Page 43 of Crave Thy Neighbor

She steps into the space, her jaw dropping.

“Wow.” The word comes out a whisper. “I was not expecting this.”

I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest as she takes in the eight shelves lining the back wall, each full of books.

I’ve wanted my own library for years, and having this space is a big reason I said yes to this apartment, even though it was bigger than I had planned to go.

The first thing I did when I moved in was set up this room. I built my bookshelves and got my books out of those awful boxes they’d been in for far too many years, then took my time finding the perfect reading chair and lamp to complete the space.

It’s not much, but it’s mine.

“What? Big, dumb welder can’t read?”

She side-eyes me. “I didn’t say that. I’m…surprised you have so many books.”

I shrug. “It’s not that many.”

“It’s eight full shelves. That’s a lot more than most people.”

I push off the frame, stalking into the room. I crouch in front of the shelf farthest away, the one that has some space when I move a few books around. “They aren’t full…yet.”

“So, you’re a big reader, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Have you always been?”

“No.” I push to my full height again. “I used to be absolute shit in school and could barely read for a long time. It wasn’t until Dean caught on to my lack of reading comprehension skills and named himself my official tutor that I got better at it. I’m still not the best reader, but it doesn’t hold me back like it used to.”

What I don’t tell her is I used to love it when my mom read to me, and it was my favorite thing in the world…until she left.

After, I didn’t give a shit about reading anymore, and it’s the reason I fell so far behind.

She stares up at me, and the surprise in her eyes is evident.

I’m not embarrassed by the fact that I struggled with reading, but it’s not something I talk about often either.

“What’s your favorite book?”

“It’s kind of a silly one.” I walk over to the shelf that has my favorites and pluck the book from among the others. “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobeby C.S. Lewis. Sure, it’s a little juvenile, but it’s the first book I finished in one sitting.”

She takes the book from my hands, running her perfectly manicured fingers over the tattered front cover. There’s a smile tugging at her kissable lips.

“It’s not juvenile. It’s…sweet.” She giggles. “Which is kind of a funny word for you.”

“Because of the big, dumb welder thing?”

She rolls her eyes, then slips the book back into its spot.

Her hand lands on my chest, patting it twice, and I swear I feel her touch down to my fucking toes. “We’ll go with that.”

I glance down at where her hand rests on my chest, and her eyes follow the movement.

Like she’s only now realized she’s touching me, she withdraws her hand like she’s been holding it on top of a hot stove and takes my breath right with it.

If she heard, she gives no indication.

What kind of idiot gets riled up over a pat?

---