Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
PENELOPE
One Night Stan’s looked like someone dared to suggest we keep the decorations simple, and Mabel had taken it as a personal challenge.
Fairy lights hung from the rafters in uneven swoops.
The tables were covered in lace tablecloths and feather boas that absolutely did not belong anywhere near spilled beer.
Bright-pink bejeweled auction paddles sat in messy stacks.
And every drink was served with a dick straw like this was an unhinged bachelorette party and not a fundraiser for the library.
Well, the unhinged part was right.
When Mabel had suggested this event—blind date with a book, auction-style—Holly and I had jumped at the chance.
She was watching Emma tonight, which meant this whole night rested on my shoulders.
And I definitely felt the pressure. If this was a success, we’d be able to fund our outreach program for next year.
Fortunately, the bar was packed. Glasses clinked.
Laughter and excited chatter bounced off the walls.
The mic screeched with feedback every thirty seconds because Lincoln refused to stop touching it or using it to flirt with the group of grandmas seated across the room, while Willa just rolled her eyes.
She sat at the bar along with Sutton, Chloe, and Rowan. Declan and his brothers stood behind it making drinks, while Tasha, the manager, worked the tables.
I stood near the makeshift podium behind the table of books whose covers were hidden beneath kraft paper, straightening stacks that didn’t need straightening, checking the list of participants I’d already checked five times, and adjusting my cardigan like it was armor.
Attempting—poorly—to swallow down the nerves that were plaguing me.
This was the first book event I’d done since Sunday dinner had detonated my carefully compartmentalized life, and I still felt like I was on shaky ground.
But no one had connected the dots of my separate personas.
Which meant everything was fine. The evening was structured.
Predictable. Planned within an inch of its life.
Unless someone thought it would be charming to crack open my book and read a passage out loud. In which case, I would simply cease to exist.
With a penis tiara perched on her head, Mabel stepped behind the podium, her purple feather boa floating behind her, and tapped the mic twice to get everyone’s attention.
Hoots and hollers went up all around, and Mabel took a slight bow before raising her hand to get the crowd to settle.
“Welcome to Starlight Cove’s first-ever Blind Date with a Book!
You’re in for a treat tonight, my filthy little bookworms. The books are going to be spicy, and the coffee dates you’re bidding on may be questionable.
But don’t worry, because all proceeds from you horny heathens will go to the library’s outreach program.
Can I get a round of applause for literacy as foreplay? ”
The crowd cheered, and I closed my eyes briefly, shaking my head at her antics.
While Mabel went through the rules, I tried to pay attention. I really, really did. But I could feel Declan’s eyes on me, sweeping over me like a caress.
When I finally couldn’t take it anymore, I glanced over. And sure enough, his gaze was fixed on me as he stood behind the bar. Arms crossed. Gray Henley stretched across his shoulders and molded to his biceps. Eyes steady on me, warm and possessive in a way that made my pulse trip over itself.
I didn’t know what the hell this thing was between us. I’d thought it was just the list…thought we were just roommates. But now, after the past couple weeks, I wasn’t so sure.
I knew he wasn’t the relationship type. He didn’t date, and he had no interest in anything permanent.
So why did it feel like he was claiming me with his gaze alone?
Dragging my attention back to the books, I forced myself to focus. I was here to raise money for the outreach program, not fawn over the way Declan Steele looked at me.
Fortunately, I wasn’t reading tonight or auctioning myself off—we had enough volunteers that I didn’t need to. I was just here to organize. To facilitate. To make sure everything ran smoothly.
“Who’s brave enough to pop our cherries and be the first voice of sin tonight?” Mabel called.
Hands shot up, and Mabel randomly selected a woman I vaguely recognized from the library. I found the book and passed it to her as she strode to the podium. After she read the spicy but tasteful passage, the crowd went exactly as wild as one would expect with Mabel as the ringleader.
And that was how the next two hours flew by—the vibe equal parts horny and wholesome, exactly as promised.
More than a dozen people read excerpts—thankfully none of them from The House of Sovereign Sin—money was raised for a good cause, and the bar roared their approval with whistles, hoots, and catcalls after each blind date was auctioned off.
I’d actually pulled this off. And if my calculations were right, we’d raised enough to cover not only next year’s budget but part of the following year as well. That money would help in immeasurable ways, and I was so proud to be a part of something so worthwhile.
I relaxed, feeling the weight on my shoulders recede as the night wound down until only one book remained on the table.
“Everyone show your appreciation for tonight’s festivities!” Mabel said, once again behind the mic. “Thank you to the Steele brothers for allowing us to host our filthy little fundraiser at One Night Stan’s.”
The crowd roared even louder, and I chanced a glance back at Declan, who stood between his brothers.
His arms were crossed, his jaw tight as they appeared to be hassling him about something.
He stood as still as stone—at least until he snapped something at Lincoln and shoved him, which only made his younger brother laugh.
The corner of my lips curved, loving to see Declan like this. Like he’d been at family dinner. More relaxed. Not unguarded exactly, but more open than he usually allowed himself to be.
“And now, for our last reading of the night…” Mabel said, but my gaze was still locked on Declan. Still soaking in every inch of him. “I think we need to hear from our very own hot librarian, don’t you?”
The room erupted around me, and I froze as Declan’s gaze shot to mine, my stomach dropping all the way to my toes.
I spun around to face Mabel, quickly shaking my head and holding up my hands in the universal I do not want any part of this gesture.
She narrowed her eyes at me, tossed the feather boa over her shoulder, and stared at me over her glasses. “Penelope Shea, get your sweet, bookish behind up here.”
Heat infused my cheeks, and I laughed weakly, gesturing to the almost empty table. “I’m organizing.”
“Organize from the stage!” someone—definitely Chloe—yelled.
I shook my head again, taking a step back like that would help. “I didn’t sign up. And I don’t even have a book.”
“I’ve got one for you, sugar,” Mabel said, not taking no for an answer. As though she could sense I wasn’t going to give in so easily, she stared at me with a gleam in her eye. “And to sweeten the pot for the change in schedule, I’ll double whatever bid she gets!”
Everyone whooped in approval, and my heart stuttered to a stop.
Double the bid? That meant doubling the money for the outreach program. For after-school workshops and low-cost family activities and all the things we’d been trying to fund for months.
Mabel arched a brow at me like she knew she’d just cornered me into agreeing. And she was right.
With a soft exhale, I walked toward the stage on shaky legs that didn’t feel like mine.
“Attagirl!” Lincoln hollered from behind the bar, his sharp whistle cut off as Declan shoved him again.
Mabel pressed a book into my hands. “Page one-fifty-two,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Trust me.”
Yeah, right. I wasn’t trusting that woman ever again.
With trembling fingers, I flipped to the page, bracing myself for filth and scandal and debauchery.
Instead, the passage was soft and poetic, full of a longing so deep it echoed off the page.
It carried the kind of tension that blossomed in glances and almost-touches.
Words about wanting someone so badly it felt like standing too close to a flame and knowing you’d burn if you leaned in but unable to stop from doing just that.
The words settled low in my chest, achingly familiar in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely.
I stepped up to the mic, and the crowd quieted as I started reading. My voice shook on the first sentence. Steadied on the second. And by the third, I wasn’t thinking about the crowd anymore.
I was thinking about the feeling this passage evoked. How desire could be quiet and patient and live in the space between two people who hadn’t been brave enough to name what was happening between them.
Without thought, I lifted my eyes to find Declan. His gaze was trained on me, ignoring everything else around him like he was afraid to blink and miss something important.
Like this mattered.
The space between us felt weighted and heavy, and I didn’t know how to breach that. Didn’t know if I should. Not when the ticking clock on our arrangement was inching perilously close to the expiration date.
When I finished reading, the silence held for half a heartbeat longer than it should have.
Then someone called out, “Twenty bucks. And here’s hoping she reads the whole thing to me over coffee tomorrow morning.”
Laughter rippled through the room as my skin flushed hot, and Declan’s entire body went stiff.
I glanced away from him and forced a polite smile, fingers tightening on the book like an anchor even though every cell in my body screamed for me to run.
To escape. To dive out of the spotlight so I wasn’t the center of attention anymore.
“Thirty-five!” a man near the front shouted, waving his paddle.
“Fifty!” someone else chimed from the corner as hoots went up all around.
Lincoln cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a bidding war over the hot librarian.”
Oh my god. I was going to die. Right here onstage, clutching a copy of Ravished at Midnight while people bid on me like I was something to be claimed. I should walk away.
I couldn’t walk away.
This was for the library. This was for the library. I just had to keep repeating that, reminding myself why I was doing this in the first place.
Before another number could fly, a voice from the back cut through everything. Low. Even. Deadly calm.
“Five hundred.”
Chairs scraped, heads turned, and a collective murmur swept through the bar, their curiosity over who called out the bid palpable.
But I didn’t have to look. I’d know that voice anywhere.
Declan stood against the wall behind the bar, one ankle crossed over the other, a beer bottle hanging loosely from between his fingers. He lifted the drink and took a slow sip. Didn’t smile. Didn’t elaborate. Didn’t break eye contact.
“Sold!” Mabel shouted, slamming her homemade gavel on the podium, like she was afraid he’d take it back if she gave him half a second to change his mind.
Cheers, whistles, and laughter rolled through the crowd as I stood there, completely frozen. My mouth was bone-dry, my heart was galloping a mile a minute, and my knees felt wholly unreliable.
Declan Steele had just dropped five hundred dollars. For a book. For a coffee date.
For me.
Somehow, I found my way off the stage amid shoulder claps and high fives. Sutton hugged me, Willa smirked, and Chloe squealed about how “unbelievably, ridiculously hot” that was.
And through all of it, I could only pay attention to Declan and the way he was still watching me.
The thrill of being chosen like that—publicly, unapologetically—buzzed through my veins. But underneath it, something quiet but unsettled stirred.
He’d said there was nothing going on between us. That we were just roommates. And he’d made it blatantly clear he wasn’t the relationship type.
So what the hell had tonight been? A claim? A warning to everyone else? Just an impulse? Whatever it was, it didn’t feel temporary. It felt deliberate.
And it scared me just how much I loved it.