Pretty Boy (Perfect Boys #1) - K.M. Neuhold Page 0,39

skunky smell hanging in the air in certain areas, but I don’t care much about none of that because not one person has stopped to stare at my face yet. It’s just like I told Miss Maggie, here I’m nothing but another faceless person in the crowd, and I’ve never felt more free.

I wander down the street with my head held high, my eyes passing over shop windows and billboards. My favorite thing is the women in real Vegas Showgirl feathered headdresses, just like in the movies.

I turn down a quieter street and smile when I spot a shop called Unicorn Books. Even if Barrett already has more books than I could ever find time to read, it can’t hurt to look a little. I push open the door, and I’m immediately met with the calming smell of books and dust. I sneeze and hear a giggle. I turn my head to see a man a mite smaller than me with a mess of curly blond hair and a pink t-shirt with a unicorn on the front.

“Sss-s-sorry about all the dust. It’s a w-work in p-p-progress.”

“‘S okay,” I assure him.

“My grandpa lll-left me this huge lll-library full of books, and I had the b-b-brilliant idea to open an indie bookstore. I didn’t realize how dusty they’d all be when I p-p-pulled them out of storage.”

I smile at him and nod in understanding. “Dusty or not, ownin’ your own bookstore is amazin’,” I say wistfully, looking around at the shelves, stocked full of all kinds of books.

“It w-w-will be once it’s all ss-setup.”

I bobble my head again, making my way over to the closest shelf and looking over the titles. I’ve heard of one or two of them, but most are unfamiliar. I pick one up and flip it open to the first page, mentally stumbling over a few words before I get frustrated and put it back.

The owner whistles to himself, shelving books while I pick up a few more, using the same process of reading the first page and then replacing it if it’s too hard to read. I manage to find one that doesn’t seem too difficult and hold it for a few seconds before putting it back on the shelf with a promise to myself to come back for it after I have a job and some extra money.

“C-c-…do you need any help?” His voice is closer than I expected, and I turn my head to see him smiling at me. Boy is he a perky one.

“Just lookin’,” I answer. “I gotta remember what to come back for once I got some money.”

“Oh.” For some reason, this lights up his smile even brighter. “You know, I’m actually looking to hire someone to help me out around here if you w-want a job.”

My heart leaps before I get a hold of myself and drag it back down to reality. Someone who can’t hardly read don’t belong working in a bookstore.

“You don’t want me,” I tell him, ducking my head down and looking away.

“W-why not?”

My cheeks heat, and I’m sure he can see the pink on the tip of my ears if he’s still looking. “I ain’t a good reader. You want somebody who’d be able to recommend books and whatnot.”

He shrugs, the happy expression never wavering. “I d-d-don’t talk very well, and I mmm-manage just fine.”

I look back up at him with surprise. I guess he’s right. “You mean it? You’d want me to work here?” I ask. “I could fill out an application if you have one.”

“Nah,” he waves me off, striding over to the cash register and grabbing a pen and notebook off the counter. “J-j-just write down your n-n…your info.”

I stare at him in surprise as I take the items from him. “What if I’m a criminal? You ain’t even gonna run a background check?”

“If you’re a cr-criminal, you need a job even mmm-more.”

I s’pose that’s true. I write down my name and new phone number. I don’t know Barrett’s address, so I leave that off, handing the paper back to him. “I just moved to town, so I ain’t got nothing to do but work.”

“Oh,” he says again sounding positively delighted. “W-what brings you to Vegas?”

I chuckle and sink my teeth into my bottom lip. “Followed a guy here on a whim,” I confess.

He giggles. “Sss-sounds like something I’d do. We’re going to g-get along gr-great.” He looks down at the paper and then back at me, offering his outstretched hand. “I’m Emerson, b-b-by