Blind Date with a Book Boyfriend

by Lucy Eden

“Fine.” He raised is hands in surrender. “My older sister was obsessed with romance novels. So one day, I think she was sixteen and I was about twelve, I asked her what she was reading and she threw a shoe at me and told me to mind my own business, and naturally, I was curious. So, when she went out with her friends that night I snuck in her room and grabbed one.”

I tucked my bottom lip in between my teeth and bit down, trying to buy myself time. I tried to think. I’ve read enough romance novels to think that this was a great idea, but I’ve also listened to enough episodes of My Favorite Murder to think the exact opposite.

She's just like me!

I wonder if this is how it feels when you meet the person you will eventually fall in love with, or when you meet the person who is about to murder you.

Mike had kissed me like it was the most important thing he would ever do in his life. And while I understood and appreciated why he stopped himself, I wanted more.

Mike took off running toward the fountain and almost slipped on the slick stone surface, making the crowd gasp. Once he secured his footing, he raised his fists in triumph and the crowd cheered.

“Don’t all women walk around with a hair tie on their wrist?” “No. Not all women.” He reached under the pile of clothes I was carrying, grabbed my wrist and held it up. There was a thin black hair elastic under my watchband.

lol

“I’m gonna get dressed, and you’re gonna use that hair tie to put your hair up, because I’m about to kiss the hell out of you and I don’t want to be responsible for any collateral damage.”

That's hot.

A chorus of howls and whistles surrounded us with cries of “Get a room, you two,” and someone definitely said, “They are gonna fuuuuuck,” making us laugh so hard that we broke our kiss.

“Were you thinking about Chris Evans when you were kissing me?” Mike asked with a smirk when we left the theater, hand in hand. “Do you want me to say no, or tell you the truth?”

“Do you consider yourself an alpha, beta, cinnamon roll, alphahole or rake?”

“Nice means I’m sober enough to consent to a sexual encounter but tipsy enough that I don’t care that I’m wearing giant gray cotton underwear that may or may not have a hole in them.”

“You have two interviews next week,” he said in a sigh. His phone pinged in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the screen. “Three.” “Mike, seriously.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. “That is some serious alphahole bullshit.”