Chapter 30
The bookshelves in Sammy’s house slowly begin to fill with books. That by itself would be an enjoyable development, but something even more wonderful happens.
Sammy embraces his identity as a reader.
I’ve always hated the ableist notion that listening to books somehow isn’t reading them. Yes, it’s a different version of comprehension, but so is braille. Feeling words is different than seeing them, but it’s still reading.
Sammy continues to listen to audiobooks, but now he also buys hard copies of the ones he likes. He said he wanted to support the authors, seeing as how he has money to spare. But he’s also gotten into tabbing.
Once Sammy called himself a reader, the guy decided to look up what bibliophiles do, and discovered a faction of the reading population that utilizes colored tabs to notate their books.
I’ll often spy a hardback on his coffee table, or in the backseat of his car, in the pocket of his briefcase that has colorful tabs sticking out from between the pages. If the Squid hears a line he likes and wants to remember, he’ll find the words on the page of the physical book and mark the quote.
Also, Sammy reads across genres, including some smutty romance stories. He is extremely enthusiastic about tabbing the best spicy scenes.
For inspiration, he claims.
And because Sammy is an audio reader, sometimes he asks me to read his favorite passages aloud while he goes down on me.
Who am I to refuse?
And bless the goddess, those are often the most erotic moments of my life.
I love sleeping with a reader.
“Should I start a Bookstagram account?” Sammy asks me a few weeks after my first visit to his house.
We’re in the library, and he’s shifting titles around on a top shelf to fit his latest purchase. He’s tall enough to reach by only stepping up on the bottom rung of the ladder.
“If you think you’d enjoy it, sure.” I try to scratch Kraken while also holding my book, but she keeps attempting to bite the pages. I also try not to drool over how sexy the Squid looks while organizing his shelves.
“I might. It’s just…look at this.” He waves toward his collection. “This beauty is criminal to keep to myself. I think I need to share it with the world.”
I smile to myself, hearing the genuine excitement in Sammy’s voice rather than his common teasing bravado. “I think you’d have a beautiful Bookstagram account. Just don’t let social media overwhelm your life.” I’ve seen that happen to some of the book content creators I follow. Where they over-commit or get too focused on an esthetic they feel obligated to maintain. Then they burn themselves out, forgetting why they started their account in the first place. The simple love of books.
I want Sammy to hold onto this reader joy forever.
“Good point.” He sighs. “Besides, I’d probably just end up taking a bunch of pictures of you reading. And then I wouldn’t share them. I’d just look at them when I’m alone and missing you. And then I’d get all horny and sad and my pool would flood my house.”
I glance at the dramatic Squid over the top of my book to find him staring at me from across the room. “Is this your weird way of asking to sit with me?”
He grins and nods.
I scoot over to give Sammy space, then deposit Kraken in his lap when he settles beside me. Sammy swipes a set of noise-canceling headphones off a nearby table, slips them on, cues up a book on his phone, then reads as he plays with the kitten and cuddles next to me.
And I try to read my book and not melt at how perfect this moment is.
I’ve been having a lot of perfect moments over the last few weeks, ending up at Sammy’s house more often than my own. It’s only, he’s closer to the college and to The Jewelry Box. Most afternoons, he’ll get done at the build site, swing by my place to pick up Kraken, then have dinner and a cute cat waiting for me at his home.
That’s right. Sammy can cook.
Apparently, his parents always had a live-in chef and Sammy would spend hours in the kitchen with her, learning how to make different meals. And now he makes them for me, and I wonder what else I don’t know about him.
Other ways I might have misjudged the Squid I deemed a playboy.
Sammy seems like such a straightforward, surface-level guy. But dig past that first playboy layer, and there’s so much depth. He’s the man who is cautious about letting strangers close because of a lifetime of being taken advantage of. A guy who doesn’t know how to show his friends how much he loves them, so he tries to make their lives better with strategic chess moves and expensive gifts. He’s the man who cares for me when my period cramps get so bad, I give in and use my magic, then crumple the next day when a migraine overwhelms me.
At first, I was sure he only wanted a hook-up.
But this is turning into so much more.
Can I have a real relationship?
If we keep on like we are, will he ask me to change my behavior? To quit The Jewelry Box and rely solely on him?
I could. Other than that period day—which wouldn’t have been a problem if I hadn’t already sneakily soothed Rodrigo’s thumb when he jammed it in the printer door and eased Kathleen’s ankle pain when I saw her limping and she described tripping on the uneven concrete outside the library entrance—Sammy keeps me fully stocked in magic.
But I don’t want my physical well-being to be reliant on someone else.
And I don’t want to be one more person in Sammy’s life who is using him.