Chapter Thirteen
River
Why I thought Book Club would be normal, I don't fucking know…
but I was sadly mistaken. I'm nervous as hell when I step through the doors and see two dozen women scattered around Book of Love, flipping through the pages of one of my books.
Jasmine is in the center of their misshapen circle, her hands on her hips, her mouth running a million miles a minute.
"No inappropriate questions," she says to the group. "No asking about our sex life. Absolutely no mobbing him."
I smile to myself, my dick pressing up against my zipper. She's sexy as hell, laying down the law like she's ready to go to war for me. I don't need it, though. Not here, not tonight. I didn't agree to do this because she badgered me into it.
I agreed because I want to do it. These women mean everything to her. I want to meet them. I want to tell them what I'm sure she's already told them a million times—that they're badasses who can do anything.
I'm still not convinced I'm the motherfucker who should be standing here, but I'm not worried about anyone getting hurt tonight.
That shit will never happen on Jasmine's watch.
She thinks she isn't a hero, but she's wrong.
That woman is more hero than anyone I've ever met, willing to go to war just to get me here to speak to the people who matter most to her.
She's both unconquerable spirit and fierce champion, so goddamn beautiful it hurts to look at her and doesn't hurt enough. God, she's perfect.
"Child, please," an old lady at the end of the sofa says, waving her off.
She has to be at least eighty, but there's this gleam in her eye that says she's probably more trouble than half this room combined.
"The only thing this group is mobbing is the bargain bin once we're done here. We know how to behave."
"Mrs. Braithewaite, don't you lie to me. You haven't behaved a day in your life," Jasmine retorts, spluttering with laughter. "Don't think we haven't been listening to your stories."
Half the circle nods in solemn agreement.
The old lady cackles, slapping her knee. "At least someone is listening."
I'm not sure if this is a good time to announce my presence, but half the group already knows I'm here. They've been staring at me since the bell over the door jingled.
I step forward, clearing my throat.
Jasmine wheels around, her eyes lighting up as soon as she spots me. "River! You're here!"
"Of course, I am, princess," I murmur, holding her gaze as I cross the bookstore. "Told you that I would be, didn't I?"
"Yes, but I expected you to stand me up." She shrugs, shooting me an impish, unapologetic grin.
As if I'd ever stand her up. Every square inch of my heart is in her hands. She could lead me to hell, and I'd willingly follow.
"Come on." She crosses toward me, linking our fingers together to drag me into the center of the circle. "Book Club, meet River Jamison. River, meet Dirty Book Club."
"Book Club has a name?" I arch a brow at her. "Why is this the first I'm hearing it?"
"Probably because she didn't want you to know what kind of filth she has us reading every month," Olive stage whispers, earning laughter from half the group.
"Oh?" I arch a brow, curious as fuck.
"Ignore her," Jasmine says. "She has no idea what she's talking about."
"What kind of filth, princess?" I ask.
"Well," another old lady says when Jasmine just shrugs, "last month, we read Spankotron 3000."
"Spank-o-what?"
"Spankotron 3000," Olive says. "It's about a woman who falls in love with a machine that spanks and fu—"
I didn't even know Jasmine could move so fast until she's across the room, clamping her hand over Olive's mouth to muffle the rest of that sentence. Not that I need her to finish it. I can fill in the blanks.
"You been keeping secrets from me, baby?" I quirk a brow at Jasmine, grinning from ear to ear.
"What? No," she lies.
"Uh-huh." I just shake my head. It's fucking cute that she hasn't mentioned exactly what Book Club has been reading.
I know damn well that it's not because she's embarrassed.
I don't think she has an ashamed bone in her body.
She wasn't built that way, and I fucking love her for it.
I'm guessing she didn't tell me because she decided it just wasn't my damn business. "We're going to talk about this later."
"No, we aren't."
"Oh, we are."
A chorus of "ohhs" goes up from the group before Jasmine claps her hands together, calling them to order. "I didn't bring him here to talk about smut."
"Well, that's disappointing," Mrs. Braithewaite mutters to the woman beside her, looking me up and down. "I think I'd enjoy listening to this pretty thing talk about smut."
"Mrs. Braithewaite!" Jasmine growls, wheeling around to glare at her. "What'd I say about being inappropriate?"
"I'm just speaking the truth, dear," the old woman says primly, earning laughter from the assembled group.
Everyone except Loralei, anyway. She's in the back corner, staring into space, oblivious to what's going on around her. She looks…drained. I think Jasmine notices too because her eyes keep flickering toward the librarian, her expression full of worry even as she argues with Mrs. Braithewaite.
"He isn't talking about smut," Jasmine reiterates.
"Pity," Mrs. Braithewaite says, deadpan, earning more laughter from the group. Loralei doesn't even blink.
Jasmine glares at the old woman, but she can't hide the affection in her gaze. "I brought him here to talk about all of you and why you don't need permission to be the badass you are."
"Even if that badass likes smut about being spanked and railed by a machine," I add, my tone dry.
Jasmine shoots me a dirty look, but I just shrug.
"You know I'm right, princess. Doesn't matter what the fuck you like, you don't need permission to like it.
You don't need permission to chase your dreams, upend your life, or change the world, either.
" I glance around the group. "You're allowed to put yourself first. You're allowed to do whatever the fuck you want to do, and anyone who tries to make you smaller doesn't deserve you. "
Loralei leans in like she's actually listening. For a moment, her bottom lip trembles before she bites it, stilling it.
Jasmine meets my gaze. I just give her a tiny shrug. Whatever is up with the librarian probably isn't my business, but fuck whoever upset her.
And good luck to him when Jasmine finds him because my girl is going to rip his throat out through his asshole. Judging by the way Olive and Lilah are watching Loralei, too, I think they might help.
"Live life on your terms," I finish. "And don't hide from anyone. You don't owe them that. You weren't put here to serve anyone or to make life comfortable for anyone, especially at the expense of your own needs."
"I like him," Mrs. Braithewaite murmurs into the silence.
I grin at her.
"Is that why you write women as heroes in your books?" a woman in the back asks after a moment.
"I write the characters I write because those are the women I know," I say, my eyes locked on Jasmine.
"You're complicated, messy, and beautiful.
You're capable of saving yourselves and holding everything together on your own.
You're strong, soft, and fierce. You never back down when it matters, and you're stubborn as hell.
You're heroes every fucking day, in a thousand different ways.
" I hold her gaze for a moment, watching as her whole expression softens before I glance around the group.
"I write women that way because that's reality, and I think I'd be doing every one of you a disservice if I didn't write them the way you are every day. "
"Can I ask a question?" Mrs. Braithewaite asks, flipping through the pages of my book again.
"Depends on the question," Jasmine answers before I can, her eyes narrowed on the old woman. "Is it inappropriate?"
"You damn well know it is, dear."
"Ask," I say, laughing while Jasmine splutters.
"Why in God's name are cocks always so big in these books?" She holds it up, fanning herself. "That is not reality, son."
"Mrs. Braithewaite!" Jasmine cries as a ripple of shocked laughter bounces through the room.
"Don't tell me that you haven't noticed," the old lady grumbles. "They're all hung like horses. I've seen plenty of co—"
"Okay, that's enough of that," Jasmine growls, grabbing my arm and trying to push me out of the circle. "We're done here."
"It's just a question!" Mrs. Braithewaite protests.
I snag Jasmine's hands, halting her as she tries like hell to hustle me out of there. "I've got a question I want to ask now, princess," I murmur.
"Oh, fuck my life," she groans, like she's regretting every choice she ever made that resulted in me standing here right now. "Fine. But I am not responsible if you end up traumatized by their answers, River. I mean it!"
"Then it's a good thing I'm not asking them," I murmur before sinking to my knees in front of her. "I'm asking you." I reach into my pocket, barely registering the shocked gasps from her friends. All I'm focused on is the wide-eyed, stunned woman in front of me.
"What are you doing?" she whispers.
I pull the ring out of my pocket and hold it up to her. "Telling you that I can't live without you, and asking you to marry me."
Tears well in her eyes, her hands shaking.
"I love you, Jasmine Knudsen. I love that you're annoyingly persistent.
I love that you're irritating. I love that you're shameless.
I love that you never back down. I love that you're fiercely protective.
I love every goddamn perfect, beautiful thing about you.
And I need you in my life, fucking it all up for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?"
Everyone is silent around us, waiting for her answer.
I know she's going to torture me before she ever opens her mouth.
"Depends," she says slowly. "Are you going to be annoyingly disagreeable?"
"Probably."
"Will you be an insufferable ass?"
"Absolutely."
A bright smile stretches across her face, stealing my breath. "Then count me in."
I tug her down to me, claiming her mouth in a wild kiss as I slip the ring on her finger. Book Club whoops and hollers around us, but I don't hear them. All I hear is the way she sobs into my mouth, my name trembling on her lips.