Page 24 of Reverse Pass
I hear the sound of the book shut, feel his body move on the mattress and I let my lids slide open, just enough to make him out. His head is down, forehead pressed to the closed book. It explains why his voice is slightly muffled when he speaks again.
“I’m gonna get a quick shower. Then let’s watch an episode of one of those crime shows you like, okay?”
“Okay.” I agree, because I don’t know what else to say.
He lays the book on my desk and leaves without another word. And when he returns twenty minutes later, he climbs into bed next to me like he had before, and we watch the show in silence until we fall asleep.
NINE
Ben
After the gym and a shower,I’m jogging across the street from campus to the little independent bookstore. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for, but I’m willing to give it a shot. My eyes slide over the various section titles and land on one labeled “romance”, and I head in that direction. It’s just after dinner and the bookstore is quiet, the only sound a coffee machine percolating in the distance as I make my way to the back.
All I’ve been able to think about all day was seeing her last night. When I’d knocked and she hadn’t answered, I was worried because her car was in the lot. So I’d opened the door and my heart had stopped in my fucking chest at the sight of her. I had almost wondered if I’d been knocked unconscious by the weights at the gym and was imagining it all like a dream. That was until she’d seen me and blushed so fast and heavy, she’d used the book to try and cover it up. Then it was obvious, because the fantasy version of Violet always asks me to help her and rarely ever blushes.
When I get to the section I’m looking for, I’m overwhelmed. There’s a sea of covers, names and subsections and I realize just how out of my element I am.
“Can I help you?” My fairy godmother appears in the form of a blonde curvy woman with glasses and blunt bangs, about my age, dressed in a dandelion yellow sweater.
“Yeah, I’m…” I trail off. What am I doing? Trying to fucking seduce my sister’s best friend by reading to her, because it’s the only in I’ve got with her now, and I need a repeat of last night like I need oxygen. I don’t think that’s what this sweet little woman who’s looking up at me so thoughtfully wants to hear though.
“I’ve got a project on the female gaze in media. I need to read some books, I guess to do some research.”
Good one, Lawton. Super smooth.
“Okay,” her nose wrinkles like she’s thinking. “Are you looking for sweet? Steamy? Any particular genre or niche?”
I stare at her blankly and she gives me a little laugh that makes me smile.
“Okay—romance comes in a lot of genres, depending on what you like. Cowboy. Alien. Mafia. And then it runs from sweet, which is like no sex or closed door, to steamy which is open door sex. Even that’s kind of a range though.”
“I bet,” I say staring at the shelves. “I guess open door. But maybe something less mafia?”
“Oh, started with the dark romance, did you?” She smirks at me, and I like this girl. I feel like she’d bust my balls without breaking a sweat.
“Something like that.” I grin.
“I have an idea, this way.” She motions for me to follow her and takes me down the aisle.
She pulls a book off the shelf and hands it to me. A bare-chested football player stares up at me from the cover. I realize I’m in my university football gear and she’s observant.
“This one’s still open door. Plenty of sex and female gaze for you to analyze, but a little less taboo than the mafia stuff usually is. It’s about a football player and his tutor, opposites attract. He falls for her but she’s not sure about him, then one thing leads to another—“
“Perfect,” I cut her off, not meaning to be rude but I’m anxious to get back to Violet.
“Great.” She smiles up at me. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s it.”
“Okay, let’s get you checked out.”
She takes the book back from me and I follow her to the front of the store.
I’d left Violet alone this morning, given her space and only minimal interaction. I knew I’d gotten wildly lucky with her last night, somehow played the cards exactly in the right order that she didn’t throw me out when I’d picked up the book to start reading. And I’d taken the fact she’d let me back in bed to watch a show after as a good sign that I might be able to get a repeat if I could get a similar run of luck.
I slide my debit card in the machine and watch as the clerk places bookmarks in between a few of the pages, and jots notes on two of them. Then she slides the book to me.
“In case you want to cut to the good parts.” She smiles.
