Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
He shuts the door. I set the flowers and backpack on the floorboard, but keep my purse clutched in my lap before pulling on my seat belt. After he deposits his bag in the back seat, he settles in the front seat. He unknots his tie and yanks it off, shoving it into the cup holder.
“Been waiting to do that all day,” he says with a chuckle as he grabs a pair of sunglasses from the dash, swapping out his glasses for them. “Worst part of teaching is wearing a tie.”
“Does Ms. Frazier enforce a dress code on you guys too?”
He groans. “I think it’s punishment for all those years I gave her hell. Back before she was a principal and taught Algebra. I fucking hate math.”
Like a typical guy, he drives like a bat out of hell out of the parking lot. In this moment, he reminds me of a Hoodlum. Older, rebellious, fun. I relax because I’m a Hoodlum too.
We drive past all the familiar haunts. No Starbucks or Panera for us.
“Hood River’s coffee sucks,” he reveals when he notices my confused face. “Rockford has a place called Josie’s. It’s technically a bookstore, but the complimentary coffee’s great. I stumbled across it while hunting for a poetry book for class. You’ll love this place.”
He takes us to the next town over and to the small Main Street there. We park in front of a tiny bookstore.
“The door. I’ll get it,” he says, reaching across me to grab the handle. “Gets stuck all the time.” His arm brushes across my breasts and I turn a million shades of red.
The door gets flung open and he climbs out. While he fishes something out of his bag in the back seat, I suck in a few breaths of air. Don’t be so awkward, Roux! I get out and shut the door before following him up the steps.
The bookstore is empty and smells old. It’s cram-packed with books. I love it. He walks over to a self-serve coffee area. While he sets to making two coffees, I browse the store. An old woman sits behind the counter, her nose in a book. She doesn’t bother to greet us, which is fine by me.
“Here,” Wes says, handing me a mug of coffee. “I’ll show you the best spot.”
I follow him into another room. Behind a tall bookshelf is a love seat facing a window at the back of the building that overlooks a greenbelt of trees. He sets his coffee down on the table in front and plops down. I sit beside him and sip my coffee.
“Don’t look so nervous,” he says, smiling. “I’m the nervous one. What if you hate my poetry book?”
“I doubt that,” I say with a laugh.
He angles his body to face me, leaning an elbow on the back of the love seat. “You haven’t read it yet.” He sets an iPad down in my lap. “This is nerve-wracking.”
His own nervousness surprisingly helps settle mine.
“I’ll be gentle,” I assure him. “Let’s see if you’re as good as Atticus.”
“Maybe I am Atticus,” he says with an impish grin. “Has anyone ever seen his face?”
I swat at him before settling in to read his book. From the first poem, I grow absorbed in his raw words that seem to bleed onto the page. As I read, I manage to gulp down my whole cup of coffee. He disappears to make more, this time returning with a plate of cookies too.
“These poems are really good. Really good, Wes.”
He sighs heavily. “Really? God, you scared me. You’re so quiet.”
“I’m obsessed with these. They’re all so unfiltered. Like you get a glimpse into the writer’s soul.” My cheeks heat. “Your soul.”
His smile widens. “You’ve made my day. I’ve been reluctant to let anyone read them.”
“You need to publish this book and let everyone read them. They’re seriously that good.”
I kick off my shoes and pull my legs up under me, relaxing as I read. A particular poem called The Broken One reminds me of Jordy. I read over it three times, hating how my heart hurts.
Why must everything be so complicated?
I want Jordy and Jordy wants me.
Simple.
“We’ll be closing soon, kids,” a woman says, making me jolt.
I can no longer see the greenbelt outside. Just my reflection in the dark window. And Wes’s. He’s staring at me as I read. Slowly, I glance over at him.
“You have a lot of poems,” I murmur. “Sorry I lost track of time.”
He chuckles, patting my foot. “I thought I wanted feedback, but you getting absorbed and ignoring the world gives me all the feedback I need.”
“I could keep reading these, but I should get back home.” I dig through my purse and pull out my phone. Since it was on silent from being at school, I completely missed a bunch of texts from Hollis and Roan. A few calls too. My phone buzzes in my hand with a text.