a bet, Le Croix?" Rex calls from the kitchen, mouth full of cookie. "That's not very honorable for a military man."
I flip him off, but he's got a point. I don't welch on bets. Military honor and all that ingrained bullshit.
"Fine. When is this nightmare?"
"Tomorrow night. Seven PM. And wear something that doesn't scream 'I'll murder you in your sleep and enjoy it.'"
The next evening, I'm standing outside Darkmore Public Library feeling like a complete idiot. Paper hearts decorate the windows like some kind of Valentine's explosion. A hand-lettered sign reads: "Blind Date with a Book - Find Your Perfect Match!"
Christ.
Inside, an older woman at the front desk directs me to the back room where the event's being held. "Charlotte's running ittonight. She's our new assistant librarian. Sweet girl, bit shy, but she's done absolute wonders with our romance collection. You'll love her."
I follow hearts taped to the floor - seriously, actual paper hearts like we're in elementary school - to a reading room that's been transformed into something straight out of one of those romance novels my sister used to read. Soft lighting, comfortable chairs arranged in intimate clusters, books wrapped in brown paper with cryptic descriptions written in looping, feminine handwriting.
And standing on a rolling ladder, reaching for something on the top shelf, is a woman who makes me stop dead in my tracks.
She's wearing a pencil skirt that's hiked up from stretching, revealing the backs of her thighs. Narrow waist flaring dramatically to generous hips and an ass the skirt is struggling valiantly to contain. White blouse tucked in all professional, hair twisted up in a messy bun held precariously by a pencil. She's muttering to herself, completely oblivious to my presence.
"Contemporary romance, historical, paranormal... Who requested these be sorted by 'steam level'? That's not even a real classification system in the Dewey Decimal—"
The book she's reaching for falls. Instinct has me moving before I think, catching it easily. I glance at the cover - "The Duke's Secret Bride" with some shirtless aristocrat on it. Standard historical romance fare.
"Interesting reading material for a librarian."
She squeaks like a startled mouse and wobbles dangerously on the ladder. I steady it with one hand, looking up at her properly. She's got the biggest brown eyes I've ever seen behind thick-rimmed glasses, and from this angle, I can fully appreciate how her narrow waist flares into those generous hips. She's built like a perfect pear, all soft curves in exactly the right places for grabbing.
"I need to know the collection!" She's scrambling down now, face flushed crimson. "For recommendations! Reader's advisory is a very important part of library science and I can't properly suggest books to patrons if I haven't read them myself and understood the various subgenres and tropes and—"
"Come down before you hurt yourself." I use my command voice, the one that used to make military men jump to attention without question.
