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)
"What's wrong, princess?" I step closer to the bench, crowding her just a bit. "Afraid you'll decide you actually like me?"
"What? No!"
"Liar." I shove my free hand into my pocket, just to resist the temptation of touching her, then smirk. "When you agree to go out with me, I'll agree to speak at your book club. But not until."
"I'm not going out with you."
"Then I'm not speaking at Book Club."
"This is blackmail or extortion or…something. Whatever it is, it's illegal."
"I know. Genius, isn't it?" I wink at her, then turn and stride away. "Stop stalking me, Jasmine."
"You're an ass, River."
I just laugh, because she isn't wrong. I am an ass. But we both know her voice isn't shaking because she's pissed I'm extorting her. It's shaking because I just caught her off guard with my date request, and she's mad as hell about it.
Maybe her little war declaration isn't such a bad thing, after all.
Chapter Three
Jasmine
River Jamison isn't an ass. He's the devil. And my best friend, Lilah Davis, might be a demon because she won't stop laughing at my misfortune.
"It's not that funny," I grumble, scowling at my best friend as she wipes tears from her blue eyes behind the bookstore counter.
"It's hilarious," she amends, still cackling.
"It's illegal!"
"Um, so is stalking the poor man, Jazz."
"I'm not stalking him," I sniff, flicking a wad of paper at her. "I'm simply recruiting a local author to speak at Dirty Book Club. That is what you hired me to do, you know."
"I absolutely did not hire you to stalk River Jamison," she says, spluttering with laughter. "And I definitely didn't hire you to seek out the most unhinged smut you can find and call it Book Club."
"Whatever. You love the unhinged smut." Older women are hesitant to talk about sex because they were raised in an era where it just wasn't done, but when you add a monster, machine, alien, or random inanimate object to the mix, it's like you remove the shame that was hammered into them. They open up surprisingly well, allowing them to discuss things they'd never otherwise discuss.
Lilah just shakes her head before scooping up a stack of books and vanishing to the back. I hop up from my chair and follow her, determined to finish this argument.
"Admit it," I say, navigating around a stack of boxes to prop a hip against the workbench. "Book Club has more readers signing up every week because I'm introducing them to books and a sense of community they never even knew existed, and I'm empowering them to decide for themselves what they enjoy."
"Fine," she grumbles, placing the stack on the bench to begin wrapping them up. "But we're going to be burned at the stake one of these days because of your choices."
"This isn't Salem in the 1600s, Lilah. It's 2026 in California. Trust me when I say there are far worse things out there than anything I bring to Dirty Book Club."
"Are you going to do it?"
"Do what? Because if this is you suggesting I should bring worse things to Book Club…" I waggle my brows at her.
She shoots me a patented "you know what I'm talking about" look. And she's right, I do. But I'd rather pretend I don't than deal with reality… especially when reality is River Jamison asking me to dinner. What the actual fuck?
"I don't even like him," I mutter.
"You are such a liar."
"Am not."
"Then why are you blushing?"
Like an idiot, I press my hands to my cheeks, which only gives her more fuel. She smirks as if I just proved her point, then places a book in the center of a roll of Kraft paper.
"Whatever," I grumble, reaching across the workbench to grab the tape for her. "Maybe he's a tiny bit interesting. But he's also rude, arrogant, and infuriating. Pigs will fly before I deal with any of that."
"It's just one date."
"You're awfully gung-ho about getting me tied up and murdered in his basement."
Lilah throws her head back, laughing again. She messes up her cut, leaving the paper jagged, but she doesn't seem to mind. "At least then you'd stop bitching about not having his address."
"Actually, I have it," I say, carefully avoiding her gaze.
"What? How?"
"I followed him home from the diner."
"You didn't!" She stops mid-fold to stare at me like she's scandalized.
"Of course I did." Does she even know me at all?
"And you don't see how this is stalking?"
"It's not stalking. We're at war."
"You're going to go to jail."
"No, I'm not."
"You are. He already threatened to have you arrested."
"He also asked me out, so…" I shrug, not really worried about it. I mean, if he wanted to have me arrested, he wouldn't have asked me to dinner, right? Right.
And let's be honest, it's not like the police or courts even take stalking seriously in this country. Until someone is actually hurt, it's a slap on the wrist, and the stalker is released right back out there to continue their reign of terror. Unlike actual stalkers, I'm harmless. I don't want to wear his skin as a suit. I just want him to talk to his readers.