TWO
JAX
Why the hell did I check out a romance novel from the library and take it home with me?
I was looking for the town hall meeting when I stumbled into her book club. Before I had a chance to explain that I had the wrong room, the tiny firecracker of a woman was crossing the room and pulling me into her orbit.
By the time I could get a word in edgewise, she smiled, and the whole world froze on the spot. Nobody ever smiles at me like that, not since Samantha left and I spiraled in the worst way possible.
Lily doesn’t know me or my past, meaning I got to just bask in her warmth without worrying about what she thought of me. She said we’re friends now, but she doesn’t know me.
Once she does, we won’t be.
But that doesn’t matter, because I’m not really going back.
It’s the Hot Girls Read Book Club.
I’m not a hot girl, and I don’t read. I have no business being part of her group in any way.
The book sat on my passenger seat for three days. Every time I climbed into my truck, that bright teal cover with cartoon hearts and big red bubble letters for the title was there waiting for me. Mocking me by simply existing.
By day four, I’d had enough and tossed it onto the kitchen counter because a man’s truck is sacred. That lasted all of two days—every time I made coffee, it was there. Have to wash the dishes? There. Every time I came home from work and dumped my keys on the counter, there it was.
By Thursday, I’d moved it to the dining room table.
Mostly because I was tired of looking at it. The problem was that moving it to the table just meant it stared back at me while I ate instead.
I should’ve taken it back to the library, returned it the next day, and forgotten all about the tiny librarian with honey-colored eyes and the smile that hit me like a freight train.
Instead, I keep finding reasons not to: I was too busy, I forgot, I didn’t drive by the library that day. All excuses. The truth was a lot harder to admit—returning the book felt a little too much like saying goodbye, and for some reason, I wasn’t ready to do that yet.
Friday evening, more than a week after checking the damn thing out, I’m sitting at my dining table staring at the unopened book buried beneath a pile of junk mail.
I shovel a forkful of chicken pot pie into my mouth.
With a huff, I reach out and drag the bright teal paperback across the table until it’s lying directly in front of me. The book is worn—the spine broken, cover creased, and edges stained with some kind of burgundy liquid.
Probably red wine.
I flip open the cover, scanning the dedication.
For any girl who’s dreamed of fucking her grouchy professor AND the cocky TA for the class.
At the same time.
I choke on my pot pie, coughing and sputtering little bits of food across the table. I stare at the page, then read it again, just to make sure I didn’t hallucinate the first time.
Jesus Christ, Lily recommends this to people?
I’ve never read a romance book. Hell, I haven’t read any novel since back in high school when Mrs. Williams made us read The Great Gatsby and 1984. If I’d known this was what women were giggling over behind those colorful covers, I’d have started paying attention years ago.
I tell myself I’m only going to read the very first chapter to see what all the fuss is about, then move on with my life. But that first chapter turns into three.
And then three becomes six.
Somewhere around chapter eight, my chest rises and falls rapidly, and I realize I’m genuinely invested in the outcome of people who don’t actually exist.
I don’t care for that realization one bit, but I can’t stop myself. I just keep flipping page after page.
Which is how I find myself still sitting at my dining table at two-thirty in the morning, over a hundred pages into a book that one hundred percent delivers on its dedication’s promise, and wondering if Lily would be disappointed if I didn’t finish it before the next meeting.
Because after reading this? Apparently, there’s way more to the sweet, wholesome-looking librarian who started the Hot Girls Read Book Club at the Bellewood Public Library.
Maybe I will go back this Thursday.
I mean, I have to return this book anyway.