Page 35 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)
Forrest
“I can’t believe you’re this excited about a bookstore.” I laugh as Taio practically bounds ahead of us toward Turn The Page, one of Brooklyn’s trendiest independent bookshops, according to Yelp.
“Man’s about to cream his jeans over some paperbacks,” Saylor mutters, his Australian accent adding an extra layer of mockery. “Bit sad, ain’t it?”
“Fuck off,” Taio calls over his shoulder, not slowing his pace. “No crime in appreciating literature.”
I exchange a look with Saylor. “Did you have any idea he reads?”
“Nah, mate. You live with the guy, you didn’t know about his fetish for romance books?”
“I mean, jerking off to the sex parts, sure,” I answer. “But actually enjoying books? Never would’ve guessed.”
“I can hear you dickwads,” Taio retorts, pulling open the heavy glass door for us. “Mr. High-and-Mighty Columbia Law, you’re not the only one who can read.”
The bookstore is all exposed brick and weathered hardwood floors, with stacks stretching from floor to ceiling and the unmistakable scent of paper and coffee in the air.
“For the record,” Saylor says as we step inside, “I’m not totally useless here. I once had a client who wanted me to read erotica to her while she?—”
“We’re in public,” I cut him off, though I’m grinning despite myself. These idiots might be crude, but they’re my idiots.
“What?” Saylor shrugs innocently. “I was going to say ‘while she took a bubble bath.’ Not everything leads to dirty, bare-ass spankings, Hawkins. Where’s your sense of romance?”
Taio snorts. “Saylor, remember that baroness in London who said she just wanted you to cuddle, and then you ended up tying her up in her secret BDSM room?”
“Oh we cuddled,” Saylor says. “For hours. With her hand clamped around my junk like a tire boot. I didn’t think I was going to make it out of that one alive.”
“Romance section,” I interject loudly, pointing to the store directory. “Second floor, back corner.”
“Classic,” Saylor snickers, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Hide all the smut where the kiddies can’t stumble on it.”
“Speaking of stumbling onto smut,” Taio says as we head toward the stairs, “remember that client who wanted you to dress as a lumberjack, Hawk? You had to get that glue-on beard. What was her name…Margaret? Marjorie?”
“Margot,” I correct reluctantly. “And I told you that in confidence, asshole.”
“Nothing’s in confidence when you come home with splinters in your ass,” Taio counters, earning a howl of laughter from Saylor.
“Christ, mate,” Saylor wheezes, wiping actual tears from his eyes. “What were you two doing? Fucking on a log?”
“Authentic rustic furniture,” I mutter, feeling my neck heat. “It was a cabin in the woods. Can you shut up about it now?”
“With authentic splinters,” Taio adds helpfully.
I flip him off as we reach the second floor. “All right, focus. We’re here for Sora.”
“Ah, yes, the famous conch shell girl,” Saylor says with exaggerated reverence. “The one who’s got Hawkins all twisted up with those puppy-dog eyes.” He whines and whimpers like a baby golden retriever.
“I’m not twisted up.” Though the flush creeping up my neck probably tells a different story. “I’m helping her with research. In exchange for a place to stay with Dakota.”
“And you brought us because…?” Taio prompts, already drifting toward the romance section with suspiciously familiar ease.
“Because of poor judgment, clearly. But seriously, I need to understand what’s selling. What readers want. What Sora should be emulating.” I lower my voice as we pass a cluster of browsing women. “You both deal with female fantasies for a living. I figured you might have some insights.”
“Oh, I’ve got insights,” Saylor says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Women say they want a sensitive bloke who listens, but what they also want is to be bent over a couch, and after a proper pounding, for you to put your tongue right on their?—”
“ Jesus, Saylor, we’re in public ,” I hiss, noticing a nearby shopper’s scandalized expression.
“Just keeping it real.” He shrugs, unrepentant. “Isn’t that what you’re asking for? The inside scoop on what women really want?”
“In their books,” I clarify. “Not in their beds.”
“Same thing, brochacho,” Taio chimes in. “That’s the whole appeal of romance novels. Classy girls doing really unclassy things.”
I can’t argue with that logic, so I don’t try. Instead, I take in the romance section, which is more extensive than I expected, occupying nearly a quarter of the floor space. The shelves are organized by subgenre, with colorful, eye-catching covers facing outward.
“Fan out,” I instruct, adopting what Taio calls my dad voice. “Taio, you take closed-door and paranormal. Saylor, contemporary and suspense. I’ll handle fantasy and whatever ‘dark romance’ is.”
“Uh, no, my guy. If there’s no sex, I’m not reading it. Put Saylor on the fluffy cotton-ball stuff,” Taio declares.
Saylor cuts him a side glance. “What is paranormal?” he asks.
“Vampire fuckers,” Taio answers casually.
“Like that Twilight movie?” I ask, cautiously.
“Excuse me,” Taio says, looking offended. “It was a book first, you caveman. And no, that stuff is for tweens. Adult paranormal is like vibrating alien dicks and werewolves knotting.”
“What is knotting?” I immediately regret it when Taio opens his mouth to explain.
“It’s when the hero’s dick has a bulbous base that gets stuck?—”
“Never mind,” I interrupt hastily. “I don’t want to know.”
“Your loss,” Taio says with a shrug, already running his fingers along the spines of books with a familiarity that’s frankly disturbing. “Some of those shifter romances would blow your mind. And other parts.”
As we disperse, I notice something odd. The bookstore has gone strangely quiet. Glancing around, I catch at least three women pretending not to watch us, phones angled suspiciously in our direction.
Great. Just what we need.
“Guys,” I mutter under my breath, “I think we’re being…documented.”
Saylor, of course, immediately swivels his head, making direct eye contact with a blushing brunette who quickly pretends to be fascinated by a paperback.
“I fucking love the bookstore. It’s like fishing in a tiny aquarium,” Taio murmurs, deliberately flexing as he reaches for a book on a high shelf.
“Is this why you like books, Ty? Helps you get laid?” Saylor asks with genuine curiosity.
“Oh, hell yeah. ”
Okay, now the pieces are falling into place. Taio reading to enhance his mind? Suspicious. Taio reading to chase tail? Spot-on.
“You think I could pull off damaged hero with a tragic past?” Saylor muses, striking a brooding pose. “The one who just needs the right woman to heal him.”
“Please,” Taio scoffs. “You’re the comic-relief best friend. I’m clearly the smoldering love interest.”
“You’re both the comic relief,” I deadpan. “Now cut the posing and focus. We’re here to work.”
“This is work?” Saylor sounds dubious as he pulls a book with a half-naked firefighter on the cover. “Mate, work is having to oil down a seventy-year-old widowed socialite who wanted me to?—”
“Just find the bestsellers,” I cut him off before he can finish that nightmare-inducing anecdote. “Look for multiple copies, special displays. Note the covers, the tropes.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration mounting. “I need to help Sora figure out what’s connecting with readers.”
Taio, who’s wandered to a table labeled “Staff Picks,” whistles low. “Got ourselves a spicy one here. Listen to this: ‘Olivia never expected her one-night stand to be her brother’s best friend—or her new boss.’ Oh , and judging by the blurb, Olivia has a secret,” Taio adds with mock intrigue.
Saylor snorts. “She’s a virgin, bet you anything. I swear brother’s best friend always pairs with virgin.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, surprised.
“My mum reads these by the cartload,” Saylor explains, not looking up from the book he’s flipping through. “Can’t walk through the house without tripping over a bare-chested duke or a brooding billionaire.”
“Nice,” Taio says. “Bet your ‘mum’ has mad skills in the sheets. We should compare notes.”
“I’ll rip off your balls and feed ’em to your cat, mate. Leave my mum out of it.”
“I don’t have a cat,” Taio says.
“I’ll buy you one. That’s how serious I am,” Saylor says in a manner where I can’t tell if he’s kidding or trying to be menacing.
“ Sensitive ,” Taio teases. “Your mom’s a piece, SaySay. I’d treat her with nothing but tenderness and respect. Let this happen, man.”
“She’d never go for a neanderthal who still thinks jackhammering away is what women want.”
“Hey,” Taio protests, “I’ve never had any complaints about my technique.”
“That’s because they’re paying you,” Saylor fires back. “They’re not gonna ask for a refund mid-thrust, are they?”
“Excuse me?” a soft voice interrupts their banter. “Can I help you find something?”
I turn to find a bookstore employee—petite, with a purple pixie cut and wire-rimmed glasses—regarding us with barely concealed curiosity.
“Actually, yes.” I summon my most winning smile, the one that usually gets me past even the most vigilant doormen. “We’re trying to understand romance subgenres. What’s popular, what’s trending. Any insights you could share would be great.”
Her professional demeanor cracks slightly, a blush creeping up her neck. “Are you…writers?”
“Researchers,” Taio supplies helpfully. “For a friend.”
“A female friend,” Saylor adds with a meaningful look.
“I see.” Her smile widens, and she steps closer—too close for casual customer service. “Well, dark romance has been huge this year. Morally gray heroes, dubious consent scenarios.”
“Dubious consent?” I repeat, alarmed.
“It’s a fiction fantasy,” she assures me quickly. “A safe way to explore power dynamics. Very popular with women who are tired of making decisions all day.”
“What about paranormal?” Taio asks, picking up a book with what appears to be a shirtless werewolf on the cover. “Is that still poppin’?”