Chapter Thirty
Move .
Sloane ignored her insistent inner voice and stared out her car windshield instead.
She’d actually done it. She’d actually driven here of her own accord to chronicle August’s date with another woman. Again.
Where was her red rubber nose? This was peak clown behavior. Peak.
She was officially a strong contender for the “Glutton for Punishment” Hall of Fame. Was that a strong enough phrase for the hell she was willingly putting herself through? Maybe “masochist” was a better term.
But she couldn’t sit here forever, could she? Well… maybe? No, no she couldn’t.
Sloane reluctantly opened her car door and trudged across the parking lot toward her destination. Why exactly was she doing this to herself? Oh, yeah, because she’d wanted to help out her brother and the guy she’d had a massive crush on as a teen, and she wanted to land a job, so she could pay her bills and advance her career. None of those reasons were holding up in the light of day, but here she was. And she hadn’t even gotten to the part where she’d tried to climb August like a tree two days ago.
But she was the one who’d pulled away. The one who said she couldn’t do this. The one who’d burned rubber to get out of there. And still thought about it a million times a day. A rough estimate. The number was likely higher.
Sloane blew out a breath. Time to pull up her big-girl panties and do what she had no desire to do.
After she’d chickened out for the second day in a row about going in to work, August had texted her earlier with a change of plans. He didn’t want to play Putt-Putt golf like she’d suggested after he’d said no to ziplining. He wanted to visit a bookstore instead. The social media visuals will be better , the text read.
Who knew he gave a damn about visuals? Did this mean he was now committed to this whole thing? Was he actually going to try to charm and win over his date and be open to the thought of something more?
Her heart rate tripled and her eyes blurred at the very thought, but that fell under the definition of a me-problem, so she needed to get her shit together and walk into the bookstore. When she was done, she could go home, stuff her face with ice cream, and cry.
But she was here now. Like the adult she was. She would simply not acknowledge the fact that being an adult was clearly overrated.
Sloane inhaled deeply as she stepped into the bookstore. A joyous scent filled her nostrils. She loved the smell of books. Clean and crisp and woodsy and yet not like a man. Sloane’s lips quirked.
There weren’t many places that ranked above bookstores for her. So many adventures waited on the glorious wooden shelves. She’d have to return one day when she wasn’t committed to documenting August’s… date. Ick.
Sloane came up short. Oh, August was here already, early as usual. If you’re on time, you’re late . That’s what his grandfather had always told him, she recalled. But he hadn’t seen her yet, so she took the opportunity to ogle.
He sat in an armchair toward the back of the store’s café, which meant she shouldn’t have spotted him so easily, but her August radar had always been finely tuned.
The armchair was old, its brown leather covered in a dull sheen. It was big enough to fit his large body. He wore jeans and a light green Henley sweater. He was reading a book. She couldn’t see the cover from here, but he was engrossed. Which gave her more time to ogle.
His brow was furrowed, his eyes slightly narrowed. He wore reading spectacles. “Glasses” was too common a word to use to describe how fucking fine he looked with the eyewear. Sloane bit her lip to keep an undignified groan from slipping out. He looked like a professor. A really sexy professor.
The crazy thing was no one was paying him any attention. Granted, he’d never been one to seek attention, but still. How could no one notice the hottest thing since habaneros was in their midst?
Sloane glanced at her watch. Where was his date? Well, the hour had just hit. She should do something other than stand in the entryway. She was supposed to be unobtrusively observing the date, not standing there where any—and everyone could see her.
“Sloane!”
She looked up to see August gesturing for her to join him. Her, as in Sloane. Ignoring him and running away wasn’t an option. Not this time. She made her way over to him on shaky legs. “Hey.”
He jerked his chin up in greeting. “Hey. Seen my date?”
He didn’t sound nervous. Not that he ever did, so she needed to chill. He’d clearly forgotten about their last in-person encounter, so she needed to do the same.
“No, but I just got here.” She sounded pretty dang close to normal. Points to her. “And I should get out of the way before she shows up.”
He nodded. “Have a nonfat mocha latte on me while we wait. I owe you.” He pulled a ten out of his wallet.
She snatched it out of his hand before he could change his mind. “You do.”
His lips quirked. His finely sculpted lips. Hers spread in agreement. What was she doing? No flirting. No banter. Purely a business, strictly platonic relationship. She wheeled around and headed to the counter and ordered her latte. And she didn’t think about the fact that August had her order memorized. Nope. It meant nothing. He was here on a date with another woman. That was the only truth that mattered today.
She settled at a table on the other side of the café that gave her a direct view of August but was far enough away that she wouldn’t intrude on his date. August threw another one of his brief, yet dangerous smiles her way that sent her heart galloping before returning his attention to his book.
Sloane tapped her fingers on the table. Now that he knew she was here, she couldn’t freely ogle him anymore—well, not until his date showed up and monitoring his every movement officially became work.
She took a sip of the coffee. Okay, yeah, this was the good stuff. The café portion of this bookstore didn’t scrimp on ingredients. She definitely needed to make a return appearance soon. Hopefully she wouldn’t be bombarded with mental images of August with another woman when she did. Laughing, possibly. Setting up a time for a second date. Proclaiming it was love at first sight. Desiree probably wouldn’t run like Usain Bolt if August kissed her. No, she’d probably vault over a table like Simone Biles if August showed any desire to kiss her.
Which was totally fine. And totally a lie. But it would be okay if she put her mind to it. After all, she had no one to blame but herself and her fears.
She should’ve grabbed a book to distract her, but she didn’t want to move in case Desiree showed up while she was browsing. Besides, this view would give her an excellent view of Desiree as she walked in and spotted August. Sloane wanted to capture that moment. It had the potential to be a great photo. Would Desiree’s face betray nerves or excitement, feelings everyone going on a first date could sympathize with? Excellent social media content.
Too bad she was going to be sick.
She sipped her latte to distract herself, however momentarily, from obsessing over what could happen. But inevitably, her gaze strayed back to August. He was still reading, glancing up occasionally toward the front door. The sun streaming in from the window nearby gave him an otherworldly glow. He looked like a prince in the oversized armchair. A benevolent, patient prince who only wanted the best for his subjects.
Blech. She needed another diversion. The latte was no longer doing the trick. Being fanciful was so not her. She crusaded. She fought the good fight with a purpose.
Someone had left a People magazine on the table next to her. Not her first choice, but whatever. Celebrity gossip could always be counted on to feed the soul. Maybe she’d find some social media inspiration inside.
She flipped through the pages, judging who wore it better—in this instance the acclaimed veteran actress ate up the newest pop star wearing the same Versace dress—and tried not to stare at the man across the café.
She was engrossed in an article about the tennis star who’d opened up about her struggle with depression and had partnered with a company to offer mental health services for teens when the sound of a clearing throat made her lift her head.
August stood before her. How had he moved across the café without her noticing? How could he move so silently? That skill undoubtedly came in handy on the football field.
She looked around. He was standing alone. “Hey, is Desiree here yet?”
He held up his phone. “She’s running late.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, umm…” What was wrong with her? Why did she not have the right words to say? Because, before today, whenever they were together, there were rules. Now things were different. There was no buffer, either in the form of her brother or his date, between them. And, oh yeah, they’d shared the hottest make-out session of her life.
He offered up that brief, devastating smile again. “Want to scope out the shelves while we wait? She said it would probably be another twenty minutes or so. Something about a work emergency she couldn’t ignore.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Time to get her shit together. They were in a bookstore. No need to panic. No need for fanciful flights of imagination. And he’d just given her the best way to pretend everything was okay. She could walk the aisles of a bookstore reading back-cover copy and admiring covers for hours and never get bored.
She checked her phone. No message from Desiree, but Desiree wasn’t her date, so it wasn’t that strange even if she’d been the one to mainly communicate with her.
Besides, it was only for twenty minutes.
She downed the last swallow of her latte and stood. August didn’t move away. He was close, but not obnoxiously so. It didn’t matter. He smelled good too. As always. Way better than books.
It would take nothing on her part to press herself against him like she’d done in the parking lot and lift her mouth to his again. He had a world-class mouth, a full bottom lip that begged her to bite and lick it. This close, she could spot the flecks of dark gold in his eyes that just made his eyes a darker, richer brown.
So much for no fanciful flights of imagination.
She moved around him and dropped her empty cup in the trash. “Ready to explore?”
His lips split again. “Absolutely.”
He fell into step with her, easily matching his stride to hers, as they exited the café area.
“Where to first?” he asked.
She pointed to the book in his right hand. “What were you reading?”
He held up the book. A spy thriller. “I saw it on the front table when I walked in and was intrigued.”
She nodded. “That’s a good one. I’ve read a couple of her other books, but that’s probably my fave of hers. Want me to tell you how it ends?”
“Only if you don’t want to make it out of this place alive.”
Sloane laughed. “The main character, Gina, would approve.”
Sloane stopped walking. They’d reached the mystery/thriller section. She took the opportunity to scan the shelves.
“Anything catch your eye?” he asked.
Sloane shook her head. “Not really. I’m more of a fantasy person.”
“I thought you liked romance.”
He remembered that? Ever since she was a little girl, she’d always been drawn to the genre and its guarantee of a happy ending. Even in movies where the romance could charitably be described as the C story, the brief inclusion of a romance was a determining factor in whether the movie became a favorite. Once upon a time, she’d devoured the genre because of the happily-ever-afters that waited inside. Just because her parents weren’t destined for forever didn’t mean it didn’t happen for other people. Then August broke her heart and her subsequent relationships had never lived up to the hype. She’d drifted away from the genre slowly but surely over the past decade.
She shrugged. “Fantasy is more my speed these days. I like the adventure and badass female characters.”
He studied her with those all-seeing eyes for a few seconds but didn’t comment further, thankfully.
They turned their attention to the shelves. Or at least Sloane hoped she gave the impression she did. She couldn’t help but be aware of the man at her side as he picked up books and read the descriptions on the back. He held one up with a man staring off into the distance, hands on hips. “What about this one?”
Sloane wrinkled her nose. “Oh, you mean men’s fiction? I’ve read it, but it’s not really my thing.”
He lifted a brow. “Men’s fiction?”
“You know how they have women’s fiction because it could only be of interest to women? The same thing happens with men. But they don’t call it men’s fiction. It’s just fiction, because of course both men and women, and all genders alike, are always enthralled by whatever men are doing as they seek to find themselves and the true meaning of life.”
“Sexism, in literature, you mean.”
“Yes!” Argh, why did he have to be so smart and with it? It would be so much easier not to be attracted to him if he wasn’t aware of the world around him.
His smile spread. “I knew you wouldn’t like that book. I just wanted to see your face.”
Sloane’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh, really? You think you have me figured out.”
“I know I do.”
Four syllables should not sound so sexy. And yet… and yet, nothing. He was here for a date with another woman. They were friends. Pals. Or something equally unsatisfying. Time to act like it. Maybe she’d remember if she tattooed it on her forehead.
“Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants, you think you know me better than I know you?”
“I know I do.” How he managed to look confident and sure without crossing over into cocky territory she did not know. She didn’t appreciate how attractive a quality it was. She didn’t appreciate how attractive he was.
“Care to prove it?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, it’s on,” she challenged. “Let’s pick out a book for each other.”
“All right.”
Sloane narrowed her eyes, her competitive instincts rising to the fore. “But that’s not all. Whoever does the best job wins bragging rights. And you have to be honest. If you love— when you love—what I pick out, you have to admit it.”
“You’re on.” August’s smile widened, like he knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling and still planned on beating the tail off her. It was probably the same smile he gave his opponents on the football field right before the ball was snapped and he blocked them back into next week. No matter. She wasn’t a pro athlete, but she’d never backed down from a fight and she wasn’t about to start now.
Which was also the reason she was on a not-a-date with a man who was supposed to be on a date with another woman, which would lead to Sloane getting a job. Great. She wasn’t going to think about any of that right now. He was giving her the opportunity to run around a bookstore and drool over books and win a bet at the same time? Who could ask for anything more? Best date ever. Which was supposed to be for another woman. Not thinking about that .
“You have fifteen minutes,” she said. “We’ll meet back here.”
He snapped a sharp salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Sloane took off like a rocket until she garnered a disapproving frown from an employee. Sorry, Sloane mouthed, skidding to a stop.
“Causing trouble?” an amused voice murmured in her ear.
“Don’t worry about it,” she answered with a smirk, turning toward him. His chuckle warmed her all over and made her want to draw closer to him. A dangerous, alluring thought. She took an immediate left down the next aisle in a desperate attempt to escape her thoughts.
Thankfully, the books provided a fun distraction. As she perused the shelves, she paused a time or two or three to snap a photo of August, purely for the sake of the ’Gram. Yep, that was it. If her camera loved him, then so be it. It wasn’t her fault. She was simply doing what needed to be done.
She also had a bet to win. She returned to her mission, skimming her index finger across the pretty, pretty book spines.
No, not that one. Or that one. She turned the corner and came to an abrupt stop, her breath catching in surprise. Oh, wow. Before her was a table filled with multiple copies of a book, but not just any book. The book penned by MDJ, August’s ex-wife. In the center of the table a poster was set up advertising MDJ’s upcoming book signing. At this bookstore. Next week.
With trembling fingers, she picked up the book.
“Find something interesting?”
Sloane jerked around and hid the book behind her back like she was tall or wide enough to hide his view of the table. “Oh. No.”
His brow furrowed. “Sloane, what’s going on? You’re being weird.”
He was a grown man. He could handle the truth. Without a word, she stepped aside.
As he took in the display, his expression blanked. “Oh. We’re still in the middle of our contest, and I’m still looking.” He turned on his heel and headed down the next aisle.
Sloane gave a moment’s thought to following him, but his stiff back made it clear any sympathy would be unwelcomed. So she honored his wishes and went back to book hunting, though she couldn’t help looking back several times to make sure he was okay.
A few minutes later, Sloane’s eyes widened. She picked up the book and turned it over in her hands. Ooh.
She bit her lip. Was the book a little too on the nose? Should she go with something a little less obvious? But her gut was screaming that this was the one, and she listened to her gut, even if it did lead to trouble sometimes. She clutched the tome to her chest as a sense of rightness coursed through her. Yes, this was the one.
She raised her wrist to eye level. Crap. Only one minute left. She hustled back to their meeting spot, where August was already waiting.
“Ready to lose?” she asked with a playful curl of her lip.
“Not going to happen.” His rumbly, confident tone slid through her like fine wine. Had he ever sounded sexier?
“Let’s exchange books at the same time,” she said.
He nodded. They quickly made the switch, but she didn’t look down. She wanted to witness his reaction to her selection. Had she chosen well?
His face didn’t give anything away. It never did. He skimmed the cover with the tips of his fingers, then flipped the book over to read the description.
Sloane struggled not to squirm. She wasn’t the type to squirm, but she wanted him to like it, and not because she wanted to win a bet. She wanted to please him. Make him happy. Show him how important he’d been to her all those years ago and was starting to be again.
He looked up. His voice was soft. “Thank you. I love it.”
The words were great. The look on his face was more than she could have asked for. Genuine pleasure.
Elation swept through her.
She’d chosen Conversations with August Wilson, a book of the playwright’s interviews.
“I wasn’t sure if you owned it already, but I took a chance.”
“I don’t. It’s absolutely perfect.” He jerked his chin downward.
Oh yeah, she still held his choice for her. She looked down. For a second, her thoughts swirled as her brain tried to decide which emotion was going to win out. Disappointment that she was about to lose their bet. Or joy that he knew her so well. In the end, it was no contest. Joy consumed her. No doubt her pearly whites were blinding him. Thank God for braces and teeth cleanings.
The book was Minion, the first book in L. A. Banks’s Vampire Huntress Legend series, a fantasy romance she’d considered reading countless times over the past few years. The reviews all said the action was great, but the romance would make readers swoon, even those who claimed not to like romance.
How did he know that she picked it up every time she found herself in a bookstore?
“Thank you,” she said. “I love it.”
His head ducked down for a moment like he was embarrassed by the compliment. Why did she find everything he did so adorable? It wasn’t fair. She was a strong woman guided by her principles. Someone who learned from her mistakes, but right now, if she had zero self-respect, she would find herself describing herself as “a girl standing in front of a boy asking him to love her.” She was not Julia Roberts. This was not a romcom. They were not going to be the Black version of Notting Hill . No, ma’am. No, sir.
But would it be so bad if they were?
He smiled that crooked smile. “So who wins?”
“I’m a sore loser, so I’m tempted to say I did, but…?”
“But what?”
“But… you did. This was the perfect choice.”
“How hard was it for you to say that?”
She would not smile. She would not. “Very.”
He looked down at her choice again. “I say we both won.”
“We did.” It took her several seconds to realize she was, contrary to what she’d told herself not to do, grinning like a kid tasting cake for the first time. She composed herself. “Looks like your date stood you up.”
He blew out a breath. “Yeah. Oh well. Can’t win them all.” His head tilted to the side. “Or any of them. I’m officially zero for two.”
“Yeah, but at least you got to hang out with me.”
“Exactly.”
Okay, so what she wasn’t going to do was look into that statement more than it deserved. Even though it hadn’t been explicitly said, they were friendly. Committed to a fresh start. As friends. “At least we got some pics out of the deal and a couple of books to recommend to the Sugar Blitz audience. I’ll make sure everything gets posted. Did you have any other plans for the day?” She was just being friendly. Asking friendly questions. No more, no less.
“If the coffee portion of the date had gone well, I was gonna ask her to join me at the zoo.”
He was? Why did her heart hurt at the notion that he’d thought that far ahead, that he’d planned a date she’d told him to plan and that it happened to be at one of her favorite spots in San Diego? “Oh, that was thoughtful of you.”
He shrugged. “I still plan on going. Why not? It’s a beautiful day, and I have nothing else to do. Want to join me?”
She liked the zoo. Who didn’t like the zoo? And if joy was coursing through her veins because she got to spend more time with him, so what? “Sure. Why not?”
It was all totally casual. Totally friendly. Totally.