Chapter Eight
River
Jasmine is avoiding me. I know this because it's been two days since we fucked on my kitchen island, and she's disappeared. It's pissing me off.
I thought we were finally making progress. Apparently, I thought wrong. As soon as she had a chance, she slipped out. She hasn't shown up again since. She won't even answer my calls…and believe me, I had to jump through hoops to get her number.
Two days is long enough. I'm done waiting.
Which is precisely why I'm in the parking lot of her bookstore, fully prepared to go inside and spank her in front of everyone. Who says she's the only one allowed to participate in a little judicious stalking?
If she wants to have me arrested for it, I'll gladly go to jail.
I throw the SUV into park, my eyes locked on the front of the shop. There's movement inside, but I can't tell from here if it's her, not with bookish scenes painted all over the front windows, obscuring my view.
My phone rings.
"Goddammit," I growl, grabbing it from the console to ignore the call. At least that's the plan until I see Samantha's name flashing on the display.
I mutter a curse and swipe to answer. "What?" I growl.
"Hello to you, too," she says.
"I'm a little busy here, Sam. Unless it's life or death, I need to—"
"Did you forget you were supposed to be meeting Alice today?"
"What?"
"You're supposed to be meeting Alice today. Right now, actually," Sam says. "She just called me, wondering if you're on the way."
"Son of a bitch. That's today?"
"Yes, that's today, River," Sam growls. "I reminded you yesterday. I also reminded you the day before yesterday. You told me that you'd be there."
Son of a bitch. Alice's office is in Los Angeles. I should have been on the road three hours ago if I'm supposed to be there right now.
"Something came up," I lie. "An emergency."
"What emergency?"
The woman I'm in love with is ghosting me, and I'm losing my fucking mind about it.
"An emergency," I growl into the phone instead of telling my assistant the sad truth. "Can you please just reschedule the damn meeting?"
"Don't curse at me, River."
"Then reschedule the meeting."
"Fine," she sighs. "Is this about the girl you've been flipping out over? Because, honestly, River? You can't just blow off meetings because you're busy with some girl."
"Jasmine isn't just some girl, Sam," I grit out, pissed and bristling. Hell no, she doesn't get to refer to Jasmine that way. "And she's none of your business. If you want to keep your job, I suggest you stay the hell out of my personal life."
Shocked silence echoes down the line. I've never threatened to fire Sam before. But fucking hell, the last thing I need right now is my assistant trying to dictate my life. I don't care if she is worried; that isn't what I hired her to do.
"You're right," she finally says, her tone frosty. "It's none of my business. I'll reschedule the meeting."
Dammit.
"Sam, I—"
"I'll text you the updated meeting details," she says before hanging up on me.
"Fuck my life," I groan up at the ceiling of the car. Now, she's pissed. I'd like to blame Jasmine's infuriating little ass for that, but it isn't her fault.
I haul myself from the SUV, shove my phone into my pocket, and stomp across the parking lot to the shop. The bell over the door jingles when I push it open, stepping inside.
I stop for just a moment, taking a look around. Book of Love is in an old building in downtown Santa Maria, but the inside has clearly been renovated recently. It's nice.
The walls are painted a deep purple, making the space seem even larger than it is. The shelves are plum, with kitschy signs and book dragons placed strategically between rows of books. One wall contains a display of vibrators and wine. The others are dominated by massive floor-to-ceiling shelves.
A small café is built along the back wall, with couches, chairs, and plush rugs scattered around to give the entire space a cozy, inviting feel.
"Welcome to the—" The brunette who was on my porch with Jasmine last week steps around a shelf with a bright, welcoming smile. It falls when she sees me standing in the doorway, her eyes widening. "Oh, um…hi?"
"Where is she?" I growl.
"I don't know who you're talking about," she lies. She isn't very good at it either because her eyes immediately dart to the open door behind the front counter, then back to me.
I turn, heading that direction.
"Hey!" the brunette squeaks indignantly, darting across the shop like she intends to head me off at the pass, but I'm a lot faster than she is.
Apparently, I'm not meaner than she is. She kicks me in the back of the knee, damn near dropping me beside the counter.
"Jazz, run!" she cries. "He's here!"
"Goddammit," I growl, grasping the counter to keep myself upright. And then a book cracks me in the back of the head. "Stop throwing shit at me."
"Books aren't shit. And you aren't getting her arrested again!"
"I'm not here to get her arrested," I say, batting another book out of the air. Jesus Christ. Are all of Jasmine's friends as wild as she is? "I just want to talk to her."
"About what?" The brunette—Olive, according to her name tag—eyes me suspiciously, another book poised in her hand, ready to throw.
"For starters, about why she's been avoiding me since we slept together," I growl.
Olive lowers the book, gaping at me. "Holy shit. You two fucked? No wonder she's been…" she trails off. "She's in the back."
I eye her warily. "You going to throw anything else at me if I go back there?"
"Nope." She grins, hiding it behind her back. "Feel free to have sex in the back all you want. I won't even listen."
Jesus Christ. Does the bookstore attract wild women, or are wild women attracted to the bookstore?
I shake my head, not sure I want to know the answer to that question, then circle around the counter before Olive changes her mind and nails me with another book.
Unlike the front, the back of the store is a mess. There are half unpacked boxes everywhere. The paint on the walls is peeling, like they didn't take the time to fix it up back here. It smells like books and vanilla.
Jasmine's seated at a workbench in the center of one big room with what looks like a gift shop's supply of baskets and cellophane around her. There are wine bottles, vibrators, and books stacked all around her. Soft music spills from the speaker on her phone.
"What are you yelling about this time, Ol?" she asks without even looking up. "You know I can't hear you when I'm back here."
"I haven't started yelling yet, princess," I growl, blocking the door with my body, just in case she tries to make a run for it.
As soon as she hears my voice, her body goes rigid. She whips her head up, her wide eyes meeting mine. For a long moment, neither of us speaks. We just stare at each other. She looks tired, like she hasn't been sleeping.
The sight tugs at my heart. I want to pull her into my arms and just fucking hold her until she lets it go… but I have a feeling that's liable to get my ass kicked. Again.
I knew books were weapons against ignorance. I did not expect them to be used as actual goddamn weapons.
"Um, hi," she whispers like she's nervous, turning the volume down on her phone.
"You've been avoiding me."
"I…" She exhales a breath and then nods. "I have."
Well, hell. I expected a denial or a fight. I'm not sure what to do with a miserably spoken truth.
"You going to tell me why?" I ask, taking a step toward her.
She stares at me for a long moment and then sighs again. "Because you were supposed to be a balding, middle-aged college professor. You were supposed to have serious anxiety issues and be boring." She swallows hard. "You weren't supposed to become real, River."
"And that's a problem for you," I guess.
She bobs her head in a frustrated nod, strands of hair bobbing around her face.
"Yeah, it's a big problem," she says. "Because now I like you.
Now, I'm dreaming about you. Now, I know what you feel like inside me.
I know that you aren't the asshole I thought you were.
And I don't know how I'm supposed to fit you back inside my box when I'm not even sure I want you back in that box.
" She swallows. "You have me questioning everything, and that was never part of the plan. What am I supposed to do about that?"
I can think of a few things, but I can tell by the look on her face that she's seriously stressed about this, so I pause before answering.
"You weren't part of my plan either, princess," I say softly.
"But I'll be damned if that stopped you from turning my whole life upside down. All I do is think about you."
"Same," she whispers.
"You're driving me crazy."
"You're driving me crazy, too."
"I'm not going to break your heart."
She flinches, and I know that's exactly what she's afraid of—not that I'll be some disappointing version of a hero, but that I'll break her heart.
I know her well enough by now to know she guards it fiercely, afraid to give it to anyone.
But she's already given pieces of it to me.
She never would have slept with me if she hadn't. And that scares the hell out of her.
I stride across the room, stopping when I'm right beside her, so close I can smell her. So close, I feel her arm brush my chest every time she breathes. "You're safe with me, Jasmine."
"My dad said the same thing," she mutters.
"Turns out, he was cheating on my mom the whole time.
He had a whole other life." She laughs without humor.
"And all those special father-daughter trips we went on when I was a kid?
Yeah, those were just excuses so he could sneak time with his mistress without Mom getting suspicious. "
Fucking hell.
"He did that to you?"