Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends #2) - Sara Ney Page 0,30

amazing audiobook selection.” Her eyes do that glistening thing. “I love listening to them on my way to the stadium, or while I’m pounding nails at one of the properties.” I flex and kiss my bicep—kind of douchey, but she doesn’t seem to care. “Anyway, I see this woman at one of the tables who looks familiar, and I’m convinced she’s the author of one of my favorite series. She had her laptop out and was pounding away at the keys. I swore I’d met her before because I’ve gone to a book signing or two.” Pause for effect. “Signed books are my kryptonite.”

Hollis is hanging on my every word, and if she were wearing a bib, she’d be drooling.

Or so I tell myself.

“I don’t want to bother her, right? She’s busy, and I can only imagine being interrupted while I’m perfecting greatness would piss me the fuck off. So I go to the circulation desk, grab a piece of paper, and write, I like your books. Then I slip it to her as I walk by, which, in hindsight, was creepy as fuck and a terrible error in judgment.”

“Why?”

“Because I have abysmal penmanship.” I grab a paper napkin and ask Hollis if she has a pen—she does—then write I like your books. Hand it to her.

“I like your boobs?”

“It says books.”

“It says boobs.”

“See? Do you see now where this all went wrong? Do you see now where this story is headed?”

“Don’t say another word or I’m going to choke on this taco.” Her skin is bright red and she’s about to burst out laughing; I can see her holding it in. She is about to freakin’ explode.

Obviously I say more words. “So she thinks I’m telling her I like her tits—er, boobs—which were probably sagging down to the ground, mind you.” I shiver at the memory. “Instead of confronting me about it, the lady goes and tells the librarian there is a pervy sexual harasser on the premises. She goes and tells the security guard, and he yanks my audiobook selections out of my viselike grip and escorts me out. God, I was so humiliated—Betty from non-fiction and I made eye contact, and I’ve never felt so ashamed.”

“Stop it.” Tears are welling up in her eyes.

“No. She told her friend Ethel, who is a member of the Bellmont Readers, who told my mother.”

“This is too much.” She’s swatting at the air between us. “You’re making this up.”

“They took my card away, Hollis! You don’t joke about this shit. I’m no longer welcome at any library within the tri-state area, thanks to my shoddy handwriting.”

“Oh my god Buzz, you deserved it!”

I act like the innocent party here. “It’s not like I was looking at porn on one of the free computers! I gave her a note. I was complimenting her!”

“On her BOOBS!”

“No, on her books!” I push some shredded lettuce around on my plate. “It wasn’t her, by the way.”

“Stop.”

“Nope. Wasn’t her. Just some random lady listing all her weekly coupons in a spreadsheet.”

“How do you know?”

“I could see it when I walked past the window.”

“Sooo…you were creeping on her through the window?”

“I was walking past the window! What was I supposed to do, not look?”

“Yes! You could have simply not looked.” Hollis is shaking her head like she’s disappointed in me. “Were you trying to get another glimpse at her tatas?”

“Dear god. No. Don’t even suggest such a thing—I’m lonely, but not desperate.”

Shit, did those words just come out of my mouth? I can’t take them back, but I can pray she doesn’t latch onto them beca—

“Lonely?”

Ugh, she would mention that. Why is she like this? Why does she have to be so nosey?

“So you’re an editor?” I do my best to deflect.

“Don’t change the subject.” She pins me with a pointed stare, biting into a taco and crunching at the same time. Her eyes narrow.

“Did I say lonely? I meant busy.”

“You said lonely—what did you mean by that?”

8

Hollis

This entire dinner has been so fun. His sharing, his goofy stories, his sense of humor, even when it’s self-deprecating.

He pokes fun at himself easily.

He loves reading.

I mean—he mentioned as much at the barbeque over the weekend, but to hear him talk about it with such passion seriously gets me turned on.

I’m folding like a greeting card and hate myself for it.

“You said lonely—what did you mean by that?”

I’m lonely too, but I would never admit it to anyone other than Madison, or any of my other friends. Buzz does not