Battle of the Bookstores

by Ali Brady

Guess that’s what happens when you spend your formative years inhaling books rather than learning how to, you know, people.

Brian shifts his weight, which makes his lanyard slip forward, revealing some of the colorful pins. They say things like Morally Gray >>>, Book Whore, In My Smut Era, Spread Those Pages. And one that I cannot for the life of me understand: Stfuattdlagg.

Sometimes it blows my mind that we grew up in the same house with the same parents and ended up with such different ideas about love and sex.

But I’m no Josh, and I don’t have Sally Thorne drafting my dialogue.

Although it doesn’t get more personal than sharing the books you love.

But from what I’ve seen, reality is vastly overrated.

For better or worse, my library has always grown faster than my social circle.

I have no doubt that if Josie Klein could summon lightning like Violet Sorrengail, I’d be a pile of ashes on the floor.

Each book was a doorway to another world, transporting us away from the chaos at home. Reading wasn’t just an escape; it was a lifeline.

Is it my fault that I like to help people? Hell, Josie is mad at me for not helping her. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

I do love her—but that doesn’t mean I think she’s a healthy person to be close to.

“Books are too important to be casualties in our war, Josie.”

“Because it’s about the journey, not the destination,” Ryan says. “You’re willing to follow these characters to the darkest depths because you know everything will be all right in the end.”

Then his lips part, and his tongue meets mine, and it’s like the first bite of the most delicious dessert—I am suddenly ravenous.

I’d call it friendship…except I never think about friends while reaching for my vibrator.

And every time I inhale, my nose is filled with that scent I can’t describe other than Ryan Ryan Ryan.

being held by him is like coming home after a long day, kicking off your shoes, and falling into bed with your favorite book.

“Falling in love is something that happens to you, sometimes even against your will—like being struck by lightning or catching the flu. But staying in love? That’s a choice.”

Ry. I like the sound of that, a nickname, on her lips.

We hurry down the sidewalk, hand in hand, grinning like kids on their way to the Scholastic Book Fair.

“Of all the books I’ve ever read and all the fantasies I’ve ever had, none of them hold a candle to the reality of being with you. You are what I’ve been waiting for.”

How can I love a woman who doesn’t have butter in her fridge?

It’s about being willing to be vulnerable, to dig deep, to confront your shadows, embrace your own story, and become a stronger, braver version of yourself. It’s not about the happy ending—it’s about believing that you’re worthy of one.

I am the product of every book I’ve ever read and every experience I’ve had, each heartbreak and failure, every moment of sadness and joy. The people I’ve met and the characters I’ve encountered, the events that challenged me and the narratives that have stretched me—all this is inscribed on my soul. They are the stories that shape who I am today and give me the strength to reach for more.

Maybe all stories are love stories at their core. The search for belonging, the ache of grief, our fumbling attempt to find purpose and connection in this big, confusing world.