Chapter 28 #2
What makes it more than just a place to store books are the personal touches I’ve added throughout the years that I’m most protective of.
There are plush rugs on the floor that tie it all together, and a cozy reading nook of lush pillows and blankets by the lone window above the garage, where I’ve definitely fallen asleep on more than one occasion.
String lights hang from the ceiling, adding a bit of magic to the space, making it feel more like a place of fantasy.
A few plants sit on the windowsill, where they get the most light, and a slew of scented candles make the room smell divine.
It’s in these little details that I fear the most judgment, even though I know I shouldn’t. But right now, Luke is looking at them with such childlike wonder that my heart soars.
“Holy fucking shit, Ethan,” he murmurs as he walks among the various shelves, reaching out to delicately touch the spines of the different titles with awe. “When your mom said you had a library, I wasn’t expecting this. How many books are there?”
“The last time I counted, it was just shy of four thousand,” I answer sheepishly, idly picking at a loose thread on my sweatshirt.
Luke’s eyes sweep across the room to meet mine, and I feel my face flushing. Why does it feel like my heart is suddenly on the chopping block?
“Have you read them all?” he asks, flabbergasted.
“Most of them.”
Luke gapes at me in disbelief. “I knew you liked to read, but this is… This is something else.” He must see the uncertainty on my face because he quickly shakes his head and smiles.
“No, no. Don’t get me wrong. This is amazing.
I just… Why do you have everything tucked up here instead of on display downstairs?
I thought bookish people were usually proud to show off their hoard. ”
I shrug slightly, biting my lower lip. “It’s easier this way.”
“What do you mean?” Luke cocks his head to the side.
“It stops the jokes, mostly. People can’t tease me for it if they don’t know it exists.”
Luke’s face softens, and his expression tells me he sadly understands.
“You shouldn’t have to hide what you love.” He shakes his head. “Anyone who jokes about your passions is a shit friend if you ask me. This is a phenomenal collection. You should be proud to showcase it.”
“Yeah, well. It probably wouldn’t fit downstairs anymore, anyway.” I shrug. “I’m running out of room up here as it is.”
“I can see that.” Luke gives me a sidelong glance, and I can tell he’s got more he’d like to say, but he’s holding his tongue for now.
He goes back to perusing the shelves, studying the various covers with interest.
“You must have spent years assembling this,” he muses, randomly picking up a book and skimming the back cover. “How do you have it organized?”
“Genre, then by author,” I say. “There’s classic literature in that corner, horror to your left. Fantasy, historical fiction, science fiction….”
Luke nods, impressed. But then he stops at one particular shelf, and the corner of his mouth twists into a sly grin. My heart drops as I realize what he’s looking at—the romance novels. Fucking hell.
“Well, well…” Luke chuckles, facing me with a devilish grin. “Now I understand. This is where it comes from.”
“What?” I swallow hard, trying to act like I don’t know exactly what he’s looking at.
“Your preferences,” he says, his voice dropping a register, sending a chill down my spine.
He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the bookshelf in a positively feline stance, looking me up and down with a new fire in his eye, covetous in its own right.
I swallow hard. “You’re a hopeless romantic. ”
“Those were an old girlfriend’s,” I lie pathetically. Luke’s smile only grows.
“Oh, I didn’t need to see the books to figure you out, baby.” Luke chuckles. “I already found out all your tells a while ago. I know what you like.”
“Lies. Pure lies.”
Luke pushes himself off the shelf and stalks across the room to me gracefully, and I find myself backed into the corner with nowhere to go as he looms over me.
Before I can say anything, he pins me to the wall, one hand cupping my chin, tilting my head up so that our faces are only inches apart.
My eyes widen, and my body betrays me, shivering against my control.
My heart’s pounding. It doesn’t go unnoticed.
Luke smiles triumphantly before pressing his lips to mine, instantly turning my brain to mush as he kisses me like in my wildest fantasies.
When he pulls away, he drags his hand down my throat and over my heaving chest. He stares at my mouth before lifting his eyes to meet mine, and I shudder at the possessiveness in his gaze. The way he seems to see through my soul.
“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,” he purrs softly, and my insides turn molten.
“Okay, fine,” I say breathlessly, grabbing his shirt by the collar. “Shut up and come here, you fucking bastard.”
Then he kisses me until the world goes hazy, and I feel the magic of this sacred space mingling with our jagged breaths.
Later that night, when I finally call my mom back to chat, the first thing out of her mouth is, “Good work, kiddo. I can see why he put you through a gay crisis.”
“I’m blocking your number,” I reply, then I hang up the phone while she laughs maniacally in the background.