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I set it back and follow him to the romance section.

“Give me a number.” He twirls a few times for no reason.

“Three.”

He gestures to the third shelf down. “Another.”

“Seventeen.”

His finger skims over the spines as he counts seventeen in from the end. “Darkest Desires.” He pulls it out and drops onto a dusty couch. “Sit. We’ll alternate reading chapters.”

I settle on the other end and extend my legs, overlapping them with his in the middle. “It has to be a romance? True love, happily-ever-afters aren’t exactly my jam.”

He finally slides off the shades to better glare at me. “Not everyone’s destined for soul-crushing love. The kind that creeps in and takes over from the inside out. For some of us, this is as close to happily ever after as we’ll ever be. Mine or someone else’s, real or fiction—I want to experience it.” He turns to the first page and glances up again. “Unless it’s that sweet, no-steam, only-holding-hands shit. I want, at minimum, one person to whip their dick out.”

“I say the same thing at the start of each day.”

He makes a face and digs his phone out of his pocket. “But first, we show the world how much fun we’re having.”

Once he’s updated every channel of social media available, we read about Daphne and Denton and their epic love threatened by her jealous stepfather and an unplanned pregnancy. A few chapters in, Marco becomes so enamored with the story, he takes over as permanent narrator.

“Denton still couldn’t quite place his finger on what about the dainty woman fascinated him; nevertheless, he knew precisely where he’d like to place his finger on her.”

As I settle back to listen, Dane texts. He sends an update every few days on what I’m missing. Pictures of Liam’s latest cooking attempt, videos of Keaton passed out in strange places, audio clips that share his most random thoughts. They are the reminders I never imagined I would want, but I wait for them.

Fuck, those heels do it for me. And the dress. And the body underneath. Thank Marco for thoroughly derailing my afternoon.

I check Marco’s feed, and sure enough, there I am, standing by the book bin, perusing discounted titles.

The two of them have been a part of each other’s online lives since Marco saw one of Dane’s messages on my phone. It was a review for a new toothpaste he’d started using, which he awarded four out of five Dane stars. To prove he was a verified purchaser, he included a picture of himself brushing his teeth. Shirtless, of course, and flexing, as one does while brushing their teeth. All smooth skin and hard muscles and foaming from the mouth.

Marco dubbed him The Great Dane and followed him on Instagram, hoping for more topless bathroom selfies. I’m sure he’s been disappointed with the half-eaten sandwiches and new-sock-Saturday posts.

The caption under Marco’s picture of me reads:Ewww, am I rite?I kick him, but he barely notices, too entranced with the words on the page in front of him. “He maneuvered gracefully through the crowd toward her, every inch of her body aware of every move of his.”

So much for being a gentleman,I reply.Illusion shattered.

Oh, baby, those were the respectable thoughts.

“He caressed her cheek, the touch jolting awake Daphne’s most sensitive flesh from hibernation. His words stoked the womanly desires already set ablaze, and she ached for this man deeply.” Marco fans himself with his hand. “Whoa.”

I fold my feet up underneath me before I send,What were the others?

Dress hiked up. Legs wrapped around me. That mouth moaning my name again.

“Denton’s fingers trailed down her bodice. Her body shivered in anticipation of where his exploration would lead him next as he pushed her legs apart.”

Dane:Want more?

I hate how fast I answer,Yes.

Wear those shoes to the engagement party. I’ll show you every single one.

“Daphne grasped Denton’s throbbing girth, desperate for his seed to—hey!”

I rip the book away and toss it on the floor. My phone too. Gently and onto a rug, but far enough away that I can’t reach it. Daphne is a bad influence. Or Marco. Or Portland in general because I can’t be trusted anymore when it comes to Dane Masters. Not even from a thousand miles away.

Iland in Phoenix lessthan ten weeks after I left. Keaton squeals before I even see her and bounds toward me. She hits hard, her arms locking around me.

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