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He opens his mouth, and I raise my hand. "I learned how to wipe out all traces of my searches."
He seems to relax a little.
"And no books, of course."
"What?" He gapes. "No books?"
"Not the kind that matter. I did have access to the books in school, and the classics and non-fiction. Just not the right kind of books, you know?”
"What do you mean?"
"The kind of books that matter?" I make air quotes.
"Sorry, you lost me."
"Spicy books."
His frown deepens. "You mean books about cooking?"
I burst out laughing. "Oh, my god, that’s classic. I mean it is about cooking, but not the kind of cooking you're thinking of. The kind with steam and interesting positions, and vegetables which are of the right shape, and—"
His brow clears. "You mean, erotica?"
"I mean spicy books."
He looks me up and down. "I see."
"There you go, getting all judgmental." I stab my finger at him. "So, men can watch all the porn they like, but if women read spicy novels we’re judged, huh? And what about men objectifying women, as they've done for centuries. Not to mention, marrying us off in arranged alliances, then expecting women to spread their legs, receive their sperm, and produce children for them. But when it comes to us women seeking pleasure between the arms of book boyfriends, you get all smirky and snicker at us, and—"
"Whoa, whoa, hold on, I’m not judging you."
"You were judging me right then."
"I wasn’t."
"You were!"
He blows out a breath. "Can I prove otherwise to you?"
18
Declan
"OMG, OMG, OMG." She stands in front of the shelves of books in the biggest bookshop in the city, her palms clasped together. "This is… These are…"
"The spicy novels you couldn’t stop talking about?"
She opens and shuts her mouth, then runs her fingers through her hair. "How did you know—"
"Where to find them?"
"Umm, yes?"
"Lucky guess, I suppose?" I raise a shoulder.
She reaches out and runs her fingers across the spines of the books. Her features soften; her lips part. Her entire body leans into the books. It’s as if she’s making love to the bookcase. A sharp sensation stabs my chest. My guts knot. What the—? I can’t be jealous of the books, can I? Her chest rises and falls. Her lips curve. She pulls out one book, then another, and another. The last begins to tip over from her hold.
I bend and catch it then, looking around, I grab a basket and deposit the book inside. I hold it. "Drop your books in here."
