Read me, p.1
Read Me, page 1
READ ME
LAUREN CONNOLLY
READ ME
By
Lauren Connolly
Copyright © 2021 Lauren Connolly
Edited by Yelena Casale.
Cover Design by Mibl Art.
All stock photos licensed appropriately.
Published in the United States by City Owl Press.
www.cityowlpress.com
For information on subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher at info@cityowlpress.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior consent and permission of the publisher.
For my Durango friends. Your plan worked; I am now a cat person.
Contents
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Author’s Note
A Note to Readers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Epilogue
Sneak Peek of Resist Me
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
About the Publisher
Additional Titles
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She would do anything for the ones she loves. Even marry a stranger.
Luna Lamont has a few short months to find a husband or else she loses out on a surprise inheritance. Content living life as an independent woman, she’s ready to give up the cash, even if that means her deadbeat father gets the windfall instead. But when Luna realizes the money could finally mean her twin brother’s freedom, she’s forced to consider the benefits of rushed matrimony. Only, what kind of man would marry a bitter self-defense coach who only wants to use him for a payout?
Maybe a salesman with a secret crush is up for the job...
Charlie Keller falls for Luna within five minutes of meeting her. Literally. His body inevitably malfunctions when she’s nearby. He first encounters the intimidatingly attractive woman on a boat a moment before he falls overboard. The next time they’re in a room together, he dumps a pot of coffee on himself. After an accidental boob punch, Charlie knows he’ll be lucky if Luna is willing to come within fifty feet of him if she doesn’t have to. But they're in the same wedding party, so Charlie hopes he can get through the ceremony without further embarrassment.
Imagine his surprise when the woman who has every reason to keep her distance proposes a marriage of their own.
GET IT NOW
Author’s Note
As I wrote Read Me, I explored some important issues, including LGBTQ youth homelessness and animal rescue. If you would like to learn more about these topics and find out how to get involved, here are a few organizations looking for your help:
True Colors United : truecolorsunited.org
The Trevor Project : www.thetrevorproject.org
Louisiana SPCA : www.louisianaspca.org
Animal Rescue New Orleans : animalrescueneworleans.org
A Note to Readers
Content warning: Some scenes describe stalking and assault.
Chapter One
SUMMER
The massive stack of books hides the face of a god. A god like Hades. Beautiful, hard, and shrouded in the shadows of his hardcover stronghold. A being who knows only how to walk the world alone, scorning the help of others.
Especially librarians.
Will today finally be the day he gives in?
I can always tell I’m getting near the end of my shift when I start comparing patrons to mythical characters. Nothing like a little storytelling to keep me going after the caffeine wears off.
Before leaving the circulation desk, I press a button that rings a bell throughout the entire building. This is the third and final ring. In five minutes, the security guard will give people their last notice that the library is closing. Today it’s Johnny, a newer guy. He’s friendly, but I hope not so friendly that he lets stragglers guilt him into allowing them to linger a few minutes longer.
I love working in a public library, but that doesn’t mean I want to stay an hour later than my scheduled shift. Which is why I leave Karen to handle the final checkouts as I approach the makeshift book fort.
When I reach the fortress walls, I have a strong urge to topple the lot of them with a growl and declare that Hades’ castle has been conquered by a fire-breathing dragon.
But I’m mixing myths, and dragon attacks are not recommended for proper book upkeep.
I clear my throat, twining my fingers together behind my back to keep from reaching for an armful of the reading material.
A window appears as the man hidden behind the parchment ramparts slides a few off the top. A set of Icelandic blue eyes trace over my eager form. I’m not sure if Icelandic is technically a shade of blue, but the country name brings to mind sharp icebergs floating in blood-freezing oceans.
And that’s his blue. Sharp and cold.
The color mixes beautifully with his Nordic blonde hair and the silver piercings that decorate the rims of his ears and accent the edge of his eyebrow and lower lip. Briefly, I wonder if any of his tattoos have the same color blue of his eyes. There’s a good many on display, twining down his arms and creeping up his neck. There are bits of color inside the black outlines, but I’ve never gotten the chance to leisurely study the images to answer my question.
Everything about this patron conveys a simple message: I’m not friendly. Don’t talk to me.
But I talk to everyone, even sexy, intimidating men who surround themselves with fortresses of books.
“Yes?”
Yes, he asks. As if he doesn’t know why I’m here. Why I always approach him at the end of my Sunday shift. The way he says the one word does things to my chest. Good things. Bad things. Burning things.
“You’ve amassed quite a collection today.” One of my hands sneaks free, reaching to fiddle with the cover of a worn volume at the top of a stack.
“Yes.”
Yes, he says.
One of the first things I learned working in customer service is how to smile. No matter what.
I smile at him now.
“Well, I would be happy to put away whatever you don’t plan on checking out. Seeing as how we’re closing. In five minutes.”
Say yes. Say it now.
Let me help.
“No. Thanks.”
Damn you.
Still I smile, even though I want to glare until he accepts my aid.
Let the librarian help you. I try to telepathically implant the notion in his brain, but I think all the metal in his face messes with my signal. My smile begins to ache.
“You sure? I don’t mind. It’s my job.” My fingers itch with the need to make sure the titles end up in their proper shelf locations.
“I’ve got it.” And, as if to prove his point, he rises from his chair and palms a handful of the materials before sauntering away toward the shelves. I’m left staring at the rest of his hoard, practically sweating from the need to help replace them. But I don’t know which titles he plans on checking out.
I linger, eyeing him as he stretches one long arm up to a higher shelf. Admittedly, that would’ve been a stepstool task for me. But still.
He never lets me help.
I try not to huff in frustration or stomp too hard as I r
Triumph has me grinning. “You left the rest on the table?”
“No.” His lips twitch into a smirk. “I put them away.”
“That’s…” I stumble over what to say. “You can’t have. Did you? Even I’m not that fast. And I work here!” Disbelief has me abandoning him to jog back into the reading room.
His table is empty.
Frosty eyes watch me as I return.
“You didn’t shove them someplace random, did you? Because that’s way worse than letting me shelve them.”
Without answering, he tucks his hands deep in his pockets before strolling past me, back toward the shelves. And I follow.
He pauses, reaching out to tap a call number on one of the book spines.
“Military science. Housed under Dewey decimal 355.”
Before I can think of an answer, he moves on.
“European folklore. Housed under Dewey decimal 398”
He leads me to another shelf.
“Medicinal plants. Dewey 581.”
Every number he lists off is correct, and I decide that no man as hot as an inferno should be allowed to talk about library organizational methods. It’s too much. I need a fan. Or a respirator.
“Are you a secret librarian?”
The corner of his mouth curls. “No.”
“But you have the Dewey decimal system memorized?”
“The important parts.”
“Well. It’s all important. Because it’s information.”
He shrugs, and his dismissiveness allows me to regain a minuscule amount of control over my hormones.
“Okay. You’ve made your point. You know how to properly shelve books. I promise not to bother you anymore. You can construct and dismantle your book fortresses in peace.”
When I glance up, I expect to catch a satisfied smirk on his sharp handsome face. Instead, the man frowns at me.
And I realize that this is the first time he ever has.
COLE
I don’t want her to leave me alone.
I fight off a frustrated sigh. The cute librarian’s continuous attempts to help me are one of the highlights of my week.
This is what happens when I try to impress her. I just fuck it all up.
Ask her out. A voice taunts in the back of my mind.
The urge has never been stronger as I follow her back to the checkout desk, my eyes briefly hypnotized by the sway of her skirt against her knees. She’s always wearing skirts and dresses.
Like she knows how they torment me.
For months I’ve been coming to this library. At first, I showed up for the writers’ group on Thursday nights. Then I came in on a Sunday and realized I’d never written more in one sitting than that day.
So it became a habit. Sunday afternoons are writing and research days at the public library.
They’re also the days I plan how I’ll eventually ask out Summer.
Learning her name wasn’t hard. She wears a name tag, always pinned to the neckline of her outfit. The place my eyes seek out after they’re done tracing over the long dark lashes and the sinful curve of her mouth.
Today, she has on an orange lipstick. What I wouldn’t give to look in the mirror and see smears of that color on my mouth. Down my neck. Across my chest.
Wait till you get home, I tell myself.
When I’m at my place, late at night, imaging all the things I want to do to the sassy librarian is my favorite pastime. But playing out the fantasies when she’s scanning my library card seems disrespectful, bordering on creepy.
“Everyone is out. This is the final straggler.” A guy in a uniform leans against the counter, smiling at Summer like they’re good friends.
Maybe they are friends. That’s fine. I like the idea of Summer having friends. People she can rely on.
As long as friendship is all it is.
Ask her out now, the greedy part of my brain murmurs. But I hold myself back. Not yet. Not until I have my ace card. Not until I know she’ll say yes.
I’m not the type of guy to badger a woman. When I ask Summer out, if she tells me no, then I’ll accept it. It’ll be hard to give up on the idea of us together. The future where every one of her smiles is for me.
But I take a woman’s no seriously.
So my goal is to make the word yes so much more appealing.
Doesn’t help that I suck at flirting. Pissing people off comes more naturally.
This sensation, the craving I have for her to like me, is new. Normally, I find the world easier to deal with if people just leave me alone. But I don’t want Summer to leave me alone. I want her to walk up to my stack of books and give me her sweet smile and angry eyes as she practically begs to help.
Only now that I’ve shown my understanding of the library’s cataloging system, she might not bother me anymore.
I want her to bother me.
“This is quite a stack of books.” The scanner in her hand beeps as she points it at the final barcode. “You shouldn’t carry them all at once.”
Maybe I should point out how I was able to carry them all up to the checkout desk on my own. Maybe then she’ll look at my arms and consider how strong I am.
That’s how flirting works, right?
But she’s talking again before I can make up my mind.
“It’s unsafe for you and for the books. What if you drop a few on your way out and trip on them?”
“He seems capable enough,” the security guard offers while backing away from the desk. The guy is probably worried I’ll ask him for help.
Yeah, no thanks. Me and any type of law enforcement do not get along.
“You should let me grab a few. I’m on my way out anyway. Karen and Johnny are in charge of closing tonight.” Summer isn’t even looking at me as she continues to offer her aid. She clicks away on the computer, working her librarian magic.
Keeping to my plan requires me to say no. It would be even better if I could turn down the offer in a flirtatious way. Maybe lean on the desk and stare deep into her eyes and tell her…
…
Damn. My mind is blank. This never happens when I’m writing. Only when I’m talking.
Mainly when I’m talking to Summer.
Because I can never come up with the right words, I tend to opt for a stoic, silent demeanor, knowing that with how I look, people tend to think I’m brooding.
Often, I am.
But in this case, I want to give her an answer, and I’m only able to formulate one.
“Yes.”
Summer continues talking as if she didn’t hear me. “I mean, seriously. Just let me help you. For once.” Her fingers fiddle with my giant stack of books, straightening them until all the corners align.
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so stubborn. Yes, I admit, you know the Dewey decimal system, but that doesn’t mean you have to turn me down. Everyone needs a little bit of help sometimes.”
