Page 87 of Battle of the Bookstores

July 21, 9:01 PM

BookshopGirl:Okay, I’ve got a major whammy of a bookish pet peeve today. Ready?

RJ.Reads:Always.

BookshopGirl:All the bizarre and disturbing descriptions of sex in romance novels.

RJ.Reads:Um…disturbing? More details, please.

BookshopGirl:I’m reading a whole bunch of romances to prep for an event. And I keep asking myself why we need so many euphemisms for penis? Why? WHY? Dick, cock—okay, fine, utilitarian if not terribly creative. But then we get throbbing member, velvet-wrapped steel, hungry rod of lust, thrusting sword of desire?

RJ.Reads:So you’d prefer anatomically correct terms? Just plain old penis?

BookshopGirl:I’d prefer not to hear about any of it. And don’t even get mestarted on words for the female anatomy. We don’t even get a nice, sturdy word like “cock”—we get pussy and cunt, which just rub me wrong.

RJ.Reads:Definitely don’t want to rub those wrong.

BookshopGirl:And then there’s all the euphemisms. Like “slippery tunnel of heat” and “slick pearl of desire” and “moist folds.”

RJ.Reads:You’d rather the folds be dry?

BookshopGirl:I NEVER WANT TO READ ABOUT FOLDS.

RJ.Reads:I hate to say this, but…are you…a prude?

BookshopGirl:No. I’m perfectly comfortable with my sexuality. Anyway, my issue isn’t just the body parts. It’s the noise level. Why is everyone always moaning and groaning and grunting and screaming?

RJ.Reads:I assume because they’re experiencing intense pleasure.

BookshopGirl:Yes, but screaming? Anyone who is THAT loud during sex is faking it. I don’t think I’ve ever made anything more than a deep sigh.

RJ.Reads:A deep SIGH? I’m starting to worry that you’ve had extremely mediocre sex. Not to toot my own horn (how’s that for a euphemism?) but plenty of my partners have been loud.

BookshopGirl:And I hate to break it to YOU, but they were probably faking it. Which brings me to my next point: What’s with all these men in romance novels who are thrilled to go down on women for a ridiculously long amount of time? Have these authors ever been with a straight man? Because they’re doing the bare minimum down there before moving on to what they really want.

RJ.Reads:There are men who enjoy that, you know. Some men love it. It’s their favorite part of the whole experience.

BookshopGirl:Eh, I think that’s a myth. Like the Loch Ness Monster. People swear they’ve seen it but there’s no objective evidence. Like all the so-calledphotos of Nessie that end up being an oversized eel.

RJ.Reads:There’s a sex joke somewhere in there but I feel like now’s not the time.

BookshopGirl:Or an underutilized euphemism in romance novels. “His oversized eel slithered in…” Never mind.

RJ.Reads:Gross. That’s worse than the moist folds.

23

Josie

A week intoOperation Save Our Jobs, working with Ryan feels natural—maybe too natural. It’s becoming more difficult to remember why I was so insistent onkeeping things professional.

Each morning before we open, we meet at the newly renovated Beans. Whoever arrives first puts in our orders, then we sit at one of the tables and discuss that day’s game plan (while Eddie sneaks glances at us, smiling).

After that, we separate to open our doors and start the day. But our stores are feeling less and less separate—the “wall” of bookcases I put between us is gone (Ryan moved them, and this time,Iwatched). We’re constantly bumping into each other in the back room, eating lunch together, sharing ideas about how to prove to Xander that we both deserve to stay.

And yet…it’s been a struggle.

Every night, I lie in bed and relive our interactions. The whiff of Ryan’s scent I caught when he reached above me to grab something in the back room; the way his eyes dip down my body when he thinks I’m not looking; the glimpses of his hands, his mouth, his ass. If I’m being honest, my mindwanders like a naughty child to a few specific memories: his body over mine at the beach; his hand touching mine at the library; my foot sliding up his leg at the bar.

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