Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
maya
“Out of all the books in the store, you sold him that?”
A slow, moody song hums through the store’s speakers. I let it wash over me, tuning Katrina out. She saw Cole’s name on a receipt and, being a die-hard Bobcats fan, nearly fainted in the stockroom. And for the last few days, the staff has been gossiping about how I sold him an alien romance.
“Does he read other paranormal romances?” Katrina props a large stack of books against her hip like a baby. “Shapeshifters? Vampires? Witches? Oh my God, do you think he knows about knotting?”
“Kat,” I groan, rubbing my eyes. “I’ve already recounted our conversation. More than once.”
Well, the highlights at least.
Cole’s insistence that he read a book I already have so we can talk about it still makes my pulse race. And we’ve texted every day for the past week. Well, he’s texted me and I’ve answered. He asks about my day, what managing the shop is like, how I pick what book to read next.
It’s… confusing, to say the least.
Maybe Logan was right, and Cole was freaked out by the Kiss, but that doesn’t change anything for me.
My whole childhood, I was caught in this vicious cycle of hoping my mom would stick around, only to watch her disappear time and time again.
Now, as an adult, I distrust situations where there’s potential to get what I want.
And I want Cole. Badly. Hence why I’ve relegated him to the friend zone and padlocked the gate that keeps him there.
“Do you think he’ll come back for the next one?” Katrina asks. “There are, like, eleven books in the series.”
If she’d asked me a month ago, I would’ve said absolutely not. But with the attention Cole’s been doling out?
“There’s a chance.”
Kat claps, her silver bangles jangling against one another. “I need to be working when he comes back. If I’m not, you owe me an autograph.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave her off. There’s no way I’m asking Cole for an autograph. That would only give him the wrong idea about what I want. “You sure you’re good to close tonight? You don’t need me to stay?”
She rolls her eyes and gives me a playful smile. “I’ve worked here for three years, Maya. I think I can handle a book club.”
I nod and give her a reassuring smile, despite the worry that pricks at the back of my mind. “Okay, okay.”
We host all kinds of book clubs. It’s good business—they buy their books through us, rent the space for a small fee, and bring in their own snacks.
We’ve got the Due Date Book Club, full of exhausted but enthusiastic new moms. There’s the Paranoia there’s nothing adorable about lima beans or black beans.
But it is, thanks to my coffee addiction and love for Boston Bean.
And yes, maybe the smirk I know Cole is wearing when he types it out is, too.
I should probably ignore the call. But I’m too curious, so I swipe Accept.
Big mistake on my part.
“Uh, hi,” I croak.
He’s so gorgeous it’s a miracle I can even get that much out. Water droplets slide from his hair onto his nape and run in rivulets over his bare shoulders—
Like a record scratch, the world screeches to a halt around me. Bare shoulders?
Why isn’t he wearing a shirt?
Cole chuckles and a triumphant grin bursts across his lips.
The air evacuates my lungs when I realize I said that last part out loud. Damn his sexiness for making it impossible to keep my thoughts to myself.
“I think we should focus on your shirt. Does it say Bookstore Whore?”
Oh God. Kill me. Kill me now.
“It was a gift from Kennedy,” I explain, my face burning. “I forgot I had it on.”
I don’t mention the other shirts she gave me: Smut Slut and Always Tired (from reading all night). It’s bad enough that I got caught wearing this one.
I mentally shake off the mortification. Why do I care?
Cole’s just a friend. Honestly, he’s just a tiny step above acquaintance.
Maybe it’s a cop-out to relegate him to that role, because it’s clear already that he wouldn’t be like other guys I’ve dated.
He wouldn’t let me keep him at arm’s length.
He’d steamroll his way into my life, make himself integral, then vanish just as fast, leaving me to watch him through my TV screen.
“I like it, bean.” His smile widens. “And I’m not wearing a shirt because I just got out of the shower.”
Don’t think of his naked body. Keep your thoughts PG. Focus on his face.
“And you’re calling me right after the shower because…”
“Since I’m out of town and can’t take you on a proper date this week, I figured a video call was the next best thing.” He lifts one sculpted bare shoulder in an easy shrug.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I say. “And need I remind you that friends don’t go out on dates?”
He rolls his eyes and lets out a huff. “Okay, fine. Since we can’t ‘hang out’”—he uses the fingers of his free hand to do air quotes—“I figured I’d call you instead.
And…” He leans in closer to the phone, his lips kicking up on one side.
“Friends also don’t drool at one another, but you’re practically salivating at my naked torso. ”
“I am not,” I sputter, my heart lurching into my throat.
Was I? There’s a very high likelihood. But come on. His muscular chest is wide, though his torso tapers down into a taut six-pack. I don’t mean to objectify him, but the hours he spends on the ice are clearly doing wonders for his physique.
He leans back against a headboard, giving me a peek of crisp white sheets as he gets settled. “Mm-hmm.”
“That’s a nasty bruise on your side,” I comment.
“What was that about you not checking me out, baby?” He smirks, though as he ducks, eyeing the injury I pointed out, his caramel-colored eyes widen as if he’s just now noticing it. “Eh, I’ve had worse.”
Hockey player. Duh.
“Oh, you had a game tonight.”
Sophie invited me to meet her at a bar to watch the Bobcats play, but I graciously declined, and we agreed to do drinks next week instead.
“I did indeed.” He chuckles. “Ended about an hour ago.”
“Did you get into a fistfight?”
“This isn’t the MMA, bean, but yeah, I got checked a few times.” The corners of his lips tug up. “We won, too, by the way. If you were curious.”
I roll my eyes at his teasing tone. “That was my next question, but congrats. That’s exciting. The team doesn’t do anything to celebrate?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. We have an early flight tomorrow. Figured I’d chat with you, then read some of my book.”
I arch a brow. “And what book would that be?”
Cole’s cheeks instantly flush. “Alien Lovers of Planet Dexxar.” His voice tilts up at the end, making the answer sound more like a question.
“This is my Super Bowl.” I laugh, bouncing a little on the couch cushion. “Or should I say my Stanley Cup.”
He grins at my hockey reference. “Interstellar relationships? Or making me flustered?”
I shake my head, batting at the strands of hair that have escaped my ponytail and fallen into my face. “No, introducing someone to a new book. It’s a form of therapy for me, I guess.”
“Even if the book is about purple aliens falling in love?”
“You’ve only just started it,” I chastise him with a mock scowl. “You can’t already be judging.”
“I’m not judging,” he promises. He holds up a hand, his middle and pointer finger crossed. “I’m just genuinely curious about how this book has such a big cult following when the plot is so outlandish.”