7. Blake
Blake
One month has passed, and the sting of rejection from Cash still hasn’t faded. The shame I felt in myself for not taking the time to be true to what I want in my life is still haunting me.
I hear echoes of his words in the restaurant more often than I’d like to admit.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s got a great feel.
She looks good, but that only gets you so far.
She was just kind of underwhelming, ya know?
” I have done a lot of soul, searching over these last few weeks, and I’ve realized if I want to attract a man who’s genuinely worth my time and investment, I need to invest in myself first. This can’t happen if I stick with one-night-stands and never truly get to know the other person outside of the bedroom.
Maybe Ana was right: “If you give them all the goods up front, what do they have to look forward to?” I need to invest in myself too and do things I enjoy.
Rediscover me. Spend some time working on me, working on things important to me.
Deciding to carry out my newfound mission, I stop at a bookstore around the corner from the bar on my way to work. If I am going to take a break from men for a while, I will need a few good spicy romance books to help me pass the time.
And a new electric friend. I’ll make a pit stop there on the way home from work. I wish there was a place where you could buy both.
As I step into the cozy, dimly lit bookstore, I’m immediately overtaken by a wave of nostalgia.
The charm of the place sweeps over me once again.
The shelves are a patchwork of mismatched wood and age-worn paint.
It makes the space feel lived-in, loved.
The scent of old paper and books fills the air; a comforting aroma wraps around me like a warm hug, easing a longing I didn’t fully realize I had.
This is my dream. If I could somehow combine my love for books and mixology, I’d be the happiest woman alive.
Drawn by a burst of vibrant colors nearby, I make my way to a small table in the middle of the aisle.
The romance section is sprawled out across several tables, with books displayed like treasures.
Their covers are a mix of intricate designs, rich reds, deep blues, and golden accents, and all of them seem to shimmer in the soft light.
They picked the perfect books to decorate this display.
The artistry of each cover beckons me, promising tales of love and adventure.
I pause, taking it all in, letting my fingers graze the spines of the books as I consider each one. I decide to spend some time here before venturing to explore the more hidden gems on the shelves.
Reading is something I cherish, it’s my escape from reality when the world around me gets too heavy.
I read a lot when Ana was in the hospital.
However, as busy as I am, it is hard for me to find time to really get lost in the pages, so picking a book is something I truly take time in.
I don’t just read the back cover; I reflect more deeply when considering my choices.
The dedication and the prologue, if there is one, are a must. These sections offer insights into the book’s soul, revealing hints about its heart and structure.
The prologue, particularly crucial to me, is my first real taste of the book’s tone and promise. I love one where it captivates me quickly. I need to be drawn in right from the start, to justify carving out precious time for reading. DNFing a book is not an option for me.
Dedications also hold a special place in my heart. They’re like hidden treasures right at the front of the book, personal-intimate, reflecting the author’s sentiment. Spending a moment appreciating these small but meaningful pieces feels like a respectful nod to the writer’s journey.
After reading both of those, I quickly scan through the pages to gauge the length of the chapters. I have a particular preference for a balanced cadence. Variety in chapter length provides a satisfying ebb and flow, keeping me engaged without feeling overwhelmed or frustrated.
A sleek black book with gold flecks scattered across the cover catches my eye.
Picking it up carefully, I flip through the pages as I make my way over to a small leather chair off to the side of the table.
I love the intricate patterns decorating the top of each page and can’t help but feel compelled to purchase it purely off sight.
I sit down to settle into the dedication when I am startled by a loud voice in my ear and a frantic shift beneath me.
“Shit, umm hello… I’m sitting here,” his voice is laced with a hint of surprise and embarrassment, as if he was the one who sat on a stranger.
The man seated in the chair I just blindly plopped onto fumbles beneath me, shuffling his way out from under me to stand up quickly.
His face flushes slightly as he tries to regain his composure, a mix of awkwardness and confusion apparent in his bright hazel eyes as they shimmer, as if decorated by the sunlight filtering through the autumn leaves here in Vermont. A sight I would recognize anywhere.
“Lucas Jennings, holy shit!” I laugh, throwing myself back into him and wrapping my arms around his neck.
Pulling me back to get a better look at my face, a huge smile takes over his face. “Blake? What are the odds you would literally fall into my lap after all this time? This must be my lucky fucking day!”
Luke and I go way back, though it’s been a while since we last saw each other, the Christmas after my 21st birthday to be exact.
He’s April’s older brother, my best friend from high school.
April was a welcomed surprise to her parents after they believed they would only ever have Luke.
Being twelve years older than us, he absolutely adores his baby sister, and watching him be the best big brother in the world to her made him hot as hell to me, occupying many of my teenage fantasies.
Now, at 38, he’s only gotten more attractive with age.
The years sure have been kind to him, adding a layer of sophistication and charm that weren’t there before.
His dark brown hair is now sprinkled with a few flecks of silver, and the scruff once scattered across his face is now a full beard only enhancing his features.
Especially those bright hazel eyes. The beard might actually make them shine even more.
Luke has always been tall and slender, but I can tell time spent in the gym has filled his 6'2" frame out, but one detail seizing my attention and holding it prisoner are the tattoos covering his right forearm. The way he rolled the sleeves of his sexy button-up amplifies the intricate ink. Shit, he’s hot.
Last I heard from April, he was going through a divorce and was looking to transfer to a hospital closer to home once settled.
His ex-wife, in my opinion, was never worthy of his love.
An opinion formed by the insane jealousy I felt every time I was in a room with the two of them.
I couldn’t even attend their wedding they invited me to.
I hated her. They met during his first year of residency and were married less than a year later.
“What are you doing here?” I try to hide the excitement in my voice. If he’s here, that means she’s not his wife anymore.
“I was looking through this book before you interrupted me,” he answers, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Not here, here. Back from Denver, here,” I tease.
“My divorce was finalized a month ago, and I couldn’t stand seeing Noel’s face every day at work, so I transferred here,” he explained, without an ounce of sadness in his voice.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out,” I force the words out even though they feel like sandpaper as they leave my mouth, not meaning a single one of them.
“Don’t be. I’m sure as hell not. I gave it a solid chance, but sometimes people aren’t meant to be.”
“Honestly, I’m not sorry either. I always hated that bitch. I was just trying to be nice.” Sarcastic laughter escapes me.
“I know and trust me, Blake, pretending you like someone has never been your strong suit,” he chuckles.
What does that mean? I wonder as his smell of cedar and mint lingers in the air.
“What are you doing on this side of town?” he asks.
“I work at the bar around the corner,” I respond.
“Well… that’s good to know. I hear it’s the place to go to rinse down the stress following a long shift.” The subtle smile spreading across his face heats my core.
Lucas Jennings has never been a real possibility for me anyway-I’m just his little sister’s friend, after all, but damn it, of all the times for the most irresistible man I’ve ever known to come back into my life, it has to be right when I’ve sworn off men all together.
It’s like the universe is playing a cruel fucking joke on me, and I’m not a fan.
“Wanna catch up while I finish looking for books?” I ask, sliding the book in my hand under my arm, now more intrigued by his hazel gaze.
“That sounds great.” He smiles, and it instantly brings me back to the young girl who had a crush on her best friend’s older brother.
“Are you still working in the ER?” I want to know everything about him.
“Of course, it’s my favorite. I love the unpredictability of my day. Every moment is a mystery.”
“That’s a feeling I’m chasing. Loving my job.” I give him a shy smile. “I envy you.”
“April says you love bartending.” He creases his brow.
“I do. It started as a way to make enough to support myself but quickly became a passion. I love the creativity that comes with creating new recipes.” I sigh a heavy breath, “Just wish I didn’t have to work for a dickweed to do it.”
This is not how I want to spend precious time with Lucas Jennings, so I quickly change the subject.
“What book do you have there?”
“Nothing too exciting, it’s a memoir written by a trauma surgeon I follow on social media, what are you reading?”
“I’m not sure, someone was in my seat when I sat down to look through it,” I tease. “But, I only read romance.”
“Interesting.” His tone is skeptical.
“Don’t be judgy. Romance is the superior genre, period, end of story.”
“Why is that?” he inquires.
“Simple, you get to fall in love over and over again, and book boyfriends never fail you.” I give him a smug smile.
“I’ll have to read one sometime to see if you’re right.”
“I am right, but why wait?” I ask with a devious grin.
“What?” He laughs.
“Let’s pick one out and buddy read it.”
“What the hell is buddy reading?” he mocks.
“It’s when you read the same book as a buddy, come on Luke, don’t be so dense.”
I don’t wait for him to answer before moving to peruse the shelves, I know he’ll do it. I can tell by the look he gives me.
Every time he looks my way, it’s as if he cranks up the heat in the room, making it nearly unbearable. This causes me to stay a few steps ahead of him in an attempt to avoid his gaze.
If I don’t find a distraction, my toys are going to get a serious workout just to keep my mind off the immediate, fiery attraction he stirs within me.