Page 61 of Battle of the Bookstores

Before I can think of a way to pivot, Josie says, “I love this song,” and turns up the radio.

She doesn’t seem like the type to love Flo Rida, but I let it go.

—

An hour andtwenty minutes later, I’m waiting in the lobby of the Star Inn, my foot tapping with nerves and impatience. We’re late.

As soon as we arrived, Josie went upstairs to change in her room, which is actually my room. The hotel was full when I called, so I gave her mine. I changed in the lobby bathroom, and I’ll crash at my parents’ after the party. My complicated feelings can’t handle an “only one bed” situation.

I’m checking my watch for the twentieth time when the elevator dings, and I look up.

“Wow,” I accidentally say out loud.

Josie’s hair, freed from that constricting bun, cascades in waves down to her lower back. She’s wearing a dark blue dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. The full skirt looks made for twirling on the dance floor, and the halter top dips low enough to reveal more than a hint of her cleavage.

My mouth goes dry, and I get a flash of myself loosening the tie behind her neck, watching the dress fall to the floor.

The moment—and my view—is interrupted when the elevator doors start to close. Josie squeaks and sticks her hand out, stopping them. Then she hurries over, biting her lip as shelooks up at me. The unexpected vulnerability in her expression hits my chest in a strange way. It’s like I’m getting a glimpse of BookshopGirl.

“No cardigan tonight?” she asks.

“My mom wanted all her boys in suits,” I say. “But what’s wrong with cardigans?”

“Nothing. If you’re a spinster librarian.”

And now she’s back to Josie.

“I’m not the one who wears a bun every day to work,” I say. Her dimple pops, as if she’s trying not to smile, almost like she’s pleased that I fired back. “Shall we?”

The inn is close enough to the venue that we could walk, but Josie’s heels are high, and it’ll be faster to catch a ride in one of the electric golf carts my parents hired.

The ride is short, and I try not to notice the way Josie’s hair blows in the breeze, releasing a scent of lavender and warm honey.

“I forgot to ask,” she says. “What are your parents’ names?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Lawson.” Josie turns to me, an odd expression on her face. “Just kidding. They’re Merrie and Jim.”

Josie nods, her lips moving as she repeats their names, committing them to memory. It’s oddly endearing. “And your brothers?”

“John is the oldest. Then Paul, Robert, and me. Ryan. Or Brian, if you prefer.”

Josie shoots me a “don’t mess with me” look. “And they’re all married?”

I nod. “John married his college sweetheart, Michelle; they’re both lawyers like my parents, with two boys and a girl. Paul’s wife is Anna; he’s a surgeon, she’s a pediatrician, andthey have two daughters. Robert and Sandra got married a year ago, and she’s expecting their first baby. He’s a nuclear engineer, she’s a history professor.”

Josie whistles. “Damn. No pressure there.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. “Now add in that all three of my brothers were college athletes.”

She glances at me. “You didn’t play sports? Not even basketball?”

I stiffen; I’ve heard this before. Thankfully, the golf cart pulls up in front of the Boathouse. “We’re here,” I say, stepping off the cart and offering Josie my arm.

When she takes it, her hand brushes mine, and her skin is so soft my dick jumps to half-mast. I wonder if she’s this soft everywhere.

“Well,” she says with a hint of impatience—or is it nerves? “Are we staying out in the parking lot all night?”

I shake my head and take a steadying breath, preparing myself for the onslaught.

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