Page 46 of Presley's Christmas Catch
“Lincoln sayseveryoneis loving it.”
Brock finishes off his pizza slice. “Told you,” he says with a shrug.
I let it go. Maybe later I’ll push Brock to examine what he did for me today and what it means, but I still doubt that he has feelings for me. His actions today could be out of loyalty to our friendship. I’m not going to put myself out there again only to be embarrassed again. I need to be sure.
I can’t wait any longer to openVeil of the Queen. I pause for a moment to admire the shiny cover again. I’ve done that a couple times since we left the bookstore with our books in brown gift bags with The Sorcery Shop printed on them. Our tickets are tucked safely in my bag.
Lyra is depicted front and center of the cover, in an elaborate gown of shimmering gray and silver. She has a cloak that is swept out behind her and the hood hides most of her face, only her determined eyes peeking from behind its shadows. Kael is the second most prominent figure, standing behind her, decked out in his armor, hand on the hilt of his sword, and looking sexy with his long hair pulled back from his face.
This book has to be around a thousand pages long. Goosebumps rise up along my skin as I contemplate reading it. A new TOK adventure. I’ll get to read about Lyra and Kael and all the other characters for the first time again. It’s been so many years since I did that, over ten since I read book fifteen for the first time when it came out when I was in high school.
“It’s almost like a reverent moment, starting this one, isn’t it?” Brock says in a soft voice.
“Exactly.” My voice is a whisper. He feels like the only person in the world that gets it. So how can he not bemyperson?
I carefully lift the cover, studying the title page first. Even the title art is drawn beautifully, and I run my fingers over it. Brock leans toward me, and I turn the book so we can both admire it. Ifhe moves over to my side of the picnic table, we’ll likely tip it over.
The dedication is to Thornridge’s “patient fans,” which Brock and I both chuckle over.
“If you’re going to start reading this right now, you have to read aloud,” Brock says.
“I don’t think I want to start if I can’t spend a significant amount of time reading.” I stare at the first page, the words bleeding in even though I try hard not to let them.
Brock’s voice startles me. “‘The winds whispered of change, carrying with them the echoes of long-buried secrets, as the Obsidian Kingdom prepared for its reckoning.’”
I have to swallow back the words,If you don’t want me to fall in love with you, don’t ever do something like that again.I’m stunned into silence by how utterly sexy it is hearing him read to me. It conjures an image of him relaxing on my couch, like the night we watched a Christmas movie together, but with me leaning against his chest. I would have my TV playing one of those fireplace videos, because of course. He’s holdingVeil of the Queen, in one hand, which he can do because his hands are so massive, and his other is around me, his fingers playing with the ends of my hair.
My insides ignite.
“Presley?” Brock says, yanking me from the delicious daydream.
“Hmm?” I try my best to look innocent, but I’m pretty sure I was staring at him.
“You were staring at me…” he says. Okay, that confirms it.
“Uh, zoned out while you were reading. Have you ever considered being an audiobook narrator? I think you’d be good.” The words come out in a rush.
“Maybe once the football thing is over.”
“Good plan.” Or maybe I can convince him to read just for me. That’s totally a friends thing, right?
I look down at my watch to avoid eye contact with Brock. I’mafraid of what’s written in my face, and if he sees too much, he might run away from me again. This whole day is dangerous for the state of our friendship, and I should have known that. “Should we head back over early?” I suggest. “Just so we don’t repeat this morning’s fiasco. I mean, we have tickets, but now that word is out that Brock Hunter loves TOK, there could be a riot.”
He scoffs, but his expression is amused. “Good idea.”
We gather up our lunch garbage and head back to the bookstore. I give Brock back his jacket once we’re walking and I warm up. Besides, I have to pretend it was about warmth and not … more. I’m grateful for the brisk air against my face hopefully chasing away any heat that lingered after my silly daydream. I need it to clear away my thoughts. They aren’t helping anything.
Unless I’m right about him not recognizing his feelings.
I mentally bat that away too. Not helpful right now.
There is a crowd at the bookstore but mostly outside. A man stands at the door, and he would probably look beefier if I wasn’t standing next to a pro-football lineman. This man is a few inches taller than me, almost six-foot maybe, but stocky and muscled.
“Are you here to buy books?” he asks. “Or to stalk Brock Hunter?”
Brock covers laughter with a cough, but not quickly enough. The guy looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. And yet … no recognition.
So I say it. “Well, thisisBrock Hunter, and we’re here for the meet and greet with Mr. Thornridge.” I show him the tickets from my bag.
