Page 58 of The Likelihood Of You

He chews on his lip for a second before squeezing my waist, less gentle this time. “I’ll keep that in mind. But the bookstore idea?”

“It’s perfect.” I feel my smile glow, before his hands slip down my dress, and his feet take him away.

We start to float our way around the aisles together. We don’t speak, not for a few minutes at least, but it’s far from being uncomfortable. It’s welcomed, actually. He’s a few paces ahead of me, picking up a book every now and then, while I trail behind him, admiring how sexy he can make leaning against a dusty bookshelf look.

“How do you know her?” I ask him, pulling him away from the words of the blurb he’s reading.

“She gave me some part-time hours when I first moved here. When my auditions were going nowhere and I needed some extra cash to stay afloat. We clicked instantly, like she was my spirit guide or a guardian angel or something equally crazy. I don’t know.” He pulls himself off the shelf and places the book back into the gap where he’d taken itfrom before turning to me. “I didn’t take off as quickly as Nate; being here was an escape. I could read my way out of remembering how bad an audition went that day. And JoJo was always there with advice and an Altoid on hand. Even when I booked my first role, she was still supportive, even without me working here. I’ve always made time to come and see her, maybe haggle her for a few books too.” We both laugh at that. “We’re good friends.”

“That’s lovely.”

A few moments pass before he speaks again. “I have an idea; why don’t you go find me your favourite book, and I’ll look for mine. Then we’ll read each other’s.” His eyes got wide with excitement, triggering my smile. “Up for it?”

“Uh-huh. I’d love to.”

“Well, get finding because I’ve already thought of where we’re going next.”

“Oh yeah? Where?”

A smirk crowned on his mouth. “I’ll tell you when a book’s in my hands.”

Without thinking, I grabbed a random book from the shelf next to me and placed it into one of his hands, a proud smirk landing on my face as I did. “There you go. Now, can you tell me?”

He looks down at the book and then back at me, biting his bottom lip softly. “Smartass.” he sucks in a breath, and I can see him trying to muster up the patience my new attitude is eating away at. “Go get your favourite book, then I’ll tell you.”

I wanted to be a smartass. “How do you know that’s not my favourite? I actually love that book. So nowcan you—”

My words were cut off by his hand and how it cupped my chin and titled it to the sky, so I had no choice but to let my eyes fall to his, which had darkened, and made that dull fire deep in my stomach start to spit embers and roar again.

“Go and find your favourite book, baby.” He whispered, his breath hot and steady, tracing my skin and making it burn so sweetly.

I nodded, but just when I thought this little charade was over, I felt his thumb graze my bottom lip, teasing me, luring me into a territory we hadn’t trekked across yet…but one that, thanks to my imagination that just wouldn’t quit, I knew I wanted to.

“Good.” He muttered as he let go of me, placing the book back on the shelf before turning away and disappearing onto another aisle.

It didn’t take us long to find our books and exchange them with each other. He ended up giving me a copy of4.50 from Paddingtonby Agatha Christie, while I found him a stunning hardback copy ofThe Daughter Of Timeby Josephine Tey.

We head to the counter, where Jacob left a $50 note next to the register for the books and a tote bag with Josephine’s logo printed on the front to carry them. As we exit the store, turning on the ‘closed’ sign and leaving the door on the latch, I ask him, “Can I know where we’re going now you have my book?”

He looks at me as we find ourselves back on the steps, the frosty November air capturing us, and that same devilish look in his eyes I’d seen once or twice before coming back to life. “No.”

“Jacob Emerson, you’re impossible,” I say, lightly digging my elbow into his side and putting no effort into hiding my laughter. He returns a husky laugh, before grabbing my hand, interlocking our fingers, and slipping my glasses back on.

“Dirty Pretzels?”

“You say that like I’ve taken you around the back alleys to eat from the trash cans.”

I didn’t mean for it to come out like I was offended he brought me here. I just assumed that our next stop would be another hidden gem or angelic lookout. This was far from where I thought he’d take me. Not that I was ungrateful, Iwasgetting hungry, so this was kind of a genius spot. And after scanning the chalkboard attached to the side of the pretzel truck displaying the menu, it became clear why he liked this place.

“Are you aware that you and Nate have pretzels named after you?”

He looked down at me with a smile that answered my question better than words could. “We came here the night we agreed to be roommates. We wanted to see Times Square, but it was so busy that we bailed. As we were heading back to the Subway, we stopped here for a bite and got to know Sal.” He pointed up to the silver truck, and I followed the direction of his finger, which led me to one of the guys hanging the pretzels. His name badge said ‘SAL’.

“We got talking about why we came to New York, about how we both wanted to become actors. Sal told us that he’d had the same conversation with millions of other guys and gals just like us, coming to New York for a shot at making it big time. But we were confident,and let’s face it, cocky twenty-two-year-olds, so we made a bet with him that if we got famous, he’d create and name some pretzels after us.”

I look at the board again.

‘THE NATE PATRICKS’ and ‘THE JACOB EMERSON’.

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