Chapter 20
Joel
Anna is avoiding me.
She’s not even being subtle about it.
After the whole almost-kiss thing, she’s been moving through the house like she’s got a Joel-activated security system. Any time I enter a room? She’s suddenly got somewhere else to be. If I start a conversation? She’s giving me one-word answers and pretending she has emails to send.
It’s adorable, really.
And maybe I’d be a good person and let her have her space.
But where’s the fun in that?
Especially when we have to practice together for Mina’s party, and she’s dodging it like I suggested a séance to raise the ghosts of her bad decisions.
Monday, I texted her. When do you want to practice? She left me on read.
Tuesday, I asked her in person. She pretended she didn’t hear me and walked out of the kitchen with her entire plate of food.
Wednesday morning, I slid a note under her door.
We could always just perform an interpretive dance instead.
She crumpled it up and threw it at my head when she walked past me later.
We’re making progress.
I’m still figuring out my next move when I step into the living room—
And freeze.
Because there, sitting pretty on the coffee table, is her book.
Taken by the Barbarian King.
Anna is nowhere to be found, but I am certain she didn’t mean to leave it here.
And I am a man of opportunity.
I drop onto the couch, pick up the book, and flip it open to a random page—
Just as Anna walks into the room.
She stops short.
For a full two seconds, she just stares.
Then—
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I glance up, all innocence. “Oh, you mean this?” I hold up the book, grinning like a goddamn Cheshire Cat. “Just broadening my literary horizons.”
Her entire face goes purple.
“Put. It. Down.”
I turn a page leisurely. “You know, Ace, I gotta repeat—‘barbarian king’ wasn’t really the vibe I expected from you.” I skim a paragraph. “Although, I do see the appeal of a man who can lift a horse with one arm. Very practical.”
Her nostrils flare. “Joel.”
“Or wait—” I flip to another page, pretending to be fascinated. “This might actually be my favorite part. The way he just throws her over his shoulder mid-battle? Incredible. Functional and romantic.”
Then, I flip another page, lips parting as my brain short-circuits.
Oh.
Oh, what the fuck?
My eyebrows shoot up. My smugness wobbles.
Because this is—
Holy shit.
I wasn’t expecting that.
Then, I reread the paragraph for good measure, because there’s no fucking way I just read that correctly.
Oh. Nope. I did.
There are two men. And one woman. And a very enthusiastic use of—
I shut the book and reopen it, because my brain refuses to accept this as reality.
Holy shit.
My grip on the book tightens slightly as my brain processes the very intense—very explicit—arrangement of bodies currently described in vivid detail.
I can actually feel the heat creeping up my neck.
Anna is reading this?
My Anna. No—Ethan’s little sister. The same girl who used to argue with me over the ethics of looting in video games and who once refused to read Harry Potter because “the magical system lacked logical consistency.”
And yet, here she is, reading something that would make a Roman orgy look tame.
I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that I can never unsee this, or the fact that I… kinda get why she’s into it.
And for the first time in my life, I have no idea what the fuck to say.
Anna lunges.
I barely dodge as she makes a grab for the book, her entire body radiating panic and murderous intent in equal measure.
“Drop it. Right the fuck now.”
I clear my throat, recovering as quickly as possible, shaking off whatever the hell that just did to me.
“Hold on, hold on,” I say, yanking the book just out of reach, forcing myself to smirk past the surprising mental imagery I just sustained. “I just need to—yep, okay, confirmed, that’s some very… innovative swordplay.”
Anna makes a sound like she’s about to commit violence.
I drag a hand down my face and groan dramatically. “Ace, I think I need a minute.”
She lunges again, finally snatching the book from my hands.
She clutches it to her chest like a lifeline, her entire face on fire.
“Oh my god, you are the worst—”
“Is this, uhm, is it for research?” I ask, wanting to know but also kinda not wanting to know.
She lets out an exasperated groan and crosses her arms. “It’s for book club, idiot.”
I blink. “Book club?”
“Yes. Book club. I’m reading it for educational purposes.”
I stare at her.
She stares back. Arms crossed. Chin lifted. Doing everything in her power to look unaffected—except for the fact that her face is still red as hell.
I should let this go.
I should be a mature adult and move on.
But she left me alone with that scene for way too long.
I tilt my head. “What kind of book club exactly?”
Her expression doesn’t even change. “A normal one.”
I raise a brow. “A normal one?”
“Yes.”
“Just some gals sitting around discussing plot structure?”
“Yes.”
“And thematic depth?”
“Obviously.”
“And, I assume, the historical accuracy of battlefield logistics? Because I’d definitely point out that lifting the horse thing.”
Her nostrils flare. “Joel.”
“Wait, wait—” I start laughing all over again, imagining her sitting with a bunch of women discussing sex scenes. “Do you guys have, like, meetings? Do you take minutes? I bet you do. Oh my god, please tell me you have ranking systems.”
Anna drags her hands down her face, like she’s regretting every decision that led her here. “We are not discussing the ranking system.”
“Oh my god, yes—” I say, praising the god in the ceiling. “There’s a ranking system. I bet it’s chili peppers. It is, isn’t it?”
She lets out a wounded sound. “I hate you so much.”
“No, no—this is important. If you’re a senior Dirty B, does that mean you’ve read the most filth?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose and purses her lips.
“Or is it, like, a merit-based thing? You unlock elite status after surviving a certain number of highly questionable plots?” I tap my chin. “What’s the initiation process? Do you have to read a full book out loud while making intense eye contact?”
“For fucksake.”
I press a hand to my heart. “You know, Ace, I have to say, I never pegged you for the type to analyze the finer points of—” I lower my voice, smirking, “—strategic sword placement. That’s what you were talking about the other night, wasn’t it?”
Her entire body locks up.
I grin.
That’s it. That’s exactly the reaction I was looking for. God, she’s actually really sexy when she’s all fired up.
Her glare could set fire to Lake Superior, but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she exhales sharply, rolling her shoulders back, clearly trying to regain some control.
I watch her, curious, waiting for the inevitable excuse.
Finally, she says, “It’s called the Dirty B’s.”
I blink.
I blink again.
And then I lose my fucking mind.
I throw my head back, laughing so hard I nearly slide off the couch.
She groans aggressively, muttering something that sounds like “I’m going to kill Tessa,” but I’m too busy losing oxygen to fully process it.
“The Dirty B’s?” I repeat, fucking delighted. “Like… that’s what you actually call it?”
Anna glares. “Of course. It’s short for ‘Dirty Bitches.’”
I slap my thigh, still dying. “Oh, yeah, no, that really softens it.”
Her eye twitches. “It’s not supposed to.”
I wipe a fake tear from my eye, grinning so hard my face hurts. “God, this is beautiful. I’m so proud of you.”
She groans again, throwing herself onto the couch like she’s physically exhausted by my presence.
Which only fuels me further, because she’s sitting next to me. She’s not running. Not hiding in her room. She’s here.
“You know what?” I say, tapping my chin. “I think I need to start my own book club.”
She lifts her head just enough to glare. “No.”
I ignore her. “Yep. It’s happening. A club that truly appreciates the literary merit of, uh…” I nod toward the book she’s still clutching. “Highly creative battle techniques.”
“Joel.”
I grin, slow and wicked. “I’m calling it The Dirty Bastards. Know any guys who might wanna join?”
Her head drops back against the couch as she whimpers in absolute suffering.
“Why are you like this?”
“Born this way, baby.”
“Do not quote Gaga unless you can back it up.” She throws a pillow at my face.
I catch it, laughing, because this is the most fun I’ve had in days.
Maybe weeks.
Hell, probably years.
She groans into her hands. “I hate you.”
I lean closer, dropping my voice. “You sure about that?”
Her hands drop immediately, her glare back in full force, but I see it.
The slight twitch at the corner of her lips.
The way she almost—almost—smiles.
And I know, deep in my very soul, that I’m winning.
Anna stands up suddenly, as if that will fix this. “I—I need to check my email.”
I smirk. “Do you?”
“Yep. Very important work stuff.”
“Like what?”
She flounders for a second. “Uh. Corporate espionage. Hush-hush. Government secrets.”
I grin wider. “Ah, yes. Your thriving spy career.”
She glares at the coffee table like she can manifest an escape route. “You know, I should really start… cooking more.”
I snort. “You hate cooking.”
“Yeah, but, um, personal growth?” She gestures vaguely.
“Nice try,” I say, stretching my arms behind my head, “we should pick songs for Mina’s party.”
Her face drops completely. I grin like the devil himself.
The whiplash is delicious.
“No.”
I raise an eyebrow. “No?”
She scowls, but grabs her laptop from the coffee table, aggressively typing as she pulls up Spotify. “Fine. But we need kid-friendly music.”
I nod solemnly. “Agreed. That’s why we should open with Pony by Ginuwine.”
Her eyes snap to me, horrified. “Joel.”
“What? It’s about horse riding.”
She lets out a murderous sigh. “I am begging you to take this seriously.”
I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. “Okay, fine. No Ginuwine. But what about a nice, neutral option? You know. Something that works for all audiences.”
Anna narrows her eyes. “Like what?”