Because a part of you might actually miss Mr. Mysterious Hot Guy.
Speaking of.
He’s the kind of dark handsome the ladies in your online book club would absolutely use as a model for their character moodboards. And you were too busy trying not to die to notice what he’s wearing out there in the dark alley, but he’s got on a plain white t-shirt and black pants. It didn’t seem odd at the time.
But now that you know he was trapped in that book since the 1800s—
“Question.” You hold up your hand and ask, “How did you get modern clothes if you’ve been stuck inside that book for a couple centuries?”
“This?” Mysterious Hot Book Dude leans forward, grabbing the hem of his shirt and yanking it up to examine it closer.
Holy mother of abs, Batman!
Did he just work out for two centuries straight!?
He must have.
But he’s too busy staring down at his shirt and pants to notice you blushing again. At least there’s that.
“Strange taste,” he mutters before finally letting the shirt drop back down over his chiseled stomach. “But the answer is obvious: This is your doing. You put me in this get-up.”
“Me!?” You balk, taking a step back, nearly toppling your bookshelf and spilling all the poor, innocent, salacious romance novels waiting for their chance to be read. “I did no such thing.”
It’s just not possible. You only wished for a hot, magical book boyfriend to save you. That’s all.
“I didn’t dress you.”
“Sure you did,” he says, dropping his feet back to the floor as he sits up taller. “You’re the one who broke the spell that locked me in that forsaken book.” He stands up, and you gulp as he towers over you once again.
Why the heck is he so tall!?
He grins, pushing you back against the wall.
He seems to have a hobby of doing that, and even though it makes no sense, a part of you kind of likes it.
That settles it: Your survival instinct must be broken.
Please pin me against the wall some more, Mr. Strange Hot Guy.
Yep, definitely broken.
“Now that you mention it,” he says with a growing smirk. “I seem to remember hearing you wish for ahot book boyfriendto save you.”
Ohhhhh, crap.
He heard your wish!?!?
“It was just a dumb wish!” You insist, “It doesn’t mean anything!”
But he’s not listening.
“I’ve already saved you,” he says with a low chuckle. The low rumble of his voice shivers across your ear as he growls, “So that means, according to your wish,I must be your hot book boyfriend.”
Someone grab the fire extinguisher, because your face is burning up.
“No, no,” you protest. “That’s not what that means—it’s—”
“Yes?” He asks, a self-satisfied smugness ringing in his voice, like he’s enjoying the effect he has on you. “Go on.”
