She giggled. “He just graduated, silly.”
“Holy feathered duck f**ks! Is that even legal?”
“He’s eighteen.”
“Are you guys dating, or what?”
“His parents are very strict. Please don’t tell anyone, or they’ll pull his college tuition. He’s already working at the restaurant as punishment for getting caught with some pot.”
“That seems ironic, considering the people you work with. No offense.”
She giggled. “I think it’s their way of teaching him a valuable life lesson. Showing him where people who party end up.”
“The horrors.” The door jingled as a customer came in with most of her body, shaking her umbrella outside the doorway. “Thanks for the chat,” I said, wrapping it up.
“Wait, are you seeing Adrian tonight?”
“You tell me. What have you heard?” Curiosity took hold of me.
“Nothing much,” Shayla said.
The woman approached the counter, her chin up in the manner of someone wanting to ask me a question. (It’s funny how women will make that face, with the chin and eyebrows up, mouth slightly open, whereas men will hold their heads level and give you the stare, commanding you with their eyes, slightly amused that you’d be stupidly talking on your pink cell phone when they need you.)
I said goodbye to Shayla and got to work helping the woman. My job had to take precedent over my love life during retail hours, or else every aspect of my life would be a disaster.
Outside of the Christmas season, people don’t require that much help with their shopping in a bookstore. I like to help, because it means talking about books, but sometimes I feel guilty about all the books I haven’t read, especially when customers act shocked and say I “simply must” read some book that changed their life. Now, I have an open mind, but if I open a book and see a perfect rectangle of text with no paragraph breaks, that’s not a book I’ll be reading, no matter how life-changing.
Maybe if I was in prison.
Then I would read those heavy books.
I don’t know about you, but I do daydream sometimes about being in prison and catching up on my reading. I’d also go to the gym a lot and get really ripped. Not that I want to go to prison…
Maybe one of those rehab places celebrities go? I’d love a fixed routine and dorm-style living, for a bit.
Obviously, instead of booze or drugs, I would check myself in for sex addiction.
Yep.
My addiction was sex with ultra hot guys.
All those chiseled abs and bulging biceps… the hot, urgent kisses… the licking and sucking, flesh against flesh… the first step is admitting you have a problem.
CHAPTER 9
As I locked the door Tuesday night, my throat tightened with a hint of nostalgia. The store’s days at this location were numbered. I turned around and looked at Java Jones, across the street. After the move to the former Black Sheep Books location, I’d have to get my lunch from a new place, where the staff didn’t know my usual order.
I crossed the street and went in to get a mocha—to get one while I still could!
Kirsten gave me a knowing look as she steamed the milk. Did she know that Golden and I were both dating Adrian Storm? And that Dalton was back in town? She sure looked like she was thinking about something. If the rumors were to be believed, she’d gone to sex rehab herself once. It hadn’t cured her, though, which meant there was probably no hope for me and my inability to resist a bumpy man chest paired with a few compliments.
“What’s new since lunchtime?” she asked.
“I don’t know. What have you heard?”
“You’d better not forget about us, or I’ll have hurt feelings.”
“What?” I took the mocha, smiling at the perfect chocolate curls resting atop the foam.
“After you move the bookstore,” she said. “I won’t get to see your face twice a day. I don’t know how long I’ll last here without your funny stories.”
My cheeks warmed as I fidgeted with the lid. How ridiculous was I to suspect everybody was so fascinated with my private love life?
“I promise I won’t disappear,” I said.
She came out from behind the counter and gave me a hug, squeezing me tight. “Get out of here before I get really emotional,” she said.
As I walked back out with my mocha, my head felt like a helium-filled balloon, barely attached to my body. I’d always thought of Kirsten’s friendliness toward me as professional courtesy, and nothing more. The idea I was more than a customer to her was humbling.
I hit the end of the block. Shit. Did I lock the door?
Once you ask yourself that question, you have to turn back and check.
The door was unlocked, which was a first. Even worse, someone was inside the bookstore. My heart started to pound.
The lights were off, but I could see movement.
I yanked open the door to find a familiar face.
“Adrian!” I yelled. “You scared me.”
He was measuring the counter with a yellow measuring tape, and he wore black jeans and one of his old black band T-shirts, so he’d been nearly invisible with the interior lights out.
“The store’s closed, ma’am. You’ll have to try the library,” he said, grinning.
“And get those disgusting library book cooties? With the grocery lists and curly hairs tucked between the pages?”
He chuckled. “I’m going to tell my aunt, the librarian, about your slanderous comments.”
“It’s not slander if it’s true.” I set my purse on the counter and peered down at the notes he was making with a carpenter’s pencil. “How is your aunt?”
“Dating a hairdresser. He’s a badass with tattoos, and a widower, too.”
“Wow. Good for her.” I looked around, noting that beyond the beaded curtains, the bathroom door was closed. Was Golden there with Adrian? Was that why he’d waited until we were closed and I was gone?
“I’m alone,” he said, picking up on the unspoken question.
“Are you okay? You didn’t tell me what happened with the rat.”
“Peaches, I’d rather not talk about it, because I can’t win. Either I’m a savage monster who murdered an innocent rat, or I’m a pu**y who didn’t have the nerve to take care of a problem. Either way, you’ll never look at me the same again.”
I stared at his face for clues, but he had his poker face on. “You’re so weird sometimes, Adrian.”