Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
REED
A fter weeks of incessant banging, shouting, and hammering, the construction crew had finally finished up in the bookshop. Now all that was left was to repair his apartment above the store.
Boxes and boxes of books sat in the store waiting to be unpacked.
He tried to ignore the twist of nerves at the dwindling number in his bank account and the date circled on his mental calendar of the Historical Preservation Subcommittee coming to approve the soft opening.
Bert had hung a grid over the stage, and Reed and Pearl had been hard at work on the book installation over the stage for hours. He’d imagined a ceiling of open books, their pages fluttering, looking like a wave rolling out into the store.
Pearl screamed in frustration, fighting with a book cover.
He jogged over. “It’s late. You should go home.”
“It’s late. You should go home,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to make this grid my bitch. Plus, you pay me by the hour and tapioca flour is expensive.” She tucked her lip between her teeth as she fought with the grid.
He stared up at the ceiling, trying really hard not to look at Pearl towering over him on the ladder. She was aggressively shooting a staple gun around the edge of a reference book, her breasts bouncing with each staple.
His eyes wandered down to her hips and thighs, and his hands flexed. What would it feel like to grab those thighs, wrap them around him, sink his fingers in, and squeeze?
He ripped his gaze away as he clenched his jaw. This is harassment, Berry. Stop wanting her.
“It’s looking good. I’ll do the rest. Speaking of tapioca flour,” he said, pulling over another stack of old books, “how’s the Twinkie experimentation going?”
“Ugh,” she said, clomping down the stepladder and grabbing another one. “Not quite right, but I found this new substitution that would use powdered sugar instead, and I think that might get the right consistency.”
He’d had one of her leftovers this morning, and he’d had to stop himself from eating the entire batch.
“You know, there’s a summer festival in a few weeks here. I got a flyer about it for being a vendor. You should do it.”
He pulled up another stepladder beside hers. They’d worked their way beside the built-in nook.
Pearl grimaced, her hand going to her lower back.
“You okay?”
“It’s fine.” She reached toward the edge of the book, trying to staple the cover up of a Hemingway title into the foam. “Come here, you misogynistic son of a bitch.”
“Not a Hemingway fan either, I take it,” he said with a laugh, stapling another book up.
“Fuck no,” she muttered. “ The Sun Also Rises can eat my ass,” she said, pushing into the foam harder.
A cry wrenched out of Pearl as she curled over the stepladder.
Reed hopped off and went to her. “Let me help you down.”
“No, I got it,” she said. “It’s just my back.” She slowly moved down the three steps, but her boot caught on the second one.
“Oh no. Oh, fuck,” she said as her foot caught and she tumbled back toward him.
“I got you—oof!” They stumbled back into the deep, built-in bench and landed with a thud.
Pearl was squarely on top of him, her head on his chest, her body flush with his, and their legs threaded together.
She groaned into his chest. “This is so embarrassing,” she said into his shirt. She tried to move and then cried out.
“Hold on,” he said, catching his breath. “Just stay here for a minute.”
A serene sense of peace washed over him. All the stress—the fast, competing thoughts, the racing around his head of to-do lists, stress, new family, new town, new roommate, new business—it all went silent. Anxiety floated away as he could just be present, thanks to the weighted blanket of Pearl on top of him.
“Embarrassing,” she muttered.
“Maybe for me,” he said.
“What?” She lifted her head in confusion.
“I can, um… can you just… keep pressing me?” He grimaced with one eye open, not wanting to look at her.
So embarrassing .
“I don’t think I can move anyway. My back will spasm.” She’d moved her head to the side so she was no longer talking into his chest.
“It’s just, um…” His voice wobbled.
There was silence in his head for the first time in a long time.
The sheer relief of the compression, one that couldn’t be met by a weighted blanket or a compression shirt or even a sweater vest, just relaxed his entire body.
“Are you okay?” she said, not looking at him, her head still turned to the side.
“Yeah,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I, um, I used to have my ex-girlfriend lie on top of me when I was really stressed. Like this.”
“ That’s a new kink.”
“No,” he laughed slowly. “It’s not sexual. You know when you want to pop your knuckles or your back and you just need that physical relief? That’s what this feels like.”
Like a knot unwinding.
He let out a low, slow breath. “Is your back okay?”
“Better this way. It’s just all the leaning over baking, leaning over unpacking books. It caught up with me. I’ve always had lower back problems. When the universe giveth big boobs, it also giveth lower back problems,” she muttered. “But this angle helps.”
They sat there in silence, and he looked up at their handiwork. It did look pretty magical.
“So, there’s a festival?” she muttered.
“You should do it,” he said, getting excited for her. “What would you call your business?”
“I was thinking…‘Eat Crow.’”
A deep belly laugh rolled out of him. She chuckled.
“Come on,” he said, poking her side, trying to catch her eye until she turned to look up at him.
She put her hands underneath her chin on his chest. “I’ve thought about…Blackbird Bakery?” she said it with a wince, like it was a bad idea.
He smiled. Of course she would think of something so perfectly her—smart and charming. “It’s perfect.”
“You still need to name this place.”
“I think I’ve decided.” It felt permanent once he told her. He bit his lip and looked at her. “Bookish. What do you think?”
She jolted on top of him.
He leaned up, concerned her back was worse. “You okay?”
“Sure, yeah. That’s…a good name.”
“It’s a popular phrase so there are a lot of stickers and mugs I could order online. It seems popular but still unique.”
It wasn’t the only reason, though .
A very important reason sat on his phone. The reason he looked forward to every morning.
“Spoken like a smart business owner,” she said.
“Blackbird Bakery is also great. Come on, you know you want to do the booth. We could do one together,” he offered.
“I couldn’t do something like that.” Her sigh was wistful.
“I saw how proud you were at Dave’s party. Believe in yourself like I believe in you,” he said.
She twisted her lips, thinking. “I’m not exactly a people person.”
“You don’t have to be a people person. You have to be a muffin or a whoopie pie or a cake person. Come on, I dare you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Nope, not taking your bait.”
“Double dare,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
She rolled her eyes at him.
“Backing down from a dare? Never took you for a giant chicken, Bishop. You’ve gone soft .”
She growled as she stared at him. “Oh, fuck you. You know I don’t bitch out. Fine. I’ll think about it.”
He chuckled. He loved that he knew how to push her buttons.
She settled her head back down on his chest. It felt nice. He wanted to stroke her hair, run his fingers through it.
“The place is looking pretty good.” She pointed up to the flying books they’d almost finished. “You know, for people who like whimsical shit.”
Bert and his crew had worked hard. So had Pearl.
He sighed; carrying the weight of being himself felt a little easier with Pearl pressing into him.
“Thank you for putting up with all of my…everything the last four weeks. I’ve had too many ideas and too many changes. I know it’s been a lot. I know I’m a lot,” he said.
That was what his last girlfriend had said. It was always the impression he’d gotten from everyone when he was a kid, too. He laughed too loud, got too excited, bit off too much, expected too much.
She studied him with concern. Her bangs slid to the side as her eyes traced his face. “You’re not too much, Reed. Not for me, at least.”
Goosebumps flooded his body. It was like she’d reached into his soul and gently patched a deep crack. “Thanks.”
“Now, if only there was a good masseuse somewhere in Fairwick Falls, I could finish the flying book thing,” she muttered, trying to rub her lower back.
“Here.” He pulled her up a little closer and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s my fault. You aggravated it with my over-the-top ideas. Let me.”
“I should say no, but fuck it, that’s how much it hurts,” she mumbled and laid her face against his shirt.
Vanilla and amber surged toward him as her hair scraped his chin. He tried not to be obvious, but he angled his head, needing to smell it again.
“Are you…sniffing me?” she said into his chest in a nonjudgmental tone.
He chuckled. “Sorry. You smell nice.”
He pressed his knuckles into her lower back, starting at the bottom of her shirt.
A low moan rumbled out of her, a siren song to his cock.
Fuck me, this is a bad idea. He closed his eyes and stroked his thumbs down her lower back. She’s just a friend, just a friend.
“Harder,” she moaned into his chest.
Christ .
Pressing harder, he kneaded her waist harder, and his thumbs stroked hard onto her lower back. “This okay?” he murmured.
“Yes,” she sighed, pressing her hips into his hands, chasing the touch.
Her muscles were tight, poor thing, and his hands gripped her hips, rubbing out a stubborn knot. Her shirt rode up, and her skin was soft under his fingers.
The scent of her shampoo—or was that just her?—was surrounding him. Something she wore drove him fucking nuts.
Her low moans grew louder, echoing into his chest. He gulped them down as if they were air, wanting more out of her.
His cock twitched and his restraint was slipping. He could not get hard right now.
Not with her on top of me. Not with her crotch brushing and brushing it.
He stopped, needing to get himself under control.
“Mmm,” she mumbled into his chest. “Why’d you stop?”
Because I’m going to come in my pants like a teenager if you keep moaning.
He let out a long sigh.
He was the one who’d said they couldn’t do anything more after the kiss.
He had been the one to offer the back rub.
He was an idiot.
“Hands got tired,” he lied.
I’d never be too tired for that, he thought, of wringing those moans out of you.
“Please,” she whispered into his chest in a small voice.
Oh, fuck me.
The woman who never asked for anything had just whispered, “ Please .”
His hands found her skin again, digging in.
Knots in her back were ruthlessly dug into by all his knuckles. He could tell she was biting back sighs, but little sobbing moans still slipped out.
Savor each one like chocolate. Remember them.
The little gasp in her voice, the needy pitch in them.
He let his knuckles drift under the waistband of her shorts, brushing under the edge to chase out the knots. Her hips dug against his, chasing the feeling with him.
He pushed down on her back so hard, she moved against his body, scraping the material of her shorts against his cock. And then it brushed it again when he released her.
Down and back.
Down and back.
Each time, his hands drifted more under the waistband of her shorts.
He pushed harder, his breath quickening. Down and back.
Feels too good. Want to do this forever.
Fuck, his cock was so weeping. He almost didn’t care. She wanted more, and he’d do whatever it took to make her happy.
He gulped, not wanting to stop, but knowing this was a terrible idea.
He pushed harder anyway, digging in.
Her forehead was pinned to his chest, and she was breathing hard. There was no way she didn’t feel the length of his cock between her thighs.
He pushed down once more, the zipper of her shorts brushing the sensitive head of his cock.
Last time , he promised himself, spanning his fingers around her waist.
He gripped her firmly, his thumbs stroking down, swiping underneath the waistband of her shorts, feeling the lace edge of her thong. Swiping his thumbs under its thin band and stroking the rising curve of her ass cheeks.
He hooked his thumbs around the top of her thong and stroked again, enjoying the feeling of her panties moving with his thumbs.
She gasped, raising her head.
Her low-cut shirt had tugged down, and her breasts were pillowed onto his chest, pressing against the edge of her bra.
They stared at one another, their chests rising and falling. His thumbs moved slowly back and forth, caressing. Still hooked in her panties.
Fuck, I want her.
Need her .
Her pupils were blown, the thin hazel ring around them looking golden in the dim light. Her pouty mouth with its perfect curves, panting.
He licked his lips, desperate for a taste of her.
It took all of his willpower not to crush her to him, to demolish her, consume her, devour her.
“Please,” she whispered, barely audible above their breathing.
His hands gripped her hips harder, barely in control. Barely stopping himself from kissing her again.
His phone pinged beside them with a text of a picture of Luca and AB, and the spell was broken.
“Uh, you good?” he said, too bright and too loud. He pulled his hands back and tugged her shirt down.
“Yeah, for sure,” she said, shaking her head. “Sorry, I, um…” She pushed up, and his treacherous eyes traced the mouthwatering curve of her heavy cleavage. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to keep?—”
He sat up quickly, hunching over so she wouldn’t see the outline of his dick, hard for her. “No. It’s fine. Are you okay? Sorry if I overstepped?—”
“No, you’re good. I’m…going to call it a night.” She walked to her enormous purse.
“Yeah, you deserve it. You worked hard today,” he said, not looking at her. “See you at home.”
“Yup,” she said with a too bright and cheerful voice that wasn’t like her.
He raked a hand down his face. Her perfume lingered on his hands, and he closed his eyes, savoring it.
What was happening between them?
She didn’t even like him.
Right?
If only Pearl knew he was a virgin who had lusted after her for years, and now the universe was out to torture him.
ImpossiblyBookish
on a scale of 1-10, how easy do you think it’d be to put my whole brain into a blender, then pour it out, reform it, and start all over again?
Two hours later, the art installation was done, and he decided he’d earned a break with Bookish.
He looked at his phone and laughed.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Heresy.
I like your brain far too much as it is.
ImpossiblyBookish
but then i could be one of those born-sexy-yesterday characters men always love.
like emma stone in that weird movie or the girl with the white thing on her tits from the 90s.
you know, like frankenstein. kind of dumb but very hot.
you could call me hemingway, after yourself
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Technically you’d be Hemingway’s Monster since Frankenstein was the doctor.
ImpossiblyBookish
insert eyeroll
you’re one of those people
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
You have a very sexy brain already. I’d rather you keep it as is, if it’s all the same.
Having a rough day too?
ImpossiblyBookish
it’s like i have all the right decisions lined up
the ones that a responsible adult would make, and then off i fuck, doing the opposite
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
You’re reading my mind.
ImpossiblyBookish
ONLY those are the right decisions for everybody else
and if i did them, i’d fuck up even more somehow
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Yes, exactly.
I guess that’s why we’re perfect for each other
ImpossiblyBookish
i like the idea that i’m not perfect for anybody else but you
His heart thundered in his chest. What was his life right now?
He’d practically come in his pants from Pearl on top of him two hours ago. Bookish was his best friend who he sexted into climax sometimes.
A text friend with benefits.
Who you’re half in love with.
He shook out his hands, walking on the stage in a circle, trying to get his mind wrapped around what these two women meant to him.
Pearl had clearly indicated she wasn’t interested in him. She was gorgeous and so hot, and the way she tugged on her bottom lip when she was thinking made him dizzy with wanting her.
It’s just physical attraction. She’d murder me if we ever actually went on a date.
And this woman? Bookish?
She was perfect. They liked each other, cared about each other, made each other laugh.
Romantic yearning stirred in his gut every time Bookish pinged him with a thought, a joke, a complaint, anything.
She could list her groceries, and he’d happily read it.
She was funny, a little acerbic but he liked that, kind, and smart. She could look like a tortoise for all he cared.
Could you fall in love with somebody you’d never even met?
Would she want the real him?
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
I don’t feel like I’ve been honest with you, though.
There’s a lot you don’t know about me.
ImpossiblyBookish
then tell me
He debated. I can’t just jump into the deep end.
Ease her in.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
For starters, I wear glasses.
ImpossiblyBookish
hot.
next.
He laughed out loud. So like her.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
I’m pretty nerdy.
Like play D&D with matching figurines nerdy.
ImpossiblyBookish
ya, i clocked that when you mentioned Chakotay/Janeway erotic Star Trek fanfic on the sci-fi discussion, broski.
old news.
also?
hot.
He snuggled back into the nook, delighted.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
I also only like to be touched in certain ways.
ImpossiblyBookish
kinky
tell me more.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Soft touches drive me nuts. It gives me anxiety just thinking about it.
ImpossiblyBookish
so what do you like? whips and chains? shibari? electric shock to the nipples and/or nuts?
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
WHOA. I just meant if I’m being touched, I like it to be intense.
Rough.
Like when we do our thing.
ImpossiblyBookish
fuck. yes.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Even though…
His heart was in his throat.
But this is Bookish. She wouldn’t judge him for being a virgin. And what even was virginity? Just a stupid, outdated construct.
ImpossiblyBookish
even though…you have a vestigial tail?
…you’re wanted in three states for possession of a pet tiger?
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Even though… I don’t have a ton of experience.
In person, I mean.
He waited. She didn’t respond.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
I’m a virgin.
He winced, waiting for her response.
ImpossiblyBookish
oh
Two letters.
Two letters hung in the balance of what felt like their whole relationship.
She knew he was in his late twenties (they’d met in the ‘Not Anxious Enough for Millennials, not Cool Enough for Gen Z’ book chat group). In his experience, women did not think him being a virgin was anything other than weird.
ImpossiblyBookish
is that all?
His heartbeat returned to normal.
Is that all?
How had he found the most perfect woman? And why did she have to live in Colorado?
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Yeah. I’m just sensitive about it.
Other women have sort of freaked out when I’ve told them
ImpossiblyBookish
are you…not…interested IRL?
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Very interested.
It’s just one of those things that never happened.
I had a girlfriend in college, but she was terrified of getting pregnant and not interested in penetrative sex.
ImpossiblyBookish
was it because of your huge dick?
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Ha, uh, kind of…honestly.
We weren’t really compatible in the sex department anyway because of said preferences ^
Then we broke up, life got busy after graduation. I didn’t have time to do anything else, including socialize. It kind of just snuck up on me.
And I don’t date a lot.
ImpossiblyBookish
ah, so you’re a people hater like me
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Ironically, I love people. I’m just not very good at dating.
Or at peopling.
It’s the flaying yourself open for people again and again and again to judge all your quirks and eccentricities.
ImpossiblyBookish
it’s the fucking worst.
this girl and I were hooking up for like three weeks
i was starting to get gooey feelings, meanwhile i was just a dare from her boyfriend.
whether she could hook up with a girl.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
What the absolute fuck?
ImpossiblyBookish
precisely.
coincidentally, they rolled over a bunch of thumbtacks backing out of the garage after i found out.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Well deserved.
ImpossiblyBookish
well, if your in person instincts are anything like your text instincts…
you have nothing to worry about.
He’d just told his deepest, darkest insecurity, and she’d greeted it like it was no big deal. She accepted him.
That’s why I love you, he typed out, but he stopped before hitting send.
Fuck, were they ready for this?
He erased it. Stared at the cursor on his phone.
Would you want to— he typed out.
No, fuck. Too creepy to ask to meet after they’d just talked about sex.
He erased it again.
ImpossiblyBookish
OH MY GOD just say whatever you’re gonna say.
She knew him so well.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
You can’t let me hide from you, can you?
ImpossiblyBookish
never, h
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
I want it to be with you.
He gulped. What he meant was somebody he cared about, somebody who cared about him, somebody who meant something in his life.
ImpossiblyBookish
best news i’ve heard all day
it would be my honor to crawl over you, sink down on your cock, and be your first.
He let out a shaky breath. It was tempting to type “When.”
But he wanted more than sex from her. He wanted it all: love, hopes, dreams.
Trust, too. He still needed to earn that.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
And now I know what I’m thinking about as I go to sleep tonight.
Good night, B
ImpossiblyBookish
night, h