V-Day Temporary Book Boyfriend (Book Boyfriends For Valentine’s)

One

KYLE

I’m trying to get through this book signing without feeling like I’m under a microscope, but it’s impossible. Every time I glance around, there they are, cameras flashing, fans leaning in, eyes wide with that eager, almost desperate look, as if I’ve just been crowned the king of the world. As one of them hands me a book to sign, I give them a quick nod and a scribbled signature, all while trying to hold onto some semblance of composure.

Lina’s elbow nudges me again, sharp against my side. “Smile, Kyle,” she whispers, though it’s more of a command than a suggestion. “Show the fans you’re enjoying this.”

I force a grin, but it’s a quick one, barely a flash before I retract it. I’m not sure how people do this whole celebrity thing day in and day out. This isn’t what I wanted when I started writing. Sure, the money’s been helpful for me and my family, but the limelight? I could do without it.

I stand there, trapped behind a table stacked high with my books, my latest release Under the Blazing Sky spread out in front of me. The cover art, blood-red clouds swirling around a silhouette of a man on the run, looks a lot more dramatic than I feel. It’s my best-selling novel to date, and yet I have no idea what it’s about anymore. I wrote it in a post-traumatic haze of sleepless nights and too much coffee, right after returning from Iraq. Now, all I can think about is how tired I am of people asking me questions about it.

Another fan approaches, handing me a copy of the book with a nervous smile. I scribble my signature again, my mind elsewhere. My back aches from sitting too long, my hair’s falling into my face, and my skin feels scratchy. I need a shave. My glasses are sliding down my nose, and I push them back up, suddenly feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. I glance at the clock above the bookstore door, the seconds dragging. I’ve been here for over three hours, and I’m not sure how much longer I can stand this.

I’m not ungrateful, honestly. I’m just… tired.

Lina notices my growing discomfort and steps in front of me, blocking my view of the clock. “Kyle, ten more minutes and then we need to talk about the Valentine’s Gala,” she says, her tone chirpy and businesslike, the way she always sounds when she’s trying to sell me something.

“I’m not going,” I mutter, signing yet another book, while smiling and shaking hands with the customer.

She ignores me, tapping her pen against the clipboard she’s holding. “It’s a perfect opportunity to secure that movie deal you’ve been talking about. Plus, a multi-book contract. It’s going to be huge. There’s potential written all over it.”

“I don’t do galas,” I snap, a little more forcefully this time. “And you’re the only one talking about movie deals.”

“Kyle.” She sighs, like I’m the one not getting it. “It’s important for your career. You need to be seen. Plus, you’re a billionaire now. You have to play the part.” She leans closer, lowering her voice as if it’s a secret. “It’s a win-win. You go, look handsome, make a connection, and the movie people will take you more seriously.”

I rub my temple, fighting off the headache creeping up. “I’m not looking for a date, Lina,” I grit out through clenched teeth. The thought of being paraded around with some woman on my arm makes my skin crawl. “I don’t date. And I sure as hell don’t do the ‘show up with a pretty face’ thing.”

She taps her pen a few more times before glancing up from her clipboard. “Fine. I’ll find someone for you. Someone who won’t expect more than a smile or two, but who can be seen with you. You’ll help both your image and your career, and I’ll get to collect my commission. Everybody wins.”

Another fan hands me their book, and I force another smile as I sign it, trying to ignore the exhaustion. My gratitude for their support is real, but this feels like an endless parade of faces, each with the same look of admiration. I just want to get through this without losing my mind.

I hate it. I hate everything about dressing up for a gala, but I can’t argue with her logic. “I’ll think about it,” I mutter, hoping that will be enough to get her off my back.

Before Lina can respond, I spot a break in the crowd, a brief opening between the sea of eager faces. My chair scrapes loudly against the floor as I stand up, and before she can catch me, I’m slipping away from the signing table, the weight of the room lifting with each step. My heart races, not from the excitement of escape, but from the sheer relief of moving.

The air outside the spotlight is different. Cooler. Calmer. I take a deep breath as I move through the aisles of the bookstore, the scent of paper and dust curling around me like an old memory. It’s a small, independent shop, tucked in the heart of our mountain town. The shelves are packed with books in every direction, their worn spines a quiet comfort against the harsh light of the signing room. There’s warmth in the air here, not just from the heat, but from something familiar, something human.

I drift deeper into the store, craving privacy, and the soft hum of the world outside my own head. My gaze lands on a woman lost in the pages of a book. Her fingers brush the edges of the pages as if they are something to be savored, not just read.

I take her in, slowly, carefully. Her hair catches my eye first. Wild curls, thick and untamed, threaded with streaks of honey and chestnut that glimmer in the soft light. It’s the kind of hair that makes you want to run your fingers through it, just to feel the way it slips between your hands.

Her posture, too, is easy, unhurried. She’s standing like she has all the time in the world, as if there’s nothing pressing on her shoulders. Her oversized sweater is the kind that looks like it would swallow you up in warmth and comfort.

And then, the blush. It’s subtle, but I see it, the faint pink rising in her cheeks as she reads, her lips slightly parted in surprise or maybe delight. It makes something inside me shift, lightens the weight in my chest. For a moment, I’m not a writer, not a billionaire hiding behind my own walls. I’m just a guy, watching someone in their element, as real and unguarded as I’ve felt in a long time.

I move closer, intrigued by this woman who seems oblivious to the chaos in the store. She’s reading a paperback, a romance, based on the cover. It’s such a sharp contrast to the dark crime thrillers I write, and yet something about her reaction makes me wonder if there’s more depth to this world than I realize.

She doesn’t see me approaching, and that’s fine. I like the anonymity. When I reach her side, I stand there for a moment, watching her read, until I clear my throat.

She jumps, startled, and looks up at me with wide guilty eyes.

“Oh, I, uh, I didn’t see you there,” she stammers, her fingers gripping the book a little tighter as if it might offer her some kind of security.

I can’t help the chuckle that slips from my lips. She’s cute, awkwardly cute, in a way that makes me want to keep her off-balance. “I’m not that scary,” I say, offering a small smile.

Her eyes flicker between my face and the book in her hands, as if she’s unsure whether to put it down or keep reading. I notice the slight blush still staining her cheeks. It’s the kind of thing that might normally annoy me, being stared at, being the center of attention, but somehow, in this moment, it’s endearing.

“Sorry,” she says, the corners of her mouth twitching as if she’s embarrassed. “I’m just...um, I’m not used to...to being interrupted while reading.”

“Interrupting a good book is a crime, I know,” I say, tapping my chin in mock seriousness. “But you’re allowed to forgive me, just this once.”

She smiles, a genuine thing, and it takes me by surprise. It’s not the kind of smile I get from fans or people who know who I am, it’s different, softer, more real. For a second, I forget that I’m supposed to be someone else, and I just feel...normal.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I continue, my voice quieter. “I’m Kyle, by the way.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she blinks at me. “Kyle?”

I nod, trying not to let the awkwardness show. “Yeah. Kyle.” I gesture vaguely at the store. “I’ve got a book signing in the next room.”

She looks over her shoulder at the bookstore entrance, the noise of the event faintly drifting in. “Oh,” she says, her eyes widening a little as if she’s realizing something. “Wait, you’re...you’re that Kyle? The crime novelist?”

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face, even though I’m a little uncomfortable with the recognition. “The one and only,” I say, letting the words hang in the air.

She looks embarrassed now, but there’s no sign of the usual flustered fan. She tilts her head slightly, as if considering me, and then says, “I don’t read crime novels.”

I blink, momentarily thrown off. “Really?”

She nods, her expression matter-of-fact. “I’m more into romance.”

Well, that’s unexpected. Romance, huh? I glance at the book in her hands, her fingers still gripping it, and I get the distinct feeling that it’s a guilty pleasure for her.

“Well, that’s refreshing,” I say, offering a teasing grin. “Most people just gush about Under the Blazing Sky like it’s some kind of literary masterpiece.”

She laughs, a soft, musical sound that feels like an actual conversation, not some rehearsed public exchange. “I’m sure it’s great. I just...I like happy endings.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And crime thrillers don’t give you those?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Too much darkness. I prefer something a little lighter.”

Her words linger in the air, and I suddenly feel...curious.

“Tell you what,” I say impulsively, my hand brushing against the spine of the book she’s holding. “How about we grab a coffee? The café next door is decent. Maybe you can change my mind about romance novels.”

She looks at me, clearly uncertain, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve gone too far. But then she nods, just a little, her expression softening.

“I suppose I can’t say no to coffee.”

“Great,” I say, smiling a little more genuinely now. “Let’s go then.”

And just like that, I lead the way out of the bookstore, hoping this moment might just be the beginning of something unexpected.