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Shrugging, I replied, “I don’t really know. Honestly, it could’ve been anything, right? With a name like Reade’s?”
“I guess,” she said, amused and on the verge of laughter.
I wasn’t paying attention as I stepped onto the curb, using my left leg first, and lost my balance. My good leg buckled while the other teetered, and I would’ve wiped out completely on the damn sidewalk if Lennon hadn’t been there to hold tight to my arm and keep me from landing on my face.
“Shit,” I muttered, swallowing my pride and accepting her help in getting me back on my feet.
“It’s usually me tripping over curbs,” she replied, offering a sympathetic smile—or was itempathetic? “You okay?”
I wasn’t, but I was used to lying. So, I nodded and said, “Yeah, I’m good.”
The empathy hadn’t disappeared from her face, but she nodded, and we headed inside.
The store greeted us with a friendly jingle from the bell above the door. The earthy scent of patchouli hung in the air, blending seamlessly with the crisp familiarity of paper and the tiniest hint of mustiness. It was a comforting combination, albeit strange, and I closed my eyes to inhale long and deep.
“Nice, right?” Lennon asked, and I opened my eyes again to find her smiling up at me.
“Yeah, it is,” I agreed, nodding.
She surprised me then by pulling out another pair of sunglasses from her purse—a small black leather backpack—and swapped them with the ones she’d been wearing. They weren’t as heavily tinted as the ones I’d seen her wearing earlier, but to watch her put them on while indoors was strange.Shewas strange, and the mystery that bloomed around her only drew me in further.
“So,” she said, now taking the lead, “what do you like to read?”
“I don’t,” I admitted easily.
She turned to me, jaw dropped and eyes wide behind the tinted glasses. “You’re kidding, right?”
I shook my head unapologetically. “Nope, not even a little.”
“But the written word is so important to you,” she argued, standing in the middle of the store beside a display of books.
“Yeah, but it’s not really,” I replied, stuffing my hands into my jean pockets. “I could make up songs without ever writing them down. I’d get by.”
“Okay, but you probably wouldn’t know how to string the words together if you hadn’t learned them from books,” she countered, obviously offended by my distaste for literature.
Shrugging, I surveyed the rows of shelves and blanket of assorted area rugs covering the floor in a patchwork of colors and varied designs as I replied, “I learned everything I know from music.”
“EverythingIlearned came from booksandmusic,” she countered with the most adorable hint of triumph in her voice as she spun around on her heel.
“Oh, well, I guess you win then,” I grumbled, following as she slipped between the shelves.
“Guess so.”
I went along with her through the maze of shelves until, finally, she stopped at a row labeledHorror. I wasn’t sure I would’ve pegged her for a fan of scary stories, but there she was, plucking a few books from off the shelves and flipping each one over to read the back. She brought them up close as she squinted to read them, and the desire to finally ask the question tugged on my tongue.
Yet I couldn’t spit it out. Not when I was suddenly struck with the disbelief that, just a few hours ago, I had been wondering if I’d ever see her again, if I’d ever smell the orchids in her hair or kiss her soft, full lips. Now, we were browsing a bookstore, hanging out like we’d known each other forever, and I couldn’t stop myself from snaking my arms around her waist from behind and pressing my chin to the top of her head.
“Dylan …” She turned in my arms, clutching the books to her chest.
The sound of my name passing her lips reminded me of nothing but that night, with her naked on my lap, and I couldn’t help the groan that rose from my throat.
“God, I don’t know how you do this to me,” I told her, stepping forward and pressing her back to the shelves.
She had to feel how hard I was with my erection straining against her belly. If she gave me the okay, I would whip it out right there in the middle of the store and have her bent over, holding on to the shelves while I fucked her. All she had to do was ask, and I would happily give up all sense of control in her name. But this Lennon wasn’t like the Lennon I had known at the hotel. This version was shy and reserved, and she dropped her gaze to my chest before pulling from my grasp and heading back down the aisle with her books in hand.
“Hey there, Lennon,” someone said, and I peeked between the stacks to see a man in an argyle sweater vest and glasses. “How are you today?”
“Good, Bill,” she replied, smiling. “How about you?”
