Page 5 of Hannah and the Hitman

“I’m a librarian. In Colorado.” I had no idea why I toldhim the state thing. It wasn’t like a librarian was different in… say, Miami.

“Ah.”

“Yeah, not that exciting,” I admitted, glancing down at the book in my lap. Not many people saw books as being exciting, as an escape or a way to visit different worlds. Or fall in love with a character, because book boyfriends were the best kind. They loved your life goals, found your cellulite sexy, growled at any man who looked at you twice, and wanted to rail you against any available surface.

My ex hadn’t done any of those things.

“Sometimes exciting’s overrated,” he murmured. “If those are the books on the shelves in your library these days, I might need to stop in.”

Stop in. STOP IN!

I cleared my throat. “So not much of a reader then?”

“Don’t have much time.”

“What do you do?” I wondered. Should I be talking this guy up? Hehadbeen reading over my shoulder. My inner Brittany–my best friend–said “hell yes.”

“I’m not a romance book hero, that’s for sure,” he said, self-deprecatingly.

I wasn’t so sure about that. He pretty much checked off every requirement.

“So you’re not a pro-hockey player auctioned off in a charity event?” I asked, referring to the plot of the book I–we–were reading.

The corner of his mouth quirked. “No.”

“Rodeo champ headed to the Stock Show?”

He shook his head. “That’s a romance book hero?”

I nodded. “Yup. So hot.”

He made a funny sound, like a chest rumble, as if he didn’t like the idea of me finding a rodeo champ hot. Any conscious woman–unless she didn’t like a man in snug Wranglers or was allergic to horses–would toss their panties at one.

“Try again,” he prodded.

I tapped my chin, considering all the possible romance hero options. I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. “Alpha leader of a werewolf shifter pack.”

His eyebrows winged up. “Um… what?”

The plane hopped over a bit more turbulence, then settled.

My lips twitched with amusement. “Trust me. Those books are good.”

“Got one in that bag of yours we can read in the next–” He peeked at the watch on his wrist. The really nice, fancy one. “–thirty minutes?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. You never mentioned what you did.” I really wanted to know.

“Hitman.” He said it with a straight face, and it had me laughing, my eyes raking over him wedged in the middle seat. I thought I heard the guy on the aisle grunt. Maybe he was the farter and was having more stomach problems. At least he wasn’t the other one with the bad cologne that made me sneeze. “What?”

“Sorry. Hitman? That’s definitely a romance book hero. You, though? Can’t see it.”

He set his hand on his chest as if offended. “Now you’ve hurt my feelings. Maybe I want to be a romance hero after all. You’re saying you wouldn’t go for a hitman?”

“As long as you’re not a petty, cheating, self-absorbed loser like my ex, I wouldn’t care what your profession is.”

“A man cheated onyou?” His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “What’s his name?”

I frowned. “Why? You going to kill him?”

---