Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Marla’s a few years older than I am, with light brown hair and eyes, and a pair of slim glasses perched on her nose. She’s not only the bookstore owner, she’s become a friend to me, like an older sister, and I hate that she caught me at a bad time like this. I enjoy when she’s pleased with the work that I’ve done. And now…
“Hey, Cora!” she says cheerfully, then turns to face the stranger. “Oh, hello. Are you being helped?”
“Theoretically,” he mutters. I watch as Marla’s eyes widen, and she looks at me in surprise.
My chest tightens and tears prick my eyes. It matters to me to do a good job, and I dislike the insinuation that I’m not. Worse, I hate crying in front of people. Internalizing my anger makes me emotional, and I fucking hate that.
Marla shoots me a look of sympathy and leans in to whisper, “Honey, go take a break. I’ll handle this guy.”
I shake my head. Nope. I’m not gonna let him chase me off.
“I’m good, thank you.” She raises a brow, so I continue, “I can do this, Marla.”
Stepping a little closer to me, she whispers in my ear, “Of course you can. He just doesn’t seem super… pleasant. You sure?”
I nod. “So sure.”
“Interesting selection of books you have,” the man says, leaning against the counter and glancing at the titles on display. Marla takes pride in her eclectic little shop.
“Thank you,” she says. “Several were written by friends of mine, actually.” Chandra and Marla’s friend Giada both write kinky romance books and have quite a following of dedicated readers. We actually had a signing last month, and the line went all the way out the door for hours.
He shakes his head with a frown and a rueful chuckle. “What an excellent waste of time those books are.”
I’ve had enough of this asshole’s crap. I pour him the now-steaming coffee and hand it to him.
“What is and what is not a waste of time is totally relative,” I tell him. “For your information, those books provide endless hours of entertainment, and they’re written by excellent writers.”
Taking the coffee from my hand, he passes me a twenty-dollar bill.
“Entertainment?” he scoffs. He pierces me with a look while I fetch his change. “Books are meant to educate, yet those books are doing nothing of the sort. They make men into mythical creatures and women to be hapless victims. And worst of all? They glorify the BDSM scene with no real-world knowledge.” He shakes his head.
I open my mouth to protest but Marla shakes her head. Instead, I gather his change with tight lips, biting back every retort.
“Keep the change, Cora,” he says.
And then he’s gone. I stand with a stack of bills in my hand.
“He seems familiar,” Marla murmurs. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in here before. Have you?” Quietly she takes the bills from my hand, folds them, and places them in my pocket. “I’ll get the rest of your tips to you before you go.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. A part of me wants to take his stupid money and throw it at him, but… well, I’ve got mouths to feed. I don’t have the luxury of pride. “And no. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. And frankly? I’ll be happy if I never see him again.”
When I finish up my shift, I take my backpack and sling it over my shoulder, then head to Verge. Even though I’m still unsettled with the whole interaction between me and the jerk, I’m looking forward to going to Verge. I love the people there. I have only a few close friends, and they’re all as busy as I am, and even though it’s a little weird to admit, the people at Verge have become like a second family to me.
I huff out a quiet laugh to myself. Figures, I’d find a second family at a sex club. BDSM Club. Whatever it is. But there’s something about that kinky crowd that I love… the way they’re free to be their quirky, crazy selves without fear of judgment or ridicule. And the feminist in me applauds the pursuit of sexual freedom. It’s partly why I love Marla’s store.
The lonely widow, snarky school teacher, harried stay-at-home mom. The powerful Wall Street executives, fearless leaders, intellectual visionaries. All of them are free to live out their fantasies in the pages of a book. And everyone needs a little escapism. Club Verge, to me, is kinda the same thing.
Braxton stands as bouncer to the door tonight. Tall and broad with a ready grin and sharp tongue, he’s one of my faves. His girl Zoe is feisty as hell, and a member of the NYC Police force.
“Hi, Brax,” I say brightly, as he holds open the massive black door to Verge so I can step inside.