He frowns and shakes his head. "Then I'll definitely not be taking her."
I sigh, glad Gemma can't hear our conversation. As nerdy and weird as it is, I know being able to indulge her inner geek with likeminded nerds would really cheer her up. That's probably why she's retreating into the fantasy world so much. It's become so much more preferable than reality. I know after Rachel broke up with me, I dove into my work-in-progress like I was under fire in a foxhole.
"I can take her, if she asks," I tell her.
"Just like you've taken over Fluffy? Harry, I'm glad you're getting to know your stepsister , but there's a difference between being a brother and being an enabler."
I narrow my eyes briefly. My father doesn't know me well enough to make that assumption. In fact, that sounds like something that Angelica would say. I can hear her influence in him all the time, which isn't a good thing since Angelica isn't my biggest fan.
The thought of my stepmother and how hard it's been to win her approval reminds me a bit of Audrey, and once again I'm hit by how annoying the next six weeks will be. At least when school is over, I can concentrate on work and what I have to do to get this place out of the red.
While I take over the cash, doing transactions with a handful of regulars, my dad goes around tidying the shelves and dusting the books. He does this at the end of every day, like putting the books back in the right order will put his life in the right order. It's therapy without much outcome.
I'm thinking of closing a little early—not for the sake of the shop this time but because Heath just texted me wanting to grab a beer—when a stunning brunette strolls in. She's tall, almost my height, with lean limbs that glow with a tan she obviously didn't get here.
She's perusing the new releases at the front, her fingers tracing over the covers, looking every bit the casual browser.
I waste no time.
"Can I help you?" I ask as I approach her, shooting her a grin. I notice her fingers are resting on top of Stephen King's latest. "Fan of the King?"
"Huh?" she says, and then quickly looks down and shoots me a sheepish smile. "Oh, no. Actually, I've never read him."
I keep smiling at her even though my brain is detracting a point for that. But my brain also notices how perky her tits are, and that she's eyeing me with a kind of shy carnality that suggests I can take this as far as I want to.
"You know, he doesn't just write horror," I go on. I tap the book. "Finders Keepers is the second book in his crime thriller trilogy. You should start with Mr. Mercedes." I tap the book next to it, a paperback marked at twenty percent off. "It's witty, entertaining. I think you'd really enjoy it."
"Really?" she asks, looking back at the cover warily.
"Tell you what," I say to her, taking a step closer so that just the table is between us. "You buy Mr. Mercedes and read it. If you don't like it, I will not only give you a full refund, but I'll take you out for dinner."
I can sense my dad is somewhere behind me. His derisive grumble rolls through the store like a freight train.
"Oh, that's pretty smooth," the girl says, though the gleam of interest in her eyes is growing.
"I can be rough too." Another grin.
This time she giggles and looks away coyly. "Okay, well, I was actually hoping to find another book. Do you have anything by Sylvia Day?"
I wince. Day is a prolific romance writer (with one hell of a rack). "No, sorry."
She shrugs, as if embarrassed she asked. "That's fine. I guess Stephen King it is."
I do an internal victory dance.
I pick up the book and hand it to her. As her delicate fingers take it, I hold on, refusing to let go. "But you have to promise to be honest."
"I will." She chews on her candy apple lip for a second, staring up at me through her lashes. "What happens if I like the book? Can you still take me to dinner?"
"You've got a deal..." I trail off, hoping my frown prompts her for her name.
"Anna," she supplies.
Of course she's a Anna. All the Anna's I've met look and act like her. Sexual, sensual, but unusually bashful in the sack. Not that I mind. I like making them blush.
"I'm Harry," I tell her. "And I'll never lead you astray."
I ring her up at the cash register and write my phone number on the receipt. There's no point in getting her number—I know she'll be calling me soon.
She leaves the store and my dad follows her, locking the door and flipping over the "Closed" sign before whipping around to face me. "What the hell was that?"
I shrug, fiddling with the till. "What? I made a sale. Business as usual."
"Business as usual isn't propositioning the customers."
"Yeah, I thought you were with that other girl," Gemma says, and I jump, not realizing she's standing right behind me, a stack of young adult fantasy novels in his hands.
I give her a tepid look. "What other girl?"
"I don't know," she says, practically whining. "When you drove me home the other day, we saw her walking down the street and you covered your face so she wouldn't see you."
My dad shakes his head. "What's gotten into you, Harry?"
