“Kinky? Weird? Freaks?”
“My kind of people.”
I can’t explain the relief that floods my heart at the sound of that. I blink at him. “Really?”
“Yes.”
Dorian slows our pace. I knock my shoulder affectionately against his and he lets me. “I’ve got to admit, Brody outdid himself on this one.”
“Ophelia seems to be having a great time,” Dorian agrees.
“She thinks he’s going to propose,” I tell him.
He side-eyes me. He narrates: “She says, like she just swallowed a bee.”
“No, I mean…it’s sweet. I guess. I just think big, flashy shows of affection are overrated. If you want to spend your life with me…tell me you want to spend your life with me. Don’t make a big show about it.”
A small grin touches Dorian’s mouth. “No grand gestures for Dove. Noted.”
We’re near Dorian’s apartment. We have to walk past it to get to the subway. As we stroll past the adjoining bookstore, and one of the displays causes me to stop in my tracks.
I gasp. “Holy shit. It’s the new Damaged Hearts book!”
The book has its own mini-display next to the words “New Release.” The cover is made to look like it’s been torn, revealing bits of text underneath. The standing book has a tag attached that reads: “Autographed Copy.”
Dorian stands next to me. “A big Quinn Siobhan fan?”
I touch the glass between me and the book. “I love her. That series changed my life. I’m not exaggerating.”
Dorian tilts his head. “You want me to get that book for you?”
“They’re closed.”
“For you, boss, anything.” He picks up a brick and aims it at the window.
“Dorian! Red!”
He drops the brick. Then he reaches into his pocket, fishes out a key, fits it in the lock. He twists. The door pops open and he motions me inside.
Oh—wait. Duh. “This is your bookstore?” I ask.
“This is my bookstore,” he confirms. “After you.”
I walk inside. A small bell chimes above the door, announcing our presence. Immediately, I’m hit with my favorite smell in the world—printed paper, that stuffy, library smell. As Dorian goes to turn on the lights, I text Ophelia to let her know we’ve been detoured, and we’ll meet them at Threads. She gives me a thumbs up.
I glance around. His bookstore reminds me of his apartment—a sort of rumbled charm to it, like the whole place just rolled out of bed. Shelves overstuffed. Postcards of vintage New York City scenes stacked haphazardly in a display. Antique lamps everywhere. A cat bed in the window. Tiny, folded index cards withStaff Recommendeddescriptions underneath favorited books.
“What is it aboutDamaged Hearts?” Dorian asks as he pulls a copy from the shelf.
I tickle my fingers over the spines of the local interest section. “I know what you’re going to say. It’s dumb smut.”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to say that at all.”
“It was my introduction to BDSM. I’ve got a soft spot for it. And I liked the characters.”
“A man has an affair with his brother’s wife. They’re not incredibly likable characters.”
I let out a faux gasp. “So youarefamiliar with the book!”
