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Ryan: If he wasn’t?
Leighton: Hard to imagine. And I’m done with this subject. You want to see the cover or not?
Ryan: Yeah.
My phone flashes with a new picture message. A mock-up for Kaylee’s book.
The eighteen-year-old college student/aspiring author is Brendon’s girlfriend. He’s one of the co-owners, and the oldest guy at the shop after me.
It should be fucked-up—their eight year age difference, him being her best friend’s older brother—but it’s not.
They love each other.
Everything else is irrelevant.
My cell buzzes as two more mock-ups join the first.
One is a silly throw back—a buff, shirtless guy clutching a woman in a fancy dress.
The next image is simple. Forbidden carved into a black background, revealing the lush red rose beneath it. Kaylee Hart at the bottom in a simple sans font.
It’s beautiful. Something my mom would buy.
The third isn’t nearly as classy.
It’s a shirtless guy, from the waist up.
It’s—
Ryan: What am I doing on your book cover?
Leighton: Saving me the stock photo credit.
Ryan: What the fuck, Leigh?
Leighton: You have a certain something.
Ryan: Tattoos?
Leighton: Yeah. And something else.
Ryan: Abs?
Leighton: You’re proving my point.
Ryan: This is weird.
Leighton: Look at it again. Pretend it isn’t you.
Fuck that. There’s no way I belong on a book cover. Even if it’s a pointless mock-up. I have nine years of Penny complaining about our pics to prove that.
But when I blink, I see it. Not in some damn, look at my hot bod kind of way.
There’s an ache there. Not just exhaustion and sweat, but something else.
It’s like I’m screaming I’m never gonna be okay.
Ryan: Am I really this hopeless?
