Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends #2) - Sara Ney Page 0,29
like books.”
Why is she saying books like that? As if the sound of the word is turning her on—it’s so weird. And why is she leaning forward, with her boobs smushed into the edge of the table? Is she doing that on purpose?
“Yes?”
“What kind of books do you read when you’re not reading romance?” I hear her low chuckle over the sound of the mariachi band and the chatter of the people surrounding us.
Brat.
I rack my brain for the last book I’ve read that wasn’t a book club selection. “It was a World War II biography written by a fighter pilot whose plane went down. He lived in the jungle for a few months without any supplies, food, or weapons to keep him safe.”
“Was it a thick book?”
“Um. Yes?”
She nods. Nods again, watching me as she takes a few more chips and breaks them into pieces. “Uh huh. Tell me more.”
Okay, what the hell is going on right now? It looks like she’s turned on, but I know she can’t stand me, so is she having a hot flash? Or a seizure? Is she so hangry she’s hallucinating she likes me?
I’m so fucking confused.
The server appears as if by magic, bringing sustenance for this hungry woman sitting across from me, and I’m spared from her leering, glazed-over eyes as our tacos are laid out in front of us. Still, this doesn’t seem to excite her as much as the mention of books did. Or the sound of her name on my lips.
I test the theory again. “So, what genre are you most into reading for pleasure when you’re not working?”
Genre—nice one, Buzz.
I give myself a mental pat on the back.
Hollis raises her head, fork full of rice poised halfway to her mouth. “Romance.”
“Really. You read romance novels?” I bite into my first hard shell taco and moan. “What trope?”
Trope.
Another mental pat and I smile to myself when her eyes get soft.
“Um.” She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Mostly the usual stuff. Uh, cowboy romance and…sports romance.”
What’s this now? Sports romance?
I sit up straighter in my chair. “That’s a thing?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of sports are you reading about?”
She ignores me for a couple beats, choosing that moment to bite into her taco—on purpose, probably!—chewing thoughtfully and not answering the question. Swallows. Takes another bite.
I swear to god she’s doing that to torture me.
“Baseball.”
“Like, baseball baseball? College or what?”
“No, professional baseball.”
“You’re reading a romance about baseball players?”
“I mean—the guy is a baseball player. The girl works as the nanny.”
The nanny? What the hell kind of book is this? “He hooks up with the nanny?! Is he married? Where’s the wife?”
Hollis laughs, covering her mouth with the palm of her hand. “No, he’s a widower—that’s why he needs the nanny.”
“Oh.” I think this concept through. “So his wife died, and now he’s banging the nanny. That seems fucked up and shady.”
She laughs. “It’s not like he just put the moves on her and took advantage. They fell in love—or are going to fall in love. He needed someone to watch his six kids.”
“Six kids! What the fuck?”
“It’s two sets of triplets.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Well the first set was IVF and they didn’t think they’d get pregnant again, but she did, and it was another set of triplets, and then she died in a car accident on their first birthday.”
That just sounds absurd. “And you’re into this shit?”
“Very.”
“Um…whatever floats your boat.” I can’t talk about this anymore without my brain exploding from sheer boredom and bewilderment. “In my opinion, that’s way too many plot devices and completely unnecessary.”
“Genre. Trope. Plot devices. Who are you?”
I smirk, knowing I’ve just wet her panties a little with my knowledge of literary terms. “I love reading—what can I say? Just a big old book nerd. Hashtag book lover.” I stuff more food in my mouth, chewing slowly, so as to drive her wild with suspense.
She doesn’t look desperate for me to say more, but she is smiling.
“I got banned from a library last year.” My declaration is matter-of-fact—and true—and between mouthfuls.
This gets her interested, and she seems to perk up. “I’m listening.”
I set my napkin on the table, push my chair back a few inches, ready to dig deep into the dramatic story. Cross my arms and consider my first few words. The hook, if you will.
“It was a dark and stormy night…”
Hollis laughs and rolls her eyes.
“Kidding. It was cold and snowy. Off-season. And I like to hit the library near my house—they have an