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Turning to read the cover, he repeats the title to me. “Fresh Skinby Christina Hart.”
“Yes,” I say. “It pairs vampires together with thoughts and biases on tattoos in a comical way.”
“Biases on tattoos?” he asks.
“Yeah, the main character wants her tattoos removed to be with a man,” I say.
“That’s ridiculous,” he says, surprising me. “No one should change who they are to be with someone.”
His words fall out as if he’s disgusted by the notion, and they tug on my heart a bit. On more than one occasion, I’ve faced rejection from a man due to my tattoos. One even told me he could never seriously date me or bring me home to his family because of the way I look but made it clear he was still down to keep secretly fucking me.
To say my self-worth has been through the ringer a few times is an understatement. I personally didn’t understand why my choices of self-expression were so offensive to others. But to hear Derek say people shouldn’t have to change to be accepted or loved, warms my tattooed skin.
“You should read it,” I say, choking down the rest of the things I want to say in this moment.
He tucks the book under his arm and continues browsing. I choose two thrillers, one domestic, and the other about a serial killer before departing this section in favor of romance. I know what you’re thinking. A girl who reads thrillers also reads romance? The answer is yes. Do people watch scary movies and romcoms? It’s the same premise.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who has like, book boyfriends and stuff?” Derek teases, rolling his eyes.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” I snap. “They’re much better than real boyfriends.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks. “How so?”
I don’t hold back. “They don’t disappoint me or make me feel like shit about myself.”
Derek is silent for several moments, his eyes scanning over my face, studying whatever emotion he must see there.
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right guy,” he says. “Or maybe you have but you don’t realize it.” His mouth presses into a straight line, his face void of any hint of playfulness. He’s being quite serious with me, actually.
We stare at each other for a long time before I break eye contact to study the books on the shelf and pick upThe Reboundby J.R. Rogue, adding it to the growing stack beneath my arm.
Three shelves later, I can’t hold all the books I’ve selected. As one drops to the floor, Derek picks it up, taking the stack from me and holding it against his chest.
“How many Sundays will this cover?” he asks, laughing.
I study the stack, tapping my index finger against my closed mouth. “Probably two months or so.”
“Okay, then let’s go,” he says. “We’ll restock you later.” Derek places the books down at the checkout stand, adding his own books to the top of the stack and reaching for his wallet.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Paying for the books?” he says. “They like it when you do that.” He gives me a teasing smile.
“Oh, well here,” I say, reaching into my bag for cash.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “It’s the least I can do since you won’t let me help cover rent.”
“You’re paying the difference in utilities,” I say, defending my decision that he didn’t need to help with rent. “That’s plenty.”
“Still,” he says. “I’m paying for the books.”
I groan, then thank him. I’m not a big fan of when people randomly buy me things outside of the confines of holidays. It makes me uneasy. But the kind gesture coming from Derek is almost more than I can stand. I don’t like it. Or perhaps the problem is I like it too much. The wordDANGERflashes in my mind in big, neon red letters.
I don’t need more things to adore about him. I don’t need yet another reason to add to the list of why I’m enamored with him. Yet, here he is, giving me one more thing to quiver over.
Once we’re back in the car, books in the trunk and Derek behind the wheel at his own insistence, I’m no less flustered.
“Let’s grab lunch before we head back?” he says. I can’t tell if it was a statement or question, but he looks to me for an answer before pulling out, to which I give a tight nod.
