On the way home, I process the information I received from the meeting. The stakes are even higher than I realized, and I’m still lacking a clear plan to move forward with the garage. Mohammed trusted me enough to share some of what’s happening behind the scenes, though, and I don’t want to let him or the gayborhood down.
At least I’m making progress in other parts of my life. I took a chance and invited NotAnOgre to meet, and he was open to the idea.
I’d been considering the possibility for a few days, but I finally brought the idea up simply because of how happy I was to talk to my pen pal when he started the chat. Our familiar, easy connection was a relief in a hectic week, reliable and comfortable and fun. I felt better just typing away with my anonymousfriend, and that seems like a very good reason to try meeting in person.
It could even be casual. Neither of us have suggested we would be more than friends. The stories we write are erotic, but that doesn’t mean we’d have the same energy as our characters. It would be an experiment, and if we do decide to take the plunge, I’ll be best served by eliminating expectations.
On the way back to The Scoop, I make a detour and stop for a new book, smiling as I step off the street, through the big red door, and into The Velvet Page.
Our local LGBTQ bookstore, the Page has been around since the eighties. The owners, Linda and Lee, love to rearrange the place every year or two, and it's a constant maze of comfy furniture, crowded shelves, and literary displays.
I holler out a hello to the employees in the back and make my way to the current location of fantasy novels. There’s a new book out, the first in a series by one of my favorite authors, and I know from the reviews thatRise of the Storm Goddesswill not disappoint.
As I turn down the aisle between two tall shelves, I’m surprised to see Riley rounding the opposite corner. My mouth pops open, and he pivots on his heel, walking back out of the aisle and away.
Standing there, I feel both dejected and relieved. Riley and I have managed to avoid each other on the block, and in some sense, there’s not much to say until Chase responds to the letter I delivered.
I take a step forward again, and Riley surprises me by walking straight back into the aisle. “Hello,” he says gruffly and nods in my direction. “I’m here to get a book.”
I tense, hesitating. The jeans he’s wearing are tighter than his usual fit, and they draw my attention to how muscly his thighs are. Riley is wearing an old gray T-shirt with a motorcycleprinted on it, and he’s let his scruff grow out, making his light beard thicker and darker.
Damn, just as hot as ever. So much for getting it out of my system.
“Hello,” I answer, measured. “I’m also here to get a book.”
I take one step forward, and he takes one step forward, too, before we each stop in our tracks.
“We’re still waiting to hear back from that letter,” I say.
Riley snorts. “We’ve been busy. Your protesters are taking up all of our attention.”
“They’re not my protesters. They spontaneously organized themselves. I’m trying to compromise and keep the peace.”
“Is that why we’re dealing with a smear campaign?”
“I didn’t write the newspaper article,” I object, frustrated all over again that the story went forward before we’d exhausted our other options.
An argument in the middle of the bookstore will just make this problem worse. I dart my eyes down the shelf to locateRise of the Storm Goddess, which is marked with a little banner announcing new releases. There’s thankfully one copy left, but when I glance back up, I see that Riley is looking directly at it.
He catches me looking at the same time, and we both lunge forward. I grab the book before he does and jump back, holding it away like he might snatch it.
“That book is the only reason I came in here,” he says.
“Same for me.” I clutch it with both hands, feeling like I just won an Olympic medal. “I’m sure they’ll get more copies in tomorrow. They get a delivery every Thursday.”
“I know when they get their new deliveries,” he says, as though offended.
I glance at the book. “Do you even like this author? Or is this like at NiagaraCon, a hate read for you?”
“I do like her!” He crosses his arms over his chest. “She has interesting characters.”
“Yes.” I straighten my posture. “Surprising plot turns, too. I guess we actually do agree on something.”
We look at each other suspiciously.
Riley frowns. “You know, business in the garage has dropped off. Like a boulder off a cliff. Even people who support us are reluctant to cross a protest.”
“I don’t recall you being particularly caring when it was my business that suffered.”
