Page 20 of Yours, Unexpectedly

My body is buzzing. I am never this bold, but there is something about Anders that pulls that side out of me. I have no idea what compelled me to text him.

Maybe I got sucked into the twilight zone and now I’m in an alternate universe. Or maybe I’ve been abducted by aliens and my body is actually in one of those life preserving tubes that you see in movies but my brain is awake, playing out all my deepest desires. Wait, that can’t be true because I definitely would be doing much more than just texting Anders if that was the case. Okay, maybe said aliens are just trying to show me mundane life in order to convince me that I’m safe up here in space. I start glancing around the room, watching for a glitch in the time-space continuum.

I should probably stop reading so much alien smut.

Which reminds me, Anders definitely now knows that my taste in books errs on the scandalous side. And he thinks it’s a challenge to find out more about that little tidbit. My palms start to sweat at the idea of Anders discovering what’s on my kindle. That can never happen. But also, why do I have the sudden urge to show him?!

My mother’s voice snaps me out of my internal spiral.

“Dinner is ready, mes petits choux!” She’s always called us that, even though she is not even a little bit French, and our last name is courtesy of my dad and his parents. My grandma always called my dad mon chou, though, so my mom carried that on with us. The endearment literally means “my cabbage,” so when Elaine is feeling spicy she translates it into English and calls us her cabbages. It was always extremely embarrassing for her to yell out the window at school pick-up, “How was your day, my little cabbages?”

My mom is slightly crazy and I love her for it. Most of the time.

We are all sitting around the massive dining table—extra chairs pulled up for all of the additional members of family dinner tonight—when Anders gets a mischievous look in his eye. I know this because somehow I ended up directly across from him, again, and we keep making awkward eye contact.

He clears his throat. “So… anyone read anything good lately?”

I nearly choke on my mouthful of stew.

Ben’s hand reaches around Riz to slap me on the back a few times. “Now, now, Bexy. No need to be embarrassed about your reading habits.”

Anders just leans back in his seat and folds his hands over his stomach, like he’s ready for the show.

Gabe, my sweet, clueless puppy dog of a brother, dons a quizzical look. “Why would Bex be embarrassed about the books she reads?” Bless him.

Then, the worst thing happens. Mom chimes in. “She shouldn’t be. It’s perfectly natural for a woman to find pleasure in—”

In unison, all of my siblings and I yell, “STOP!”

Anders, Luci, and Riz just snicker. The traitors.

“Why? A woman should be allowed to explore her sexuality in a safe way. Discover what she likes and doesn’t like. That goes for men too. Everyone should find a healthy outlet for that exploration. That’s why I always told you that oral s—”

Simultaneously, Anders leans forward with a feral look in his eye, and I jump up from the table so fast that my stew spills everywhere.

“Oops!” It comes out as a screech. “Better clean this up!” My voice is high-pitched as I run into the kitchen to grab a few towels to clean up the mess I made. But I definitely don’t regret it because I had to get away from that conversation. I did not need to hear my mom launch into her infamous “Oral Sex is the Best Sex” speech while sitting across the table from Anders fucking Olsson.

I should learn his actual middle name.

I hear someone come in behind me and immediately know it’s the man himself. His hand reaches around me to pull out a few towels from the drawer I’ve opened and I realize that I was just staring blankly into it.

“Ben was right, you know.” His voice is low and rumbly and instead of turning around to face him, I close my eyes.

“About what?” I whisper, my back still to him.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You should be allowed to read and enjoy anything you want.” He’s being so sweet—genuine, not flirty like he normally is. It’s like he’s giving me glimpses of the real him when it’s just the two of us.

I turn and realize he’s much closer than I thought he was. I have to look up at him from this close—only a few inches separating us.

Looking into his eyes gives me confidence for some reason. “I’m not exactly embarrassed,” I say. “Mom is right. Romance books are a safe space for people to explore their.” I gulp. “Sexuality. But they’re so much more than that. I guess I have felt embarrassed in the past but that’s bullshit, isn’t it? Women should be allowed to see themselves in stories that don’t revolve around murder and heartbreak.”

He sets his other arm on the counter behind me, effectively caging me in. Nodding casually, like we aren’t breathing in the same air, he replies, “That actually makes a lot of sense. And you forget that I tell stories for a living so I get it.”

Anders pushes off the counter, holding a few towels in his hand, and turns to walk back to the dining room. Before he leaves, he throws devastating parting words over his shoulder.

“Send me a book recommendation.”

The elevator door opens to my parent’s Upper East Side apartment.

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