"What if the sun is just a giant lightbulb, and one day it burns out?"
"Then someone better find a ladder and change it."
"You're so sarcastic! I'm serious—"
"Don't hit me! Hey!"
"Fox! This is a big problem! Where do we get a lightbulb that big?"
"I don't know. Probably from Space Walmart—STOP HITTING ME!"
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
c h r i s
The bookstore smells like cinnamon dust, old paper, and some kind of wood polish.
Fox flips open a heavy book on medical physics, brows knitted in focus. I grin.
A book on a high shelf shakes and levitates, sinking down into my hands, opening to page 167, the first line I read being, The sword slashed through his neck, the head falling clean to—
I snap the book shut. Nope.
I trail my fingers over a row of well-worn autobiographies, pausing every few seconds to glance at him. More like gaze—god, he's so handsome. His profile is treacherous. His face is still a map of bruises and tenderness, hints of purple and green along his cheekbone. Even still.
He doesn't even notice when a group of girls pass, each giving him a heavy, curious look, as if they're seeing someone too dangerous to approach. To them, he's mysterious, edgy, and doesn't belong here, browsing books.
Yet he's so himself, Fox. He's so absorbed in his physics he doesn't see their staring.
But he looks up at me. "You excited for Noah's big speech? You bringing Whitney?"
"Yes. She's excited for it." I bite back a smile at the way he reacts, a half-hum in his throat.
He doesn't even have to say it before I know what's next.
"Is she bringing that guy?"
"You mean her boyfriend."
"Sure."
I give him a nudge, pretending to frown. "Fox."
"I like Whitney, okay? Do I have to like him, too?"
"Yes, actually. We're supportive."
"I support Whitney," he deadpans.
I press my lips together to stifle a smile. "Well, fine. And, no, Walker's not coming."
He flashes a grin, cheeky, victorious. "That's a shame."
I laugh, weakly shoving him, and he reaches out just enough to catch my hand to take me deeper into the rows.
"Wait," I say, guiding him around to my favourite section. "These are my go-to's."
Fox scans the titles, some dog-eared and worn from other hands flipping their pages. His gaze lingers on the romance section, then darts to the autobiography shelf. "You read... other people's lives?"
"Think about it—every story in these is real."
For a moment, he smiles at me.
"What?" I say.
"Nothing." He picks up a random romance novel and raises an eyebrow. "These can't be real. Corny sappy shit." He eyes me. "Any other recommendations?"
YOU ARE READING
Beside
Romance''Tell me how it feels,'' he whispers. "Good," I gasp, my entire body trembling. Deeper. Harder. Perfect. Like we've been doing this for years. His hand finds my jaw, fingers firm as he tilts my head up, making me look at him. And that's it. Waves...
