Page 24 of Accidental Blind Date
“I have to take this,” I say, making my way out. “But we will be in touch.”
As I head towards my car, I debate just calling instead of texting but suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me, hot on my heels.
“Dax, wait.”
I stop abruptly and Libby almost runs into me.
“Libby listen…”
“No, you listen. We have a new set of rules. Nonnegotiable. One, last night, never happened. We don’t talk about it, we don’t mention it, and sure as hell never act on it. Two, my brother can never know.”
“Isn’t that kind of implied with rule number one?” I ask and her eyes literally set ablaze.
“I mean he will kill you if he even sees you flirting with me.”
For some reason that I am unsure of, the statement makes me laugh. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on flirting with you.”
Immediately, I regret the way it comes out because Libby flinches ever so slightly.
“What I mean is, it was a one and done. Working together doesn’t change that,” I explain.
“Obviously. A lot of things haven’t changed it seems. A lot of things aren't what they seem at all. But you hear me– this shop might not be able to compete with a Hemingway. And it might mean nothing to my brother without a big name on the door. But it is everything to me. It was my father’s dream and now it is mine. And you can wave your fat wallet all you want, but if the ship is going down, I’m going down with it.”
Chapter 6
Libby
“Who changes their name on a dating app?” I ask my co-workers while popping a chocolate chip in my mouth.
“A lot of people, I think,” Summer says, grabbing a peanut. We are standing behind the counter eating trail mix (well, I’m eating all the chocolate chips, they’re eating trail mix) and watching Dax as he peacocks around the store like he owns the joint. He doesn’t. Not fully. Not yet.
“People who just want to hook up and don’t want anyone to know who they actually are,” Tom adds, pulling his glasses from his face to clean them on his faded band shirt.
“Creeps, that’s who,” I answer my own question, grabbing more chocolate. Then a scoff. “Jax. What kind of fucking name is that? If you’re going to change your name, change it to something that doesn’t sound like your real name. He wasn’t even creative about it.”
Summer and Tom know the truth. I fucked the man who is now my boss. Neither of them have ever been Kai fans (understandably) so the whole ‘take this to your grave’ clause was implied as soon as we all figured out the Jax is Dax and Daxton Hemingway of Hemingway Books.
“What is he even doing right now?” Tom asks after putting his glasses back on. His thick, chaotic eyebrows are stitched together. They’re as unruly as his curly brown hair. Between that, his lanky arms and his cardigan, he is the epitome of a thirty-three-year-old English major turned book seller.
Dax is staring at the beams in the ceiling of my shop.
“He’s probably looking to see if those beams are weight bearing,” Summer says.
I’m tempted to give him a sledgehammer and let him find out.
A woman approaches him. “Excuse me sir, do you have any books about juicing?”
Dax looks down at her as if he doesn’t speak English. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Juicing. My husband and I bought a juicer this weekend. Blue dot special at Zansky’s and–”
“Just a second,” he cuts her off and looks over at us, waving his arms.
“That’s a customer,” I call out. “You should help her.”
Dax’s eyes narrow as the woman keeps talking about celery and dragon fruit and seeds that get stuck in your teeth. Meanwhile, I grab more chocolate chips and grin.
“Are you sure he works in book sales?” Summer asks.
