Colton sitsagainst the headboard while I’m half sprawled across him, absentmindedly tracing patterns over his chest between kisses. His hand slides along my waist slowly while he kisses me lazy and unhurried, and I’m just starting to melt intohim when something hard presses awkwardly beneath the pillow near my elbow.
“What is that?” I ask, reaching under the pillow and pulling out a book.
Colton freezes as I stare down at the cover, then back up at him.
“No way,” I breathe.
“Give me that,” Colton says, lunging for it.
“Colton Harrison,” I gasp dramatically and hold it above my head before he can grab it. “You’re reading Stephanie Archer?”
He groans into his hands as his face turns slightly red and I swear to God I’ve never seen anything cuter in my life.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“You’re halfway through the third book in her series!”
“Yup.”
I clutch the book to my chest protectively. “This is my favorite author.”
“I’m aware.”
“How do you know that?” I ask suspiciously. “I’ve never mentioned her to you.”
He sighs deeply like this conversation physically pains him. “Because I started reading some of your favourite books.”
I blink.
“How did you find out which books are my favourite?”
His ears are red now too.
Oh my God.
“I found your secret Booksta account,” he mutters, avoiding eye contact.
My jaw drops. “No you did not.”
“I did.”
Horror floods me instantly. “You stalked my book reviews?”
“You gave that book five stars and said the main male character was your dream book boyfriend..”
I slap a hand over my face, completely ready to break down in tears from how embarrassed I feel. Colton gently pulls my wrist away before holding my gaze steadily and my heart stumbles.
“Have you read any other books I recommended?”
He nods, folding his arms across his chest.
“Did you at least learn anything from reading them?” I tease softly, trying to shove away my embarrassment.
A slow grin spreads across his face. “Can’t learn something I already know, darlin’.”
The butterflies in my stomach become a full category five natural disaster.
“The ego on this man,” I mutter weakly.
