Crew laughs. “God, I’m not that shallow, Calypso. No. I just figured, you know, you’re so soft.”
“Soft?”
He reaches for a loose strand of my hair and twirls it between his fingers. “Yeah. The way you move. The way you talk. Your whole demeanor. You’re sweet and soft. Literary fiction, to me, is so raw and gritty. You make me think of happily ever after.”
“I make you think of happily ever after?”
He still has my hair in his hands, and my heart is pulsing.
“I mean, not like I sit around and think about that stuff, but you remind me of someone searching for her own happily ever after.”
I laugh. Crew drops my hair and reaches for his turn signal.
“There’s where you’re wrong,” I say. “I don’t believe in fairytale endings. I don’t even believe in the idea of fairytales, and I’ve read them all.”
15
Crew
This is where tonight ends.
I stand outside Calypso’s door, just a short distance from mine. As soon as I go home and relieve Noelle, this night is over.
“You know,” I say. “Noelle’s going to give me shit for being home by nine-thirty. I’ve got her until midnight.”
Calypso presses her back into her door and flashes me a sideways smile. I love the way her blue eyes glow in the dark.
“You trying to invite yourself in?”
“Maybe. Is it working?”
“Kind of.”
My heart thumps hard in my chest, the way it does when I know I’m holding an unbeatable hand. But my expression is smooth like glass. Unreadable.
“And what might your intentions be if I let you in?” she asks.
I step toward her, closing the space between us. “If I’m being completely honest, I don’t know.”
“This wasn’t supposed to be a date, you know.” She hooks a dainty hand on her hip. “You tricked me.”
“I wouldn’t say it that way.”
“It’s a bait and switch if I’ve ever seen one.”
I lift my hand to her face, unable to tolerate another moment of not being able to touch her. I’m fully aware of how out of character this is for me. I don’t pine after women. I don’t chase anyone. I don’t . . . date.
And here I am, hardly able to keep my hands off this strange, fascinating creature. Everything about her is soft and beautiful, unassuming and gentle. A little bit left of center.
She’s right. She doesn’t belong in a city like Vegas. This place is too hard for her.
“I didn’t bait and switch.” I drag the pad of my thumb along her bottom lip. “I changed my mind.”
Calypso releases a defeated sign, her lips pulling wide and her warm breath grazing across my fingers.
“Is that how it works?” she asks.
“I guess?” I shrug. “I don’t know, Calypso. I’m new at this.”
“I find that incredibly hard to believe,” she says. “You’re bluffing. You’re a poker player. It’s what you do.”
“I don’t need to bluff with you.” I lick my lips to quell my intense desire to kiss her mouth. Right here. Right now. For no other reason than the fact that it feels right, and I’m dying to know the taste of the lips I’ve been staring at all night. “And you should really find some better poker analogies if you’re going to hang around me.”
Calypso sighs. “I was actually looking forward to learning your game tonight. Believe it or not.”
“It’s not too late. Got any cards?”
She leans in with her shoulder to push the door open. It makes a creaking noise, and I’m hit with the faint scent of lavender and sandalwood. This place smells exactly the way I thought it would.
I shut the door behind me and she peels off her sandals before switching on a nearby lamp. The shade is covered in a sheer, red scarf, washing us both in a warm glow.
A vintage velvet sofa is pushed up against her living room wall.
And books.
Books everywhere.
Stacks on her coffee table. Rows upon rows in bookcases.
“Looks like your bookshop gave birth to a baby bookshop,” I say.
She nibbles on her nail, glancing around. “It’s not that bad, is it?”
Calypso sinks into her sofa, slipping a book off the top of a nearby pile and paging through.
“I’m going to miss these things someday,” she says. “Everyone and their eReaders and their iPhones. No one wants these relics anymore.”
I can’t argue that. “I’m sure by the time Emme’s in college, her professors will be telling her to scroll to thirty-seven percent in her textbook.”