Page 43 of Hateful Games

“A bookstore is just as sacred as a library, Miya.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I hold back a snicker when she gives me a mock salute along with it. I hate to admit but the girl is hilarious, hella talkative—a fact I was grateful for because I didn’t have to do much of the talking—and as promised, told me tons of embarrassing stories about Nova to use as a secret weapon against him.

For example, he took ballroom dance lessons as a kid.

He’s a complete mama’s boy.

And was a super clumsy kid, which made for some very embarrassing falls. Apparently, there are videos as proof too. Man, if I could get my hands on them.

Last night, I received a video call from Bianca, reminding me not to forget her shopping list. While I also assured her that the bustling streets of London were just fine. No blood or mayhem.

There’s still time.

I swear, Nova hasn’t made it easy to be on my best behavior. I tried to be the bigger person and avoided him the next day by skipping out right after he left for his morning jog. Then cross-checking with Miya to arrive home in the night before he did, and went to bed early.

But, of course, the cruel asshole caught up with my plan. I was smug as a bird when I escaped his presence the next morning. Only to return home and find your highness having a soccer night with his college mates. In his fucking bedroom, no less.

The shameless bastard left me with no choice but to sleep on the couch. I was wearing my tightest leather pants, for fuck’s sake.

It was a wonder I wasn’t grouchy as hell today.

“Looking at you, nobody will say a bookish girl is hiding behind that don’t-fuck-with-me glower, red hair, and those sexy black dresses,” Miya teases.

“Never judge a book by its cover.”

“Touché.”

Some days I feel the reason I was always drawn to books was because I wanted to escape my reality. They allowed me to imagine a world where everything ended with a happily ever after. The good guys won, the bad guys were punished, and the world was at peace.

Nobody knows I love writing, too, and have pages upon pages of untold stories. Where I’m the creator, the judge, and the executioner. It allows me the control I never had in my life. However, I’m yet to find the courage to publish them.

Maybe one day.

I rest two of my shopping baskets, brimming with books, on the cashier’s desk. The lanky kid behind the counter startles at the thumping noise. His gaze going round when they land on the paperbacks and hardbacks before he schools his expression, acting cool.

“Is that all?” he teases with a straight face.

I arch my eyebrow and sweetly reply, “I would rather buy the entire store.”

“Yeah, right.”

“She’s serious,” Miya mumbles from beside me.

His eyes flash with glee. “Really?”

I shrug. “Maybe next time.”

His face deflates like a popped balloon. He takes his sweet-ass time scanning each book. The beeping sound of the barcode reader so soothing, and my stomach somersaults when he packs every item. Some books I already have at home but I couldn’t resist purchasing the special edition versions. Paying him with cash, I grab the two bags and walk out of the bookstore with a happy grin.

It vanishes as soon as I remember whose place I’m taking them to.

I swear if Nova looks in their direction, let alone touch them, I’m going Godzilla on his ass.

Outside on the sidewalk, my gaze flicks toward another vintage bookstore. I take a step, only to be yanked back by what feels like inhumane strength. But is actually a hell-bent Miya.

“Ah. Ah. Ah. No way, miss,” tsks Miya, blocking my path. “You are not walking into another store. If I have to see another book, I’m going to beat you to death with it.”

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