Page 33 of Battle of the Bookstores

Ryan glances back and our eyes lock. When his mouth twists in a cocky grin, a hotzingruns through me, and I whirl around. It’s irritation, this reaction I keep having to him. It must be. Not the fact that his lips are kind of lush and pouty and—

I grab a spray bottle of cleaning solution and furiously polish my counter.

—

By evening, thingshave quieted down. This is one of my favorite parts of the day, a chance to recharge until it’s time to start my closing duties. Happy Endings is still open, but Beans is closed. With the lights off and my back turned, I can almost forget that one side of my store is a gaping hole.

Smiling, I pull out11/22/63.It’s not high literature, but the plot is intriguing, the characters well drawn. I can’t stop turning the pages.

A soft, glowing warmth spreads over me as I read. There’s something intimate about recommending a book to someone, so to have someone choose a book for me, a book that’s exactly what I need after a challenging day? A true gift.Thanks, RJ.

A burst of applause startles me, and I jolt back to reality. In the far corner of Happy Endings, a group of people in chairs are facing a woman wearing a purple dress. Another event?

My body twitches with irritation, but I return to my book, only to be interrupted by laughter. Most of it is high pitched and feminine, except for one deeper voice, booming above the rest.

Against my will, I’m thinkingshoulders, thighs, pouty lips, and fury sparks through me. I cannot spend the rest of the summer dealing with this. I have an event later this week with a local poet leading a guided meditation. I need some kind of barrier from the chaos. And from him.

My eyes land on two bookshelves. They’re the kind with locking wheels, though I’ve never moved them before…

I head over to the first one, unlock the wheels, and push. Nothing happens, so I lean my shoulder against the side and shove with all my might. The bookcase shifts an inch, the wheels sending out a rustyscreech.Over at Happy Endings, everyone goes quiet. Undeterred, I keep my head down and push again.Screech, screech, screeeeeeeeeech.I’ve moved the shelf approximately three inches.

“What are you doing?”

I jump at the sound of Ryan’s furious whisper behind me, and my skin prickles. I don’t look up. “Well, hello to you, too, Brian—”

“My name isn’t—”

“I’m just moving these shelves,” I say, giving the bookcase another push.Screeeeeeeech.

“You can’t do it later?” he hisses.

“Are you saying that”—I shove again, grunting—“it’s annoying when noise”—shove, grunt—“from another store bothers your customers?”

He huffs in frustration, and I imagine him running his hands through his messy hair.

The first bookcase is now halfway into position, and I’m sweating and breathing hard. I realize with horror that the sounds I’m making are mildly pornographic, and I try my best to stifle them. I push again and flinch at the piercing shriek of the wheels.

“You know what, Brandon?”

“That’s also not my—”

“If I’m annoying you so much, you could help me.”

He huffs again, this time in disbelief. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’d be done faster.” I give the bookcase one last shove and straighten, wincing. “One down, one to go.”

Ryan watches me as I head over to the next bookcase. His arms are folded across his stupid brawny chest, the expression on his face half grumpy toddler and half smirking douchebag. Like he knows he could push the shelf into place with little to no effort, but he’d rather watch me break my back.

And that’s exactly what he does. The wheels aren’t as squeaky on this one, but they’re stiff. With each shove, my feet scrabble on the polished wood floor, and I’m cursing under my breath by the end—but he doesn’t move a muscle.

My simmering frustration spikes into red-hot anger. It’s like he enjoys seeing me struggle. Like he wants to humiliate me.

Or…

I twist around to see his face: lips parted, pupils dilated, eyes focused on my butt. He straightens and glances away.

“Were you staring at my ass?” I snap.

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