Hayes: I bet she’s loving every minute of it.
Austin: Look at you go, Pretty Boy. Winning her over one book trope at a time.
Oliver: I call dibs if you mess it up. I bet I can do better than a bookstore.
Me: She’s not interested in you, Olliepoop.
Rudy: Bummed I didn’t get to meet Erin at the event. You need to fix this ASAP, Pretty Boy. You know I have FOMO.
Austin: We know.
Oliver: We know.
Hayes: We know.
Me: We know.
Erin emerges from the stacks after I send my reply, looking confident and beautiful, a small, wistful curve tugging at her lips.
She stands a few feet in front of me and stretches out her arms and legs, like she’s about to run a marathon.
“Ready?” I ask her.
“Yup.”
I look back down at my phone and restart the timer for three minutes.
“Time…starts…now!”
She shoots off again, and this time I follow, making sure she sticks to the rules.
She grabs three books from the romance stack, three from a sports romance table, one from another table with summer reads, and two that scream cowboy romance based on the art cover.
When she rushes over to the dark romance section, she drops her first book. “Damn,” she whispers, spinning around to see it on the floor behind her.
She frowns for just a second, remembering she’s being timed, and swipes two books from a table. I notice one of the covers has handcuffs on it, and my interest piques as I start to wonder what Erin might like in the bedroom.
Control is definitely my thing. I enjoy having all of it. Always have. But physical restraints? That’s the kind of intimacy I’ve only ever thought about doing with someone I trust entirely. Not a random girl during a one-night stand.
I glance up at Erin. She’s still hovering around the dark romance tables. Watching her makes me wonder what she’d trust me with.
My mind betrays me.
Suddenly, I’m picturing her tied up in my bed.
Thanks a lot, Bookworm. Your taste in books now has me picturing you in sexy lingerie. Do you prefer matching sets or going mismatched? Hell, it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t stay on long anyway.
Thud.
“Phooey!” Her voice snaps me out of my fantasy, and I silently recite the Yankees roster to keep my pants from tenting.
I follow her to the kid’s section next, and she grabs three more books.
“I told Roman about these the night I met him,” she says, adding them to her pile. She’s moving slower now that the stack is a little taller. “Is that okay?”
“Yep. I think Brax would appreciate Roman reading instead of getting attacked when he comes out of the shower.”
She laughs.
