Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
I agreed because I want to do it. These women mean everything to her. I want to meet them. I want to tell them what I'm sure she's already told them a million times—that they're badasses who can do anything.
I'm still not convinced I'm the motherfucker who should be standing here, but I'm not worried about anyone getting hurt tonight. That shit will never happen on Jasmine's watch. She thinks she isn't a hero, but she's wrong. That woman is more hero than anyone I've ever met, willing to go to war just to get me here to speak to the people who matter most to her.
She's both unconquerable spirit and fierce champion, so goddamn beautiful it hurts to look at her and doesn't hurt enough. God, she's perfect.
"Child, please," an old lady at the end of the sofa says, waving her off. She has to be at least eighty, but there's this gleam in her eye that says she's probably more trouble than half this room combined. "The only thing this group is mobbing is the bargain bin once we're done here. We know how to behave."
"Mrs. Braithewaite, don't you lie to me. You haven't behaved a day in your life," Jasmine retorts, spluttering with laughter. "Don't think we haven't been listening to your stories."
Half the circle nods in solemn agreement.
The old lady cackles, slapping her knee. "At least someone is listening."
I'm not sure if this is a good time to announce my presence, but half the group already knows I'm here. They've been staring at me since the bell over the door jingled.
I step forward, clearing my throat.
Jasmine wheels around, her eyes lighting up as soon as she spots me. "River! You're here!"
"Of course, I am, princess," I murmur, holding her gaze as I cross the bookstore. "Told you that I would be, didn't I?"
"Yes, but I expected you to stand me up." She shrugs, shooting me an impish, unapologetic grin.
As if I'd ever stand her up. Every square inch of my heart is in her hands. She could lead me to hell, and I'd willingly follow.
"Come on." She crosses toward me, linking our fingers together to drag me into the center of the circle. "Book Club, meet River Jamison. River, meet Dirty Book Club."
"Book Club has a name?" I arch a brow at her. "Why is this the first I'm hearing it?"
"Probably because she didn't want you to know what kind of filth she has us reading every month," Olive stage whispers, earning laughter from half the group.
"Oh?" I arch a brow, curious as fuck.
"Ignore her," Jasmine says. "She has no idea what she's talking about."
"What kind of filth, princess?" I ask.
"Well," another old lady says when Jasmine just shrugs, "last month, we read Spankotron 3000."
"Spank-o-what?"
"Spankotron 3000," Olive says. "It's about a woman who falls in love with a machine that spanks and fu—"
I didn't even know Jasmine could move so fast until she's across the room, clamping her hand over Olive's mouth to muffle the rest of that sentence. Not that I need her to finish it. I can fill in the blanks.
"You been keeping secrets from me, baby?" I quirk a brow at Jasmine, grinning from ear to ear.
"What? No," she lies.
"Uh-huh." I just shake my head. It's fucking cute that she hasn't mentioned exactly what Book Club has been reading. I know damn well that it's not because she's embarrassed. I don't think she has an ashamed bone in her body. She wasn't built that way, and I fucking love her for it. I'm guessing she didn't tell me because she decided it just wasn't my damn business. "We're going to talk about this later."
"No, we aren't."
"Oh, we are."
A chorus of "ohhs" goes up from the group before Jasmine claps her hands together, calling them to order. "I didn't bring him here to talk about smut."
"Well, that's disappointing," Mrs. Braithewaite mutters to the woman beside her, looking me up and down. "I think I'd enjoy listening to this pretty thing talk about smut."
"Mrs. Braithewaite!" Jasmine growls, wheeling around to glare at her. "What'd I say about being inappropriate?"
"I'm just speaking the truth, dear," the old woman says primly, earning laughter from the assembled group.
Everyone except Loralei, anyway. She's in the back corner, staring into space, oblivious to what's going on around her. She looks…drained. I think Jasmine notices too because her eyes keep flickering toward the librarian, her expression full of worry even as she argues with Mrs. Braithewaite.
"He isn't talking about smut," Jasmine reiterates.
"Pity," Mrs. Braithewaite says, deadpan, earning more laughter from the group. Loralei doesn't even blink.
Jasmine glares at the old woman, but she can't hide the affection in her gaze. "I brought him here to talk about all of you and why you don't need permission to be the badass you are."