“Yes, but if I had waited until then, I would have missed the riveting lecture on Chekhov’s dildo.” He crossed his ankle over his knee. “Please, go on.”
“Fine.” I turned my attention back to the group. “I’m sure most of you are familiar with the concept of Chekhov’s gun. The idea that if a writer includes a gun in a story, it should be used later in the plot.”
Several of them nodded, so I continued.
“Well, like Chekhov, I believe that sex toys should only be introduced in romance novels if the author plans to incorporate them into the story. Hence the name—”
“Chekhov’s dildo,” Jared finished. “A noble theory indeed.”
“Agreed,” Mel added.
“Me, too.”
“Great point, Nessa.”
The praise continued until each of our seventeen book club attendees—including Sandra, who until now, hadn’t said a word all night—added something. After that, it took another twenty minutes to wrap our meeting—mostly because everyone was more focused on Jared—and select October’s book pick, which just so happened to be a small-town baseball romance.
Imagine that.
He waited until I locked the front door behind the last book clubber before asking, “Do you have next month’s book already in stock, or should I order it online?”
I must have misheard him. Xan didn’t work on Fridays, so it had been a long and lonely day in the store by myself.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Hitters are for Quitters.I can get it online later if you’ve already closed the register for the day.”
I narrowed my gaze. “You want to read the October book club pick?”
“Yeah.”
“A queer baseball romance novel?”
His carefree smile slipped back into place. “Sounds right up my alley.”
After a nine-hour day on my feet, I didn’t have the energy to argue with him beyond that. Instead, I blew out my breath and shrugged. “You know what? Sure. I’ll grab a copy for you.”
I had just opened the box of books today, so I knew exactly where they were in our baseball romance display. Ever since the Roasters had moved into town, my baseball book sales had nearly tripled. Xan even convinced me to create a Roasters-inspired table display.
“Is that me?”
I didn’t need to ask to know that he was referencing the miniature cutout of him on the Roasters Romance table. Each of the players had one sprinkled amongst the books there.
“It is.”
“Damn.” He paused before clarifying, “That’s cool.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
I handed him the book and walked him back to the register.
“Oh, yeah!” When I looked back up, he was pointing down at the book in his hand. “I knew I recognized her name. She wrote the blurb for July’s book club pick.”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. Instead, I quickly raced to the erotica section of the store to find July’s read, a forbidden romance between a college professor and his student. I snagged a copy from the shelves, rolled it over in my hands, and—
“How the hell did you know that?”
“Because I read it,” he said all matter-of-fact. “I liked that one a lot. Especially when it came to her relationship with hisex. I appreciated the way the author didn’t demonize her. That happens too often—in books and in life.”
