Chapter 3
June
Mom:
We just want you to form social connections, sweetheart. We know how hard it is for you.
I do have social connections. Right now, I’m walking to the bookstore.
Dad:
To bury yourself in another book instead of putting yourself out there?
To chat with my friend, who owns the store, and THEN bury myself in another book.I shoved my phone in my purse with a huff.
My parents hadn’t even gotten me tested for autism until I was twelve and asked for it myself, but they’d suddenly turned into helicopter parents when I’d moved out of state for a job opportunity.
But I was coping, mostly. The bookstore was one of my strategies.
I only let myself shop locally for paperbacks, knowing the quest for exciting new reads would get me out of the house at least once a week.
But today, I didn’t even have to force myself to go.
My pre-order was finally available for pickup.
And I desperately needed it because this filthy, smutty series was giving me all kinds of sexy daydreams. I’d devoured the previous three books in quick succession, staying up until three in the morning on workdays, bleary-eyed during meetings and maybe a little too horny for my own good.
Hell, maybe it would even motivate me to date a little, just so I could get some sex!
Probably shouldn’t text that plan to my mom.
I rounded the corner to Honeybee’s parking lot and nearly stumbled to a halt.
The bikers were back, the ones that had been in front of the store a few days ago, when I left with “Three of Spades.”
Speaking of finding some sex… I bit back that thought, knowing I had no idea how to approach men like that.
They’d probably expect me to flirt. Or make small talk.Nope.
Not for me.But still, I took a minute to check them out before they noticed me, blushing as I wondered what they’d think if they knew I’d found them on social media.
And mildly stalked them. Not on purpose, they’d popped up on my feed when Jamie from Honeybee Books had shared one of their posts, and I’d done a deep dive on their profile.In a related note, I now knew how to change the spark plugs on a Honda motorcycle, thanks to some very instructional videos from the cute one who did all the talking.
Today, both wore helmets that obscured their faces, though I knew from my mild stalking that one was named Milo.
He was Asian-American and devastatingly handsome, and had recorded a lot of content for their various channels.
I’d learned quite a lot about Milo from an interesting video on lubricants.Motorcycle lubricants, sadly.Milo’s friend never talked and never took off his helmet.
Their fans had half a dozen nicknames for him, most of them either thirsty or mildly offensive.
Today, he was standing with crossed arms, waiting.
Milo was goofing off with his phone, filming a video, maybe.
Why did they keep showing up here? This wasn’t exactly biker territory. Honeybee Books specialized in romance novels, romantasy, and women’s fiction. The bookstore’s cheerful yellow exterior and hand-painted bees on the window looked almost too cute next to the badass bikers.
And there were two of them, like some cosmic joke aimed at the part of my brain fantasizing about being sandwiched between two dangerous men.
I slowed my pace, suddenly conscious of every awkward movement of my body.
I couldn’t still my hands, so I smoothed down my skirt, tucked that same stubborn strand of hair behind my ear again.
I probably looked like I was having some kind of neurological event.
Graceful, I was not—especially not when my nerves were already frayed from my parents and their late-stage helicopter parenting.
The quiet one turned my way, his face hidden by a visor. I imagined I could feel the weight of his gaze. That was ridiculous, of course. He was probably looking at something behind me. Something more interesting than a slightly disheveled engineer in a wrinkled cardigan.
Men like them—young, attractive, radiating that intangible aura of danger and freedom—they didn’t notice women like me. They went for the gorgeous, confident types who knew how to flirt.
Shit. I needed to get a grip. It wasn’t like I wanted to date the biker guys.
I fumbled with my phone, pretending to check a message while swiping away something from my father that kind of looked like he was trying to set me up with a date with an engineer from Berkeley, which made me growl and open the bookstore’s door with an aggressive shove.
Once I was inside the familiar cocoon of Honeybee Books, I took a deep breath, letting the scent of paper and honey-lavender tea calm my racing heart.
The store was perfect for my sensory needs; always quiet and calm, never too crowded, with a little cafe in one corner that only served tea and muffins.
I hated when bookstores had an entire restaurant inside and smelled of all sorts of random non-book smells.
Shaking off my racing thoughts, I forced myself to focus on why I was here: to pick up “Four of Hearts.” Which meant I needed to go talk to Jamie and retrieve my book.
She was busy arranging a display of new releases.
Her colorful reading glasses hung from their beaded chain, swinging gently as she moved.
She spotted me and smiled, already reaching under the counter before I could say a word.
“Looking for this?” she asked, holding up a glossy paperback with a playing card design that matched the rest of the series.
I nodded, but couldn’t stop my eyes from darting to the large front window.
From this angle, I could see the bikers still outside, and I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed them.
A blonde woman had approached them, her hair catching the sunlight.
Even from inside, I could tell she was gorgeous—tall and slender with the kind of confidence I’d never mastered.
She wore shorts that showed off her long legs.I looked down at my legs, wondering why they were just regular length.
Maybe the shorts were some sort of optical illusion.
“Earth to June,” Jamie’s voice broke through my thoughts. She was holding out my book, a knowing smile on her face. “They are something to look at, aren’t they?”
I blushed, embarrassed at being caught staring. “Sorry, I was just... distracted.”
“You and half the women in Altavista,” Jamie laughed, nodding toward the bikers. “Those two have showed up three times since you were last in. Best advertising I never had to pay for. They even post about it on social media. They are gaining followers!”
“Really? Last I looked it was only like fifty.” Shit, I’d given myself away.
She nodded. “I think it’s a few hundred now, and their following is growing. The romance reader communities are loving the trend. Biker boys flirting with book babes.”“It’s a trend?”“Yeah. Those two didn’t even start it. They tagged the guys who came up with the idea in one of their posts.”
I took the book from her, my fingers tracing the embossed title. “Four of Hearts” promised to deliver even more of what had kept me up reading until my eyes burned—two dangerous men devoted to pleasuring one lucky woman.
Outside, the blonde was fully engaged with Milo, who had taken off his helmet.
They seemed completely absorbed in conversation. But the quiet one—he remained apart, helmet still firmly in place, arms crossed over his chest. And unless I was completely delusional, the angle of his helmet suggested he was looking not at the blonde or his friend, but toward the bookstore.
Toward me.
No. That was absurd. He couldn’t see me through the tinted glass and displays. And even if he could, why would he be looking at me when there was a literal sunshine goddess outside flirting with his friend? He was probably just keeping watch, making sure no one messed with their bikes or something.
“I can see why it’s good for business. It’s like something straight out of a romance novel, isn’t it? Mysterious bikers showing up at a bookstore where women buy fantasies. Kind of... meta.”
Jamie laughed, passing me my receipt. “All I know is they’ve tripled my Instagram followers and brought in brand new customers.
” She leaned in conspiratorially. “That blonde out there came in yesterday asking for ‘whatever book has guys like that in it.’ Left with three motorcycle club romances and a promise to come back.”
“I’m not surprised,” I blurted out, then wished I could take the words back. “I mean, they’re obviously—” I stopped, my cheeks flaming.
“Hot as hell? You don’t need to tell me. I’m happily married, not blind.”
I laughed, relieved that she’d finished my sentence with something less revealing than what I’d been about to say.
“Thanks for holding the book for me,” I said, tucking it in my bag. “I should get going.”
“See you soon!”
I pushed open the door, stepping back into the heat and light of the real world. The quiet one’s helmet turned, with unmistakable intent this time, to follow my movement as I emerged.
I froze, one foot on the sidewalk, caught in the invisible beam of attention from behind that dark visor. My body seemed to understand something my brain refused to acknowledge—that the tension between us wasn’t imaginary, that the awareness wasn’t one-sided.
The blonde was still chatting with Milo, oblivious to the silent exchange happening just feet away. For one wild, suspended moment, I considered walking over. Saying something. Anything.
Instead, I clutched my bag tighter, ducked my head, and hurried in the opposite direction.