Page 15 of Hot Girls Read Book Club

Lily winks and disappears inside.

I stand there for a full five seconds after the door closes—maybe ten. My hand comes up to my chest like I can physically catch my heart before it launches itself through my ribs.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, dragging a hand over the back of my neck. I stumble backward to the driver’s side of my truck, and climb back behind the wheel in a daze.

The engine turns over, and a second later, the speakers crackle to life.

I’ve got a picture of your house…

A laugh punches out of me before I can stop it.

Of course. Of fucking course, Heaven by Warrant fills the cab. For the first time in a long damn time, I don’t bother turning it down or hiding the smile pulling at my mouth.

I crank the volume instead.

“OH, MY GOD,” I whisper on a breath, leaning back against my apartment door after closing it and sliding to the floor in a blushing heap.

“Oh. My. God.” I bury my face in my hands.

Jax finally kissed me, and it was as earth-shattering as I thought it would be. Another wave of goosebumps breaks out across my skin, remembering the feel of his hands on me, how warm his mouth was against my neck, and the gruff sounds spilling out of him as I shamelessly writhed against his thigh.

I should be embarrassed by how quickly I escalated from kissing this man to riding any part of his body, but after weeks of the rising tension between us, I don’t. We spend all week reading spicy romance books, texting one another, and then going toe-to-toe over what we love and didn’t love about said books.

Whenever Jax is around, the air is so thick with want I can hardly stand it. It feels like my head is floating in the clouds. And now, I know he feels it, too. I was worried I was alone in my feelings, but apparently not.

Forcing myself to my feet and padding to the tiny pocket kitchen, I swipe a bottle of water from the fridge. As I take the first sip, the icy water sliding through my system sends a shiver down my spine.

I grin to myself again.

If I were reading this in a book, I’d be screaming at the heroine to calm down. Unfortunately, I am the heroine, and calming down seems completely off the table at this point.

That’s the thing about reading romance novels.

You spend your whole life thinking, “Nobody actually gets kissed against a truck while an eighties power ballad plays in the background.” But then it happens to you, and suddenly all the romance authors out there start looking a lot more credible.

I see you, B.K. Borison. Well played.

“Oh, shit,” I mutter to myself, dropping onto my couch.

Because every romance reader knows the kiss escalation in the small-town, second-chance romance isn’t the happily ever after. It’s the beginning of the third-act emotional disaster. Statistically speaking, I should be terrified.

Instead, I’m sitting in my apartment grinning so hard my cheeks hurt, feeling like nothing in the entire universe could touch the way Jax makes me feel.

For the next two weeks, I live in a montage of perfect little moments with Jax. It’s a slow-motion passing of time that romance novels skip over because not enough people are arguing.

We spend our lunch breaks trading book quotes over text.

He starts leaving terrible doodles on my coffee sleeves every morning.

I learn exactly which afternoons he gets stuck waiting on parts deliveries because those are the days my phone lights up with complaints about bored mechanics and customers who think oil changes should take five minutes.

I have no idea how long an oil change is supposed to take, but five minutes definitely feels unrealistic, even to me.

It feels silly marking the passing of time by book club meetings, considering Jax and I are still the only two members who have ever shown up, but it’s something I started and am stubbornly committed to seeing through.

Jax stops by the library every day on his way to work to drop off a coffee from the café. We steal quick kisses at the front of the building when nobody is looking. It wouldn’t be very professional if the town librarian got caught making out beside the book return before nine in the morning.

This morning is no different.