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I adjust my glasses for a better look and let out a shuddery breath.
Oh God, he’s tall. And those shoulders. They seem to fill the shop from side to side. Those narrow hips. Those spectacular biceps, bulging when he lifts a hand to push his hair out of his blue eyes.
Wait a minute. I know those eyes.
The beautiful stranger walks up to me, and I take a step back, because he’s not really a stranger. I know him, very well. As much as it is possible without actually sleeping with him, that is.
J-One. J the runner. J the Powerhouse.
Joel Kingsley.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I blurt, gesturing at the shelves filled with comics and fantasy books and posters.
Because, come on. I may have been in lust with Joel since my first day in college, an infatuation and a crush that didn't end with this graduation, but can we please address the elephant in the room?
Joel Kingsley is an athlete and a business major. He doesn’t like fiction. He doesn’t like novels. He doesn’t like books. In short, he doesn’t like any of the things I care for. He hangs out in noisy places, flirts with anything in a skirt, and all in all, his trajectory never touches mine.
Never has touched, until now. Not in real life, anyway, no matter what I claim on my blog.
“Hi there,” he says in his smooth, deep voice, and smirks. I bet he didn’t even hear my question. It’s a confident, I-melt-girls’-panties-for-breakfast sort of smirk—and God, it works. I wonder if I brought spares with me. “I bet you’re the right person to help me.”
I can’t reply. My voice will come out all squeaky.
Help him. Sure. Help him undress, maybe. Help combat stress with a deep-tissue massage. Orgasms are known to relax men, aren’t they? I could do that.
“Never been here before. Didn’t know what I was missing,” he says, still looking at me, and oh crap.
He’s even more handsome from up close. Those sky-blue eyes are looking straight at me, turning my knees weak and my pussy wet.
“Ahem.” And here comes the squeak I’ve been trying to avoid. Come on, Candy. You have the power of speech. Use it. “Are you sure you’re in the right place?”
I clear my throat as he glances around the shop as if realizing for the first time what sort of shop he walked into.
Books. That’s right. It’s what’s normally kept and sold in bookstores. Shocker, I know. I eye him as he turns to take in the shop fully, a hundred-and-eighty turn, his gaze sharp, as sharp as his square, scruffy jaw.
I lick my lips and mentally compose my newest post for my blog. Title: You won’t believe who walked into the bookshop today.
Subtitle: Be very jealous.
Maybe I can snap a quick picture of him with my phone? Just for documentation purposes. I mean, he must be used to it, right? Girls drooling and snapping pics of him.
Did I mention he used to run track at college? I remember all of us sighing whenever he ran by. Cheering. Imagining what could be if he spoke to us, flirted with us. Slept with us.
And he’s grown even more handsome in the past year. Kinda rugged and a lot sexier.
Of course, even back then he slept with anything with a skirt and a heartbeat, and yet we couldn’t hate him. We only wished to be next to land in his bed.
“I’m looking for a book,” he finally says, snapping me back to reality. I force my gaze away from his face, trying to get my brain back into working order.
“A book.”
He nods, and his smirk goes lopsided, allowing a dimple to appear. “About bananas.”
A dimple. And a book… Wait, wait.
“You want a book about bananas?” Someone pinch me. This is surreal. “Would that be, um… for you?”
“What?” He blinks those thick-lashed, blue eyes at me, and I kinda lose the thread, too. “Oh, no. It’s for my roommate.”
