Now, she just gives me a polite nod and murmurs, “Nice to meet you.”
Yeah… she has no clue who I am, which means she’s not a hockey fan. It isn’t all that surprising. While the Vengeance coming to Phoenix last year generated immense buzz and excitement, not everyone is a fan. I saw a recent article that said TV viewership for the final Cup championship game was at 2.9 million. Contrasted to the 19.3 million people who watched the Game of Thrones finale, it’s obvious professional hockey is a niche.
Clarke jolts me from my thoughts by turning to face me.
“Is this a formal wedding or something a bit more casual?” She holds up two different rolls of paper. I’m assuming one is fancy and the other isn’t, but fuck if I can tell the difference.
“It’s going to be an outdoor wedding, so I’d say maybe casual.”
“Got it,” she replies, attention returning to the wine opener. As she works at removing the price tag and wrapping it, I prattle on, which is weird for me. “It’s kind of a spontaneous type thing. The couple is engaged, and they were going to do something bigger, but they had an accidental pregnancy, and decided to just go for it.”
“Oh, good for them,” she intones, and I can feel the smile in her words. “And, honestly, if they already have a wine opener—and chances are they do—it’s always good to have a backup.”
With the package wrapped, she starts to ring up the purchase. A surge of panic hits me when I realize that, once this exchange is complete, I’ll be expected to walk out that door with a wrapped wine opener under my arm—which I don’t need—and this gorgeous woman but a memory.
I struggle to think of anything to get our conversation where I need it so I can make a move. Ask her out and arrange something.
Fuck, this is hard.
I suppose it comes with the territory of being nothing but a playboy who prefers to hop from bed to bed. Also, it’s a bit of an issue that I often rely on my looks or fame to get me where I’m going. Most of my hookups happen after games or in bars where literally dozens of puck bunnies throw themselves at me, and it’s just a matter of choosing the one I’m most attracted to.
“What kind of books do you sell?” I blurt out.
Clarke blinks those dreamy eyes, her auburn brows drawing inward slightly as if that’s the weirdest question for a bookstore owner to get. “Um… a bit of everything, really. And if I don’t have what you’re searching for, I can easily get it for you. Something in particular you need?”
And… another dead-end conversation.
I haven’t read a book in years.CHAPTER 2ClarkeIf the man weren’t so damn attractive and easy on the eyes, I’d wind the conversation down so he’d leave. Just because he’s about the best-looking thing I’ve ever seen doesn’t mean he’s a good person, and I know better than anyone that looks don’t have a damn thing to do with what’s inside.
On the contrary, it’s probably a good indication he’s an egotistical asshole.
At least in my experience, which is proven and true.
And God… he’s a bit weird. Struggling to come up with conversation, appearing a bit nervous, and with behavior that’s just downright awkward. If he weren’t so polite, I’d actually be feeling a little wary, but, as it is, I think he’s just weird.
“Actually… I don’t have much time for reading these days,” the man says in response to my question about books. What did he say his name was? Ervin? Allen?
Aaron?
My eyes do a quick rake over his body. He’s clearly what I’d peg as a part-time jock. He’s wearing high-end athletic gear for his run. His watch is expensive-looking, which means he makes a good living—maybe a financial advisor? One of those guys who likes to stay in shape, so he looks good in his three-piece suit. I bet he’s a member of an exclusive country club where he golfs five days a week and probably plays flag football on the side.
I give him a polite smile, because I want to roll my eyes at anyone who says they don’t have time to read. If a person loves books the way I do, they’ll find time to read. If they don’t read, it’s because they don’t like to do it, which makes them something of a moron in my mind.
I mean… who doesn’t like books? They give knowledge, elicit tears or laughter, and transport people to faraway places.
The dude is definitely weird.
“I’ll go ahead and get this rung up—”
“Another wedding,” he blurts out, then slaps his forehead as if he’d just remembered something critical to life on earth. “I actually have another wedding weekend after this, and I’ll need a gift for that. And come to think of it, one in July, too. So I’ll need two more.”