Page 4 of The Best Book Boyfriend
Give me a recommendation.I should know the answer, but I’m usually preaching to the converted. It’s a big mission to convert a non-believer to the church of love and lust. I whipped my book journal out of my bag and flicked through to the list of books I’ve read this year. Where should an ignorant man begin with romance novels?
I couldn’t recommend anything too obvious and predictable. It had to surprise him. And nothing too sexy. You have to work your way up the spice levels, though lord knows my tolerance for heat in books is off the charts these days. I also couldn’t go too twee; no cupcake baking, small town, nanny-next-door vibes. I didn’t even know this man. Maybe a hockey romance? Cowboys? Race Car drivers? Mafia, possibly. After the queue went down, he came back and took the seat opposite me with a coffee of his own.
“Can I sit here?”
The arrogance of this man.“Bit late to ask when you’re already sitting.”
He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “I’m not making a very good impression, am I?”Why is he trying to make a good impression?When I didn’t answer, he filled the silence before it turned awkward. “So have you got something for me?”
“Not yet. I need to have a think about what would be the absolute best romance to change a terrible man’s opinion.”
“Ooft,” he said, his breath whooshing out, “that stings. I’ll accept your challenge that it may be a terrible opinion, but I’m not a terrible man.”
“I won’t apologise for being defensive about my favourite thing.”
“You have nothing to apologise for. I can tell you love these books.”
“I do.”
“So tell me why.” He sat back and took a sip of his coffee and I knew at that moment I wasn’t going to get any more reading done. “I’m sorry, again, for underestimating the genre. I really am open to being convinced. Come on, sell it to me.”
“I suppose the thing about romance is that there are so many different kinds. There’s a trope for everyone, so no matter your mood, there’s a book to match.”
“What’s a trope?”
“Like a common theme. One of my favourites is Enemies to Lovers. Perhaps you’ve got two colleagues who hate each other, or they’re rival lawyers, or he’s a bastard, but only because he can’t be vulnerable enough to reveal his true feelings. Secretly, they both can’t stop thinking about each other. Fake Dating is a fun one because it’s so ridiculous.”
“How so?”
“It’s so unrealistic but it makes for a great plot. Maybe a successful career woman has to go home for her brother’s wedding and she needs a plus one, so she ropes in her best friend, or hires a male escort. Either way, they obviously end up sleeping together.”
“Obviously,” he said, smiling. My eyes fell downward, and I noticed he had immaculate but big hands. His coffee cup looked half the size of mine in them. And no wedding ring.Why do I care?I had thought this guy was grumpy and rude, but in just a few minutes, I was reconsidering my position. He was actually quite charming, and attentive, and there was definitely some depth to the way he carried himself... and... and I’d lost track of how long it had been since he last spoke.
“Only One Bed trope!” I snapped out of my trance. “The love interests have to stay over somewhere, but there’s only one hotel room left and only one bed. He insists he’ll sleep on the floor, she says it’s fine,but you’d better not try anything. They fall asleep as far apart as possible on opposite sides of the bed, but you just know by morning they’ll wake up wrapped around each other, embarrassed but unable to deny the chemistry between them. What’s not to love about that?”
I was practically swooning as I remembered the spicy scenes inI Do, I Don’t, a marriage of convenience novel I read last month. “Then you’ve got the classic rags to riches story, an average girl getting swept off her feet by a sexy billionaire.”
“Like50 Shades of Grey?”
“Yes!” my brow furrowed, and I paused to take a breath and a sip of my coffee. “You’ve read it?”
“No, but I’m familiar with the phenomenon. I used to volunteer in a charity shop and we got about thirty copies a week in.”
“Oh wow. I could never give my books away. That’s very kind of those that do.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. We had so many copies of that one we had to turn them away after a while.” He seemed to get stuck on a thought. “Wait... so is this book you’re reading basically porn? Are you reading porn in my cafe?” He shakes his head, tutting. “This is supposed to be a classy place.”
“No, it’s not porn,” I scolded, my tone defensive, my voice a shade too loud. I glanced around to make sure nobody was staring at me before leaning in and lowering my voice. “OK, it is a bit steamy, but in a very classy, accessible, diverse way.”
“OK, sure,” he smirked.
“Look, I know these books have a particular reputation. People think they’re cheesy and full of stereotypes, but things have changed. A lot of what I read flips gender roles, the characters have relatable issues, there’s plenty of Boy Meets Boy or Girl Meets Girl. And they’re mostly written by women for the female gaze so they understand what women want.”
“The female gays?” he asks. “Lesbians?”
“No, not gays, gaze. G.A.Z.E.”
“What’s that then?”
