Page 86 of Battle of the Bookstores

Taking a deep breath, she looks at the page again. My pants grow tight in anticipation.

“He crawls over me until he’s caging me in with his arms, gazing down at me, and I’m desperate to feel him inside me.”

This isn’t even close to the most explicit book I’ve read, but the words on her lips, the urgent whisper of her voice—it’s so fucking hot. I’m rock hard, grateful she can’t see from her side of the table.

My foot inches forward until it comes into contact with hers. Her arch nestles against mine. Josie doesn’t move it away, but she stops reading and looks up at me. There’s a question in her eyes.

“Keep going.”

Josie bites her lip, then takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, calling my attention to the hint of cleavage I can make out in the V of her blouse.

She starts to read again. “He slides inside me”—she hesitates, but to her credit, she doesn’t stop—“and I roll my hips, inviting him deeper. We move together slowly, learning eachother’s rhythms, the unique way our bodies shift and slip against each other.”

She continues, reading about how the intensity builds between them, their defenses finally dropping after two hundred pages of keeping each other at a distance.

Under the table, I feel Josie’s foot slide up to my ankle, then back down—and I realize she’s slipped her foot out of her shoe. Josie Klein’s bare foot is brushing against my pant leg as she reads words that grow increasingly sensual, and how is this the hottest thing that has ever happened to me? I’m gripping the edge of the table with both hands, trying to keep my breathing under control as her foot slides against my leg again.

“He kneels next to the bed, wrapping his hands around my thighs. ‘Please,’ he says, ‘I’ve been dying to taste—’ ”

The band stops playing, and Josie’s voice breaks through the silence before everyone starts applauding. She closes the book; her pupils are dilated, her cheeks flushed highlighter pink.

I shift in my seat, adjusting myself subtly. She does an identical wiggle in her seat, and I’m positive she’s feeling it, too.

“What do you think?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds normal. “Would your customers be okay with turning up the heat?”

“I think…” she says, her foot pressing ever so slightly against mine. “I think we should go with that book.”

I follow her gaze to11/22/63.

“The Stephen King one? You haven’t looked at it yet.”

“I’ve already read it,” she says.

“You have?” My heart rate quickens; here it is, the moment I’ve been waiting for.

“A few weeks ago, actually. A friend suggested it.”

“I listened to it a few years ago,” I tell her. “On a road trip with my family.”

It’s almost exactly what RJ told BookshopGirl. She glances up sharply, and my mouth goes dry. Her eyes narrow as she studies me, and I try not to blurt anything out.

Let her figure it out in her own time, I remind myself.

“It would be good for a long trip,” she says slowly.

I force the next words out. “You know my brother Robert? It’s his favorite book.”

She’s still staring at me, eyes narrowed, and I wait for the flash of realization to hit her, the way it did me when I saw her readingThe Princess Bride.

Instead, she blinks and looks down. “I guess it is a really popular book,” she says, mostly to herself.

I exhale and down the last sip of my Cloud Candy IPA. Cinderella was right: I’ve got it bad. But is she right about how Josie feels about me? Playing footsie under the table while reading a sex scene aloud isn’t exactlykeeping things professional—but does she want what I want? I have no interest in a “just once to get it out of our system” situation. I want something real, even if it takes longer to get there.

Which means I need to stay focused. Eyes on the prize. Head in the game. All those sports-related phrases I grew up hearing around the dinner table, things I never related to.

But I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want Josie. Which means that if things don’t work out, I’m in for a hell of a crash.

BOOKFRIENDS

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