Page 64 of Battle of the Bookstores

“—so maybe you don’t want to be tied down? Is that it?”

“Oh, I’d love to be tied down.”

I press my lips together, fighting an unexpected vision of Ryan, his giant body sprawled in bed with silk ties on his wrists. “Kinky,” I murmur.

“Not like that.” Even in the darkness, I can tell he’s blushing. “I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to it, in the right scenario…” He shakes his head and sighs. “Okay, starting over. It’s more that—well, you saw my parents together.”

“They’re cute.” Smiling at each other with hearts in their eyes, even after fifty years.

“I guess I’m looking for what they have.” He sounds wistful.

I take another sip of champagne, the bubbles tickling my throat. “What was it like, growing up with parents who adore each other?”

“Wonderful,” he says immediately. “It’s an incredible gift to give your children, a solid and healthy marriage between their parents.”

“But…?”

“But it’s a lot to live up to.” He looks out at the horizon, the moon hanging low over the water. “They’re meant for each other. I grew up assuming I’d find that, too, that it would land in my lap and I would know, like my Dad did.”

“And it hasn’t?”

“No,” he says flatly. “And I’d rather be single than put myself in that position again.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but the weight in his words says enough. I can’t help wondering who broke his heart.

“Come on,” I say, “there have to be throngs of women who’d love to date a guy who reads romance.”

“And why would they want that?” He narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“Because they assume he knows what women like.” My voice falters. “In the bedroom.”

He’s blushing again. It makes me want to keep going down this road. Or maybe it’s the champagne; I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in ages.

“So you’ve never hooked up with a customer?” I say. “Never ever?”

“Not neverever,” he says, and I swear, his blush deepens. “There’s this whole thing in romance about big men and tiny women, right? Lots of women love that trope, and I get it—the pressure women feel to be small, the idea that smallness equals femininity, that kind of thing.”

I nod, remembering how it felt when he cut in on the dance floor and rescued me. The instant relief of his large frame close to mine—and a jolt of attraction, too.

But like he said, that’s probably because of his size. It’s primal, something I can’t control.

“So you’re saying it’s tough being the physical ideal of masculinity,” I say with a wry smile.

“No, that’s not—” He exhales and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s more—Well, romance novels are about the escape, the fantasy. If someone wants to fantasize about being railed by an eight-foot-tall blue alien, more power to them. I just don’t need to be used as the stand-in.”

He smiles, but it looks forced, like he’s trying to play this off as a minor irritation when it’s much deeper.

“That’s happened to you?” I ask.

“Yes.” He’s avoiding my gaze, drumming his fingers on his knee as he takes a sip of champagne. Long, thick fingers; big hands. “And I’m a man, so maybe they think I’d be thrilled, but honestly? It doesn’t feel great to realize that someone sought you out for that purpose, then dropped you.” He glances at me. “You think I’m overreacting.”

“Absolutely not,” I say. “No one deserves to be fetishized.”

He nods, holding my gaze. There’s a world of hurt behind those eyes. “I’m all for healthy sexuality, and romance novels allow people to explore their kinks in a safe way. That’s great, but…”

“But it’s not great to use someone else to explore those kinks without their full consent.”

“Exactly.” He leans forward, elbows on knees, which makes his dress shirt strain against his shoulders and broad back.

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