Chapter 2 #3
He closed it again, reached inside his suit jacket, and pulled something out.
“Definitely better than what I have to offer.”
He held out a paperback edition of... Batteries of Ink by Atrianima.
Blinking in disbelief, I looked from the book to him, then back to the treasure in his hands before hesitantly accepting it.
He couldn't possibly be telling me that he owned a printed copy of that very erotic novel, of which only one edition had been published and which I, like many other readers, had had to read on the internet.
The book had been published three years ago and was considered one of the leading bestsellers in the erotic drama niche.
It was so successful that a few months ago, the book had become widely discussed on university campuses, and more and more people were reading this author, especially literature students and young folks who otherwise only read romance novels.
Unfortunately, it had been taken off the market three months after its release.
Although the author had uploaded it to his website, no one knew why she had stopped printing it or whether she would ever release the second book she had hinted at in the back of her book.
“Better?” I almost choked on the euphoria in my voice as I looked up from the cover image of the tipped-over battery with ink running out of it, my eyes wide. “Are you aware that people are now paying hundreds of dollars for this book just because Atrianima won’t let it be printed anymore?”
The smile disappeared from his lips.
“You know the author?”
I was sure it was a female author. The sensuality with which she wrote this book was captivating, stimulating in a way that only a woman could describe.
“Everyone knows her,” I laughed in amazement, realizing that for the first time since my emotional meltdown a few minutes ago, I had managed to almost completely suppress the fact that I would never have gotten my hands on this book if I had jumped.
Was this a sign? A sign that there was such a thing as fate? Or was it just another hopeless fallacy?
I looked up at him.
His gaze was fixed on the book in my hands, as if he wanted to snatch it from me and throw it into the river.
“Why does it seem like you don't like this book?”
I raised an eyebrow until he looked up again.
“It's not well written.”
Not... what? Had he even read it? The fact that this author had inspired me to try my hand at erotic literature and mix it with drama, mystery, and the crime genre put her at the top of my list of favorites.
Atrianima was an inspiration when it came to expressing the weight of emotions and processing them in a sensual way.
He hesitated, and I knew that now was the moment when he would reveal why he had given me this precious book.
“It lacks eloquence and depth.”
I blinked.
How could he...
“I don't know what exactly you read,” I laughed, holding the book tightly with both hands.
“But this book is worth its weight in gold.
She writes with such attention to detail.
It's like you want to drown in this world.
Like you want to be one with these characters, just to experience life as intensely as they do, even when they're suffering.”
I could have talked about this book for hours, but I forced myself not to overwhelm this oddly charming stranger the way I always did with Lara, who I still hadn't been able to persuade into reading this book.
“It's a shame she stopped writing,” I sighed, looking up.
He was no longer staring at the book, but at me. As if he had seen a ghost.
I didn't know if it was the flicker in his eyes or the mere fact that he had my undivided attention with his gaze, but something inside me wanted to move closer.
Our knees touched, mine bare against his suit pants, which didn't stop his warmth from reaching me.
Somehow, we had turned toward each other. Somehow, I forgot for a moment what we had been talking about and held his gaze, curious to see what would happen if I didn't say anything, if he didn't say anything...
Something was going on in his head.
His lips opened as if he wanted to ask me something, then a buzzing sound broke the tension that was undoubtedly hanging between us.
I flinched.
He hurriedly shoved my book into his suit jacket and took out his cell phone to answer the call.
My gaze fell on the flip phone, which was increasingly common among the wealthy in this area.
Everyone in my family had a Motorola StarTAC.
Those phones that weren't supposed to come out until next year, but the manufacturer had distributed test models to the elite.
My brother had gotten me one too, but I only used it to call Lara.
“Pumpkin?”
I smiled, knowing immediately that it had to be his daughter.
The usual feeling of heaviness that came whenever I witnessed a loving father-daughter relationship settled on my chest.
I slipped the book, which I never expected to get my hands on, into my bag before grabbing hold of the steel beneath me and resisting the urge to look down into the floodwaters.
The abyss now seemed more threatening to me, and the only source of calm I needed was sitting in front of me, talking to his daughter on the phone.
How old was she that she already had a cell phone? Was she calling from the landline?
“Don't worry. I'll be right there. Please don't give him anything but water.”
He had furrowed his brow and his jaw was clenched.