Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Most men who walk through the doors fit into one of two camps. They're either closet romance fans themselves, or they're here to buy something for someone else. Both camps always look nervous when they walk through the doors for the first time, as if they're a little afraid of what waits on the other side.
The readers are primarily worried about being treated like unicorns—you know, rare sights to gawk at, prod, and tease. The others would either prefer to be anywhere but in a "bookstore for chicks," or they think romance books are a waste of time and are only here to buy themselves out of whatever trouble they've gotten into.
There are a rare few male readers who don't give a shit what anyone thinks and enjoy their smut proudly. And there are those from the other camp who fully support the reading habits of the women in their lives, even if they'd rather not spend their time in the store, surrounded by manchest.
Judging by the look on this man's face, he does not belong to the first camp—the one full of men who actually enjoy reading smut, whether secretly or out loud and proud. His lips press into a line as his gaze flicks around the store like he's sizing the place up and doesn't like any of what he sees.
Rude.
We worked hard on this store. Frankly, it's amazing. The walls are painted a deep purple, making the space seem even larger than it already is. The shelves are plum, with funny signs and book dragons strategically placed between rows of books. With the couches, chairs, and plush rugs, it feels more like a cozy home library than an impersonal bookstore, which is just the vibe I wanted.
People should feel at home here. They should want to curl up with a book and get lost for a while. Comfortable readers are happy readers. We even have bookish blankets they can buy to snuggle in while they read, and a café offering coffee, tea, and baked goods.
"Can I help you find something today?" I ask, drawing to a stop in front of him.
He blinks down at me like he's just noticing me for the first time. His gaze runs over me, his expression changing from bored disinterest to…something else.
His gaze drops to my chest, and I quickly cross my arms, just in case he can see how hard my nipples are. Wireless T-shirt bras are the best thing ever, but they do absolutely nothing to hide what needs to be hidden.
"What kind of store is this?" he asks, and oh, wow, that deep, husky voice is incredible. The question, however, is nine kinds of confusing.
"What?"
"What kind of store is this?" he repeats.
"I heard you the first time," I murmur. "I'm just not sure I understand the question. This is obviously a bookstore, hence the shelves full of books."
"I've never been in a bookstore where people dance around, chanting about sex toys before." He cocks a brow. "Is that typical of most women's bookstores?"
"Depends," I say. "Was the dancing any good?"
He eyes me levelly, clearly not impressed by the question or the free show he got. Awesome. He has no sense of humor.
"So you're one of those," I say, sighing heavily. Why am I not surprised? A man this gorgeous has to have one fatal flaw. His is, unfortunately, the stick I didn't notice shoved up his ass. I guess there are judgmental prudes in every state, even California.
"Excuse me? One of what?"
"One of those," I repeat, tipping my head to the side to look up at him. "Men who think women should be seen and not heard, and God forbid if one enjoys romance, sex, or the occasional spontaneous happy dance. Frankly, sir, if you don't want your wife or girlfriend reading, that's a you problem. We were granted equal rights a long time ago." I huff a breath. "And if you treated toys like teammates instead of the enemy, you'd probably be far better off."
"Who says I don't?" he practically growls at me. And dammit, why does he have to sound like he should be growling filth to me instead?
Oh, right. Because I'm delusional, that's why. I doubt he does dirty talk. He probably has missionary sex with his socks on and the lights off.
Honestly, all that hotness is wasted on him.
"Your attitude says it for you," I mutter, and then suck in a deep breath. Antagonizing him probably isn't going to make him want to buy anything, but…it's the price he pays for annoying me with his holier-than-thou attitude. Store rules. "Did you stop in just to criticize our dancing and the store, or can I help you find something?"
"I'm not here for the books," he growls.
"Surprise, surprise." I really need to stop while I'm ahead. Really, I do. But he's hot and judgmental. He needs to pick a lane because it should be illegal to be both.