Page 73 of Faking the Goal

Because for the first time since I started trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do with myself now that I've sworn off parties, clubs, and random hookups, I think I may have accidentally found an answer.

And judging by the ridiculous number of titles I already want to read, I have a feeling this place is about to see an unhealthy amount of me.

At least my new obsession comes with fictional men.

They're hot, emotionally unavailable, and most importantly, can't follow me home.

I wander farther between the shelves, stopping every few feet because something else catches my attention. Whoever designed this place knew exactly what they were doing. Even the aisles are divided by genre, with little handwritten recommendation cards tucked beneath some of the titles. There's an entire wall dedicated to shōjo, another packed with fantasy and horror, and enough romance to keep me happily occupied through my entire celibate era.

I've already accumulated a small stack against my chest when it finally occurs to me how quiet it is.

Like... really quiet.

I look around properly for the first time since walking in.

Huh.

There's nobody in the reading pods. Nobody stretched across the couches beneath the cherry blossoms. Nobody tucked into one of the little corners with their nose buried in a book.

I'm the only person here.

Makes sense, I guess. It's Thanksgiving night. Normal people are probably still with their families, eating leftovers and arguing over who gets the last piece of pie instead of lurking around a manga lounge at ten o'clock.

Their loss.

A stupid little thrill runs through me anyway. An entire manga lounge practically to myself?

Oh, I could get used to this.

I shift the stack in my arms and head toward another aisle, already eyeing the shelves ahead, when I round the corner and come within approximately two feet of a giant human being.

"AHH!"

The scream rips out of me so fucking loudly that I'm pretty sure someone at the convenience store down the street hears it.

My arms jerk, and every manga I'm holding goes flying.

One hits the floor. Another smacks into the shelf. And one particularly ambitious volume sails directly into the man's head.

"Fuck."

He lowers the manga he'd been reading.

My heart nearly stops all over again.

"Azuma?"

He's leaning against the shelf in a dark sweater, one hand rubbing the side of his head while he looks down at the copy of An Incurable Case of Love that just assaulted him.

Then he looks at me.

"What the hell, Trouble?"

I slap a hand over my chest. "What the hell, me? You just took five years off my life!"

My voice comes out louder than I intend, still carrying the leftover panic from having the shit scared out of me.

Kentaro glances pointedly toward one of the little wooden signs posted at eye level at the end of the shelf.