HONOR
I might be a confusing mix of contradictions, but I dance to my own beat.
Itry to lose myself in my book, but my gaze keeps tracking to Fox. It’s both nice and disconcerting having company while I’m reading. He’s also wearing glasses. Fox wearing glasses is doing funny things to my insides.
His gaze skims over the words, and he turns the pages like he’s devouring the story. But I know the author’s story isn’t the only thing written in that book. No, amongst the printed text are my personal thoughts and reactions. Reading those is like peeling away a layer of someone’s soul. It’s as personal as looking in a diary and as private as the scattered thoughts running through your mind before you finally succumb to slumber at night.
His tongue peeks out of the side of his mouth as he absorbs the words. He’s no doubt combining my personal thoughts and the actions of the characters to continue to build a picture of me.Good luck. I’m far more fucked up than you know.
Buthe’s not the only one who is an expert in nonverbal cues. I had to learn the hard way how to read someone capable of inflicting pain in the name of molding me to be the best version of myself. Now, I know the best version of myself was before Gideon, but she no longer exists.
I make it through three chapters before I realize I haven’t absorbed a word. It’s not a bad book; it’s just that the guy sitting in my chair takes all my attention. He’s not like many other big men—he purposefully makes himself less threatening and is aware of how his size might intimidate. Not that he isn’t capable of switching it around. I’ve been on the receiving end of that.
His eyes rise and meet my gaze. They crinkle in the corner as he catches me staring red-handed.
“Good book?” I ask.
“Not my normal read, but it is enlightening.”
I ignore the hint he finds my notes entertaining. “What kind of book do you normally read?”
He lowers the book into his lap. “Honestly, I haven’t done much reading lately. My job keeps me busy for the most part. But if I had the chance, I guess a good thriller. Perhaps a horror.” My face must give away my thoughts, because he snorts. “So you like horror movies but not horror books?” he checks.
“That’s right.”
“And you like romance books but not romance movies?”
“I can tolerate them in small doses.”
“That’s confusing.”
I huff. “Not really. With a romance book, the authors give you enough information to picture the scene to understand the mood and what’s playing out, but still allows us to fill in the blanks and create the world in our heads. The movie versions never compare.”
“There have been some very famous movies made from romance books.”
“True, but ask anyone who readFifty Shadesand they’ll tell you that Jamie Dornan was never who they imagined as Christian Grey. He’s a great actor, but he doesn’t command the room like the book version did. Women are seduced by their five senses, but it’s our imaginations that make us melt. Men are visual creatures.”
“You were doing a fine job of ogling me a few minutes ago.”
My cheeks flame, but I refuse to look away. “Well, if you are going to sit there in your bare feet with your glasses on and your muscles on show, I’m going to look. Any red-blooded woman would.”
“You considerFifty Shades of Greya romance movie?”
“It’s romantic suspense.”
He drops his feet to the floor and leans forward. “I see. What is romantic suspense exactly?”
“Where you combine a romance with a suspense plot.”
“Ah, that makes sense. You enjoy books that call to your romantic soul but make your horror-loving heart pound in anticipation.”
“Yes.”
“So why not read horror?”
“It’s the reverse. In a horror book, I struggle to understand the picture the author is creating. But in a movie, I’m there to enjoy the special effects—the jumps and the scares, the tension, music, all of it.”
“What would you consider your life to be if it was a genre? Romance, horror, thriller, romantic suspense. Where does it fit?”
