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I’ll attest to that.
“I wish they would let us read romance novels for school too. I bet everyone would come to class and have lots of ideas in the margins.”
A laugh comes from deep inside him, and I love the genuine smile that accompanies it. It’s not forced or intended to melt my panties—it just does.
I open the book with the left side laying on his leg and the right side on mine. “Let’s read the first few pages silently, and then we’ll discuss it.”
He finishes and leans his head back onto the couch while his fingers thrum against the pages.
“In your own words, what do think about the main character?” I ask, touching his art-covered skin and for a moment, I become the focus of his attention. I love touching him and judging by his response, I think he agrees.
“The main character knows he’s different, but it’s hard to escape his circumstances,” Reed says as he studies the atrium ceiling.
He’s right. That’s how Pony Boy feels. Even though he’s intelligent, he’s still a Greaser, someone from the wrong side of town.
My own situation plays through my mind. The difference is I’ve always been middle class, and I do have a father. My mom left my dad and moved overseas. She’s an executive for the same company of the shirt Reed wears. I’ve seen her exactly once since Caleb was born.
Based on the shift in Reed’s demeanor, a darkness washes over his features. There are no laugh lines framing his face, and the mischief is missing from his eyes. It’s apparent to me that he carries his own share of personal burdens.
Then he continues, “And based on the first few pages, I’m not sure he wants to.”
There’s more than a sex god inside Reed, but something tells me there are so many layers, a woman may never get to the core.
“That’s perfect.” I pull out my postie strips that I use for my romance novels. “Use these since this is a library copy.”
“What for?”
“To annotate. Pick out the lines of narration that made you feel what you said and write on this transparent strip.”
He leans forward. “I’m assuming you have a pen too.”
As I retrieve the pen from the side pocket, Reed brushes against my shoulder. Handing it to him, I observe him skillfully jotting down his thoughts with his left hand, slightly slanted on the paper strip.
Lost in thought, I realize I’ve learned important things about Reed. The most revealing is he is ambidextrous. Last night, he worked me with his right hand. It’s a good little nugget to store away for later. When I snicker, Reed says, “What’s so funny?”
“Just thinking about this book.” Lies. Lies. Lies. “When you get about twenty percent through, we’ll talk about it.” I fiddle with my pen and go through my purse, anything to avoid his gray eyes or think about what he did to me last night.
His phone rings, and he says, “Studying.” Whoever’s on the other end must laugh because Reed rolls his eyes. “Now? On my way.”
“Sorry, Brooke. I have to go. Thanks for get getting me started.”
For some reason, I blurt out. “I can meet you next Sunday too, after my breakfast shift.”
He shrugs his jacket over his arms and smiles like the native bobcat. “Sure, I’ll let you know. What’s your number?” Quickly, he types my number into his phone. “I’ll call you.”
Hope blooms in my chest.
“Do you need a ride?”
“No thanks, and it seems you’re needed.” I have to get Caleb from the campus daycare center, and it’s not the right time to introduce someone to Caleb, especially when we’re not even dating. “I still can’t believe you never had to annotate a book in high school, but I’m glad I could be of service.”
He bends down with his mouth less than an inch from mine and responds, “There are better ways to service me, Cookie.”
Before I can ask him why he calls me Cookie, he adds, “Ways that pay back ten-fold. But yeah, annotating wasn’t high on the list at juv…” His words lose their power on the last syllable as he leaves.
What was he going to say?.
Chapter Seven
