Chapter 1 #3
The next day, he brought in a box of books he wanted to get rid of. Because they were written by women. Oddly enough, that wasn’t the way to my heart or into my pants and only served to solidify my icky first impression.
Since then, he has continued to come into the shop at least once a week, if not more.
He always tries to get me to agree to one one-on-one time, either with event tickets, offering a meal, going to a bar, or whatever.
Every time, I manage to turn him down. While he’s never done anything specific, I’m always uneasy around him and I absolutely loathe when he comes into the store and I’m alone — something that has increased over time.
No, he’s never done anything overt, but I’m a firm believer in trusting your gut and there’s something off about Brett. Something dead in his eyes, that remained flat and lifeless even when he smiled or laughed at his own jokes.
Because the universe hates me and loves nothing more than to laugh at my expense, Brett is carrying a copy of tonight’s book. Call me skeptical, but I didn’t think he could actually read.
Brett seems to spot me from across the room and flashes that practiced smile.
I just know he stands in front of his mirror flexing and posing.
I groan internally, wishing I could be literally anywhere else.
Thankfully, the room is filling with women for the evening’s fun, so I can hopefully avoid him for the length of the meeting.
Yes, I plan to use a bunch of women, including a gaggle of little old ladies, as a shield. Stop judging me.
I give Brett a nod of greeting and go to take my place in the meeting area.He is, of course, undeterred and saunters over to sit next to me. He drapes his arm over the back of my chair, leaning in as he says, “Hey Casie! I didn’t know you were running the club meeting tonight.”
As if he’d even be here if Betsy were running it. He’d probably spotted her around town earlier. I fight the need to squirm and lean away, trying to remain still and not give an inch. “Yeah, I run them when Betsy is busy. I don’t remember seeing you here before.”
“Oh, I just joined. You know — reading is good for expanding, like, the mind.”
I make a non-committal sound in my throat. “So I’ve heard. I can’t wait to hear what you think of this month’s book.”
Especially since it’s written by a woman, for women. I would bet my left kidney he didn’t even open his copy and, likely, stole it from his mom. Or he bought it with the sole intention of returning it to the shop later. Asshole.
As I turn to check the clock, I suddenly feel his hand on my thigh. Whipping my head around, I find him looking at me, in a way I imagine he thinks is charming and sly, but is actually disgusting. “Please, get your hand off me.”
“Oh, com’on, Cas. You know I’d love to take you out, show you a good time. I know you aren’t seeing anyone. We’d be great together.”
Shoving his hand from my leg, I stand, trying to regulate my breathing. “We’ve had this discussion, Brett. I don’t have the time.”
He laughs. “Still playing hard to get, huh? How about tonight after the meeting? You can come home with me and we can continue our discussion. I can even… pay you, for your time.” He winks.
For once, I’m speechless. Based off of his expression, he thinks this is a good thing. He doesn’t seem to have any idea of how insulting the words he’s spewing are. He also seems to think if he states it as fact, that magickally makes it so.
“No,” I finally manage. I have to maintain some semblance of professionalism.
“No just means you’ll think about it.” He smirks.
I walk away before I cause any more of a scene in front of all these women.
Not that they’d care. They’d probably draw and quarter him for being such a raging twat.
He may be an assclown, but he doesn’t need to be completely humiliated in the middle of the shop.
Eventually, he has to find some other girl to set his sights on, right?
I’m going to spend the rest of the meeting actively avoiding him.
The meeting goes… well? The book we’re discussing this week is the first of a series in which a group of best friends decide to move together into a “mom-commune” with their children to share the burdens that come with being a single parent.
Since I do, in fact, read the books for book club, I know that it’s a billionaire boss, fake marriage story, and I loved it.
The spice was spicing, the book boyfriend was top tier, and the kids were adorable.
Plus, the main female was plus size, which is grossly underrepresented in the book world.
It was fabulous and I’ve already purchased the three follow up books, each written by other female authors and featuring each of the moms.
The majority of the women are older, but there are some younger gals here too.
They all appreciate the idea of sharing the burden of motherhood and the message of female support.
Everything seems to be going well, until we get to the part of the discussion about the female lead.
While the women have nothing but positive things to say about the romance of the book, Brett has other thoughts.
“Seriously? No wonder this fiction! Who’s going to be turned on by a fat chick?”
The temperature in the room seems to drop. I guess when a group of thirty women all decide you’ve said something stupid, it has a physical manifestation?
Brett, of course, plows on without noticing. “I mean, from what you’re all saying, this dude is loaded. Bro — you can literally have any woman you want! Why would you fuck the fatty?”
There are a few seconds of absolute silence, in which all of the women appear completely mortified.
The younger participants are glaring at him.I knew he didn’t read the fucking book.
I swear to all the gods, if these women attack him en masse, I’m letting them and damn the consequences.
I mean, I’ll probably call the cops eventually, but I’d definitely let it go for a while first.
Before I can decide if I should reprimand him or not, Alice, the happy matron of our troupe at the ever young age of eighty-six, speaks up. “Which explains why you’re here with a bunch of old biddies instead of out with some pretty young girl. No one likes a tool, young man.”
I choke on the water I was sipping as the other women lose it.
Alice looks at me. “What? Did I use the word wrong? My grandkids influence, you understand…”
I want to hug her. “No, Alice. You used it perfectly.” I beam at her.
Brett, wisely, says nothing as his cheeks fill with red hot embarrassment and he slouches down in his seat, muttering softly to himself. Good. Let him sulk.
The women go back to discussing their thoughts, almost all positive.
They enjoyed the dedication, rave over the book boyfriend.
As they move on to discussing the spicy scenes in depth, I notice Brett appears more and more uncomfortable.
He mutters something about female climaxes being a myth, but I choose to ignore it. I’m choosing my battles.
Reminding myself that his discomfort is not my problem, I continue leading the group.
He brought all of this on himself and none of these women are inclined to even attempt to draw him back into the conversation after he showed his ass so completely.
I see a few of the oldest patrons glancing at him and giggling.
He’s never going to live down his fatphobic comments or the fact that he was just put in his place by a little old lady who doesn’t even come up to his shoulder.
Following the formal discussion, many of the women leave immediately, but a few stragglers always hang around to chat and finish their coffee.
I hardly mind. The bookshop is my favorite place in the world and I enjoy their company.
I scan who’s left and don’t see Brett so I guess he bailed with the rest of the group. Thank the gods.
I gather up the coffee cups and general debris.
Not that there was a lot of trash; groups of women tend to clean up after themselves, in my very limited experience.
Knowing that the rest of this shouldn’t take long, I cart everything to the back.
Annemarie not only bakes like an angel, she is a drill sergeant about the state of her kitchen and everything is meticulously clean and organized.
She will kill me dead if I don’t get these dishes done and tidied up.
It will never be up to her weirdly militant standard, but I’m hoping that she will be pleased with my attempts and not hurt me.
I turn a playlist on while the sink fills with bubbles and water.
The window over the sink shows the last rays of the sunset.
Before long, I lose myself in the homeiness of the chore.
There’s something about the warm water, the bubbles, the progress and being able to zone out looking out the window that’s wonderfully domestic and oddly relaxing.
If only I could turn this feeling on when it comes to cleaning my apartment.
When I hear the bell over the front door sing, I assume it’s announcing that one of the members has forgotten something.
Instead, it’s Annemarie who comes barreling in in her customary whirl of perfume, skirts and scarves.
She throws one arm around my shoulders and squeezes.
I love her free spirit and her hippie style.
Studying her now, I note she’s dressed for a date in a multi-layered maxi skirt, a black tank top that shows off yoga toned arms and her girls, nicely.
Probably a dozen necklaces, at least. She uses a hand (with a ring on every finger, natch) to push her mass of copper curls out of her green eyes.
She has the face of a pixie, the mind of a sailor, and the sunniest outlook of anyone I’ve ever met. She’s also my best friend.
“You’re on clean up tonight?”
“Bits had a date,” I reply with a shrug. She has a date. Anne has a date. Everyone has a date but me.
Annemarie brings me back to the present. “Do you want to come out with Steve and me? We were going to check out the new place that opened last month.”
“And be a third wheel on your date? Hard pass.”But the fact that she would totally tank this date if I wanted to hang is one more reason I love her.
“You know, you could invite someone to come with you and then you wouldn’t be a third wheel. We could double!”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea tonight and unless I’m going to finally buckle and throw Brett a pity fuck, there’s no one I’d call. Besides, I need to finish cleaning up this mess so you don’t kill me. My book needs my attention. And you know that the group of Betsys is a lot.”
“What happened with Brett? He was at the meeting? I didn’t think he could read. Also… what does one call a group of Betsys?” she ponders.
I smile at her. “That’s what I was thinking, but I was nice enough to not vocalize my thoughts. And, of course, we call it a terror.”
“You clearly deserve a treat for your restraint.”
“I really do. I have amazing restraint.”
“So what happened?”
“He showed up, having not read the book–”
“Of-fucking-course he didn’t!” she interrupts.
“On brand, I agree. He makes a fat phobic comment…” I fill her in on the rest of the evening, including Alice’s epic take down and her correct use of the word “tool.”
Annemarie throws her head back and laughs. “I do dearly love Miss Alice.” She pauses, studying my face as I continue to wash the dishes. “Is that all that happened? Did you really manage to have an interaction without him being … so Brett like?”
I take a second to consider my answer. Truthfully, no, but I try not to lie to my friends about anything bigger than “I’m fine.
”I also don’t want Annemarie stringing Brett up by his balls.
As entertaining as that could be, it would be bad for business.
I decide to settle somewhere in the middle and deflect.
“Nothing more than the usual hinting around, which I dodged.”
“Mmmmm. Well I… oh, shit! I’ve gotta go. I’m supposed to meet Steven in 15 minutes.”
“Go, do your thing. I’m just going to finish up and head home.”
“Be sure you don’t forget to lock up and do not forget to close up the bakery section before you leave. You’re my bitch — I’d hate to have to hurt you.”
I laugh. “Yes, mom. Now go!”
She blows me a kiss and darts away. A moment later, I hear the door jingle again and know she’s dashing down the sidewalk to get to her date.