Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
“The library,” I said, recalling what I was talking about again. “It was a safe place for me. So many books, all the books I could read. For free.” I shrugged. “Old habits die hard. And I don’t have the bank account to buy a Kindle, let alone the books that I would stock it with. Books are still free at the library, so I can read as much as I want. And call me a purist, but I love holding a physical book, smelling it.” I smiled shyly. “I would’ve pegged you as a Luddite too,” I added, in reference to his e-reader.
Because I was afraid to look at Beau any longer, I reached forward for the tablet that had been lying on the coffee table beside my library card. I loved how they looked beside each other. Like they belonged there.
Beau had been reading before work, Clara puttering with her dollhouse in the corner. He’d never left it in a common space before, and I’d stared at it for a long time after I’d put Clara to bed. The devil inside me wanted to open it, find out more about Beau by invading his privacy.
But I didn’t want to have to invade his privacy to get to know him.
“Can I?” I gestured with the tablet to ask permission.
Beau wasn’t looking at the tablet. He was staring square in my face. His head tilted slowly in a nod.
I smirked in triumph, a little forced because I didn’t know how to act. Beau’s energy seemed dangerous in an infinitely exciting way that made my nipples harden.
It only took me a second, a couple of taps to lose my breath completely. My heart skipped, then it felt as if it stopped completely.
“I’ve read all these books.” I squinted, looking at his Kindle library, my eyes raising to peer at him as I catalogued the titles. I’d read every one since I arrived here.
Heat crawled up my neck at a few specific titles. The romances. The spicy romances.
My eyes flickered to the icon that declared them as read.
Beau had read all the books I’d read. It wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe a couple of the biographies could’ve been a crossover between our interests. Maybe. But I doubted that Beau had independently chosen to read metaphysical self-help books, history about female rulers, or feminist bibles about reclaiming agency and strength.
And Beau definitely wasn’t reading romance just by chance.
He’d seen me. I’d let him see me. Every time I waited up for him, every time I had free moments, I’d been in shared spaces with my books. Mostly because I liked to model that for Clara—people reading books instead of scrolling on their phone. Not that she had anyone in the house doing that. I very rarely saw Beau on his phone. It was a small detail that I found very endearing. Waylon had been glued to his. And the couch. I’d had to repeat myself countless times to get him to even acknowledge that I’d spoken, and when he did reply, he didn’t even lift his gaze. Didn’t even give me the basic respect of looking at me when he was speaking to me.
As if I didn’t matter. As if whatever pulled him in that little phone was infinitely more important than his wife.
Beau looked at me. Every time we spoke. Every time I entered a room. I’d thought it was with mere annoyance. That he never really saw me. But things had changed since that pivotal night, and I was beginning to comprehend just how much was loaded behind those glares.
He saw me.
And he saw the books I was reading, buying them and reading them too.
My mind buzzed with what that meant, my heart racing in my chest. Slowly, I looked up at Beau, all the moisture evaporating from my mouth.
Again, he was looking at me. Centering me to the spot, to this earth. My breath caught at the tense way he held his limbs, the twitch in his jaw and the fire in his eyes.
Before I could entirely register what I was doing, the Kindle was tossed across the room. I noted the dull clatter, noticed that Beau didn’t so much as flinch, didn’t take his eyes off me.
Then I gently put my glass on the table. When I reached forward and took his from him, our fingertips brushed, and I felt fireworks.
As soon as Beau’s glass was set down beside mine, I turned, moving slowly, purposefully.
The wild, desperate, horny animal inside me wanted to pounce. Wanted to have as little time as possible between being apart from Beau and having my body plastered to his.
But I didn’t want it to be that—a furious, rushed moment that could be explained away as a one-time thing. I wanted Beau to know exactly what I was intending on. I was asking for permission, telling him what I was doing through my slow crawl across the sofa.