THREE
LILY
Two weeks ago, I was sitting in the library’s community room, terrified that nobody would show up for the first meeting of the Hot Girls Read Book Club.
This time, I’m terrified a specific somebody won’t.
Which is ridiculous, because Jax and I spent exactly one hour together discussing romance novels. That’s hardly enough time to form an attachment.
I tell myself it’s because he was the only member at the first meeting, and I’d hate to watch my book club die after a single discussion.
But the fact that I keep glancing at the door every thirty seconds suggests there might be another reason.
Because for the first time since moving to Bellewood, I didn’t spend my Thursday evening alone.
Glancing out the window, I watch dark clouds swirl across the late-summer sky, rain threatening to crash over our tiny town at any minute. I hope the weather doesn’t keep people away.
I keep myself busy, fussing over setting the room up again, just in case there’s a bigger turnout this time. These things sometimes take a couple of weeks to really catch fire. I’m not going to count anything out yet.
Last meeting, I only brought chocolate chip cookies, but this time, I sprung for a variety: chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, and some kind of shortbread I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time debating in the bakery aisle.
I rearrange them on the plate, placing the pile in the center of the table, then shifting it closer to the spot Jax sat last week.
My eyes narrow, and I move it back to the middle.
Then a little closer to Jax’s chair again.
Oh, this is so stupid.
I huff to myself, reaching up to remove the claw clip keeping my hair in place at the back of my head. I check my reflection in the glass of the window, running my fingers through my long, dark waves, shaking them free.
The sound of heavy boots trudging across the library’s industrial carpet has my lips tipping up, and seconds later, I see Jax’s reflection in the window as he fills the doorway.
Same coveralls as last time, except the top half hangs loose around his waist, leaving nothing but a fitted white t-shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders.
But what catches my eye is the book I selected and the notebook I gave him last meeting tucked under one of his arms, pressed between the pristine white fabric of his shirt and the tattooed skin of his left bicep.
“You came back.”
Relief floods my system, and I turn to smile at him.
His gaze flicks to the book tucked beneath his arm.
“Had to finish what I started.”
We take our seats, the same ones we sat in last time. It’s exactly seven o’clock, and we decide to give it another five minutes to see if anyone else is going to trickle in. Every sound in the hallway has me watching the doorway.
Jax sits quietly, settling into his space.
He sets the book down gently on the table, then flips open the little notebook.
I can’t help but notice the messy, handwritten notes covering the entire first page.
I can tell some were written in a hurry, crossing the lines and into the margins.
Others, carefully printed and underlined for emphasis.
Who is this guy?
No one else shows up, and surprisingly, I’m not even disappointed as I turn my focus back to the man in front of me. Biting my lip, I watch him shove an entire oatmeal raisin cookie into his mouth.
His jaw works as he chews methodically, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and I’m transfixed by the motion. I let my eyes graze over him before forcing them back to my hands.
I clear my throat.
“Lily… I have to be straight with you,” Jax finally says.
He looks uncomfortable, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. It’s in the subtle shift of his shoulders. The way he clasps his hands on the table in front of him.
“I lied.”
I blink. “About what?”
“At the first meeting.”
My stomach drops, thinking back to our conversation, rifling through the entire discussion looking for something that would be worth lying about.
“I didn’t read the book.”
“Jax!” I gasp. “You WHAT?”
His shoulders round as he sinks into his chair, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. It’s unfair how a six-foot-something mechanic can appear so boyishly guilty.
A man his size shouldn’t be capable of looking sheepish, yet somehow he manages it.
“Then what were we discussing for a full hour?”
I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest.
He shrugs again. “You did most of the discussing.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. With eyes wide, I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. He isn’t wrong; I did do most of the talking last time.
Jax sits up straighter, a small smile playing on his lips. His expression softens the lines of his face, smoothing out his brow, though his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Wait,” I say, narrowing my eyes his way. “You sat there for an hour while I spoiled the entire book for you?”
“Yep.”
I half-laugh, half-scoff at his answer. It’s so simple.
“Why on Earth didn’t you tell me?”
Jax takes his time answering, his eyes bouncing from my eyes to my lips, down to his folded hands, and then back to my face.
“You seemed excited. And you were talking real fast.”
Again, he says it so simply that I don’t know how to process his words or the meaning lingering beneath them. Why the hell did he come to the first meeting of book club if he didn’t even read the—
“Oh, my God! Jax! You didn’t mean to come to this meeting, did you? Oh God, I’m so embarrassed!” I drop my head into my hands, hiding my face because—of course—this grown-ass mechanic, still donning his work uniform, didn’t mean to join the Hot Girls Read Book Club.
“Don’t do that,” he says, reaching across the table and wrapping his large hands around my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face. “No, I didn’t intend on coming to book club. I don’t even know who Ali Briarwood is. But that’s okay.”
“Hazelwood.”
“Huh?”
“Ali Hazelwood. Her name is Ali Hazelwood.”
His mouth pulls to the side.
“Right. Hazelwood.”
I chew my lip, loving the way he immediately corrected himself instead of copping an attitude that I pointed out his mistake. John would have—you know what, screw John. He doesn’t get to ruin this for me.
“So what did you think this time?”
“Of the book?”
I huff out another laugh, tossing my head back.
“Yes, Jax! The book. By the looks of it,” I say, gesturing to his open notebook. “You obviously came prepared. Since I did all the talking last time, you should start.”
He leans back in his chair, picking up the notebook, but he doesn’t need to look down at it before he speaks.
“I spent half of it convinced the TA was gonna knock the professor out.”
I choke on my coffee. “That’s not how why-choose works.”
“Why-what? No, that doesn’t matter. Professor Adams was a cocky prick and didn’t deserve the time Amanda gave him.”
I fold my lips in, but incline my head to urge him on.
“Matteo was good to Amanda. He did everything he could for her. He showed up early and stayed late. Bent over backwards to give her everything she ever wanted. And she shit on him, always going back to Professor Adams.” He sneers at the name. “Matteo also deserved better.”
He says the last part a little quieter, though his chest rises and falls harder than it was before, and I wonder if we’re still talking about the book because this reaction is visceral. Raw in a way that has my chest tightening.
We sit in the silence together while the rhythm of his breathing regulates. He cracks his neck, then each of his knuckles. Finally, his gaze meets mine, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his expression that I almost miss but have no way of understanding.
“So, I can totally see what you’re saying about their dynamic. You definitely get the arrogant, alphahole vibe from the professor and the more doting, Golden Retriever book boyfriend from Matteo.”
A grumbled sound comes from the back of his throat.
“But that’s kinda the point, and why she can’t choose between them. She gets this rough, demanding, in-charge side from Professor Adams, but then she also has Matteo being sweet, and catering to her.”
Across from me, Jax squints, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. He steeples his hands, leveling me with his gaze.
“And that’s what women want? A—what did you call it—an alphahole?” He asks, tone curious but suspicious.
“I mean… in books, yeah. Real-life red flags look very, very green in these books for most women.” I say slowly, making sure to choose my words with precision so that I don’t give him the wrong impression.
“That’s confusing.”
I measure his words in my head, trying to see it from his perspective. “I guess I can see that, if you’re reading these as an instruction manual. I’d suggest reading this type of romance as pure entertainment, and just ride the ride to the end, but don’t make any personality changes because of it.”
“I don’t like that they shared her. Seems like a good way to lose the best thing in your life. Your person.”
Your person.
My heart does a funny little squeeze. Because beneath the gruff exterior and permanent frown, Jax Mason might actually be a hopeless romantic. A classic love story kind of guy, and that knowledge has me bouncing a little in my seat.
“Noted,” I say with a smile. “How about we pick something a little more traditional for our next meeting. Do you have any recommendations, or do you want me to choose again?”
“I’ll pick. Only seems fair since you picked the last one.”
My grin spreads wider as I nod my agreement.
“Okay, sure. What are you thinking?”
He pauses then, eyes searching the room like maybe he’d see a poster full of romance titles to choose from. Finding none, his gaze lands on mine again, and he shrugs helplessly.
“How about this, I’ll put my number in your phone, and you can take your time choosing. I don’t know how fast you read, but I can get through most books in a day or two, so you find one you think you’ll like and text me the details, okay?”
“Okay.” He nods.
“Okay.”
“Mhm,” he hums, brow furrowed in thought.
“This is where you pass me your phone so I can give you my number, Jax.” I do my best to swallow the anxious laugh rising from my chest.
He wordlessly slides his phone across the table, and my fingers gently brush his as I take it. He pulls back quickly, sliding his hands down his thighs under the table.
When was the last time I gave a man my phone number? To be fair, he didn’t exactly ask for it, but my fingers tremble slightly all the same as I key in my name, phone number, and email for good measure.
“Here you go,” I say cheerfully to hide my nerves.
He stands, taking the phone and sliding it into the pocket of his coveralls. He stretches, fingers nearly brushing the long fluorescent light fixture overhead.
“So, you’ll text me then?” I ask, hating the way my voice shakes with the uncertainty. I really don’t mind picking the book, but I don’t want to rob him of his chance either. He deserves the opportunity to fully participate in this book club.
He nods, backing toward the door. “I will.”
After cleaning up the community room and working my way through the last of the library returns, I flip the lights off and lock up with a contented sigh.
Over the last hour, the storm blew through, never dropping the rain it threatened to wash over us. The air is still heavy with the lingering humidity, and I suck in a deep breath; it still smells like rain.
By the time I reach my apartment above a small boutique at the end of Main Street, my phone chimes in my oversized tote. Fumbling through the chaos inside the bag, I find my phone. Pressing my thumb to the screen, I unlock it to find a text message from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN:
First-Time Caller – B.K. Borison
I bite my lip and smile to myself, hugging my phone to my chest. B.K. Borison—my other favorite author.
Jax Mason pays attention.