Wylde (Arizona Vengeance 7)

I don’t make a rich living off this bookstore, and let’s be honest, most of the money I make is from the products I sell other than books. People nowadays are reading on tablets and phones or listening to audio versions. There’s just not a lot of the same demand for tangible book products as there used to be, but I love having this little independent slice of heaven for those purists who still flip pages as they read.

The bell on the door jingles as they leave, and I move out from behind the counter to once again start tidying things up.

The door opens again, bells merrily chiming, and I turn to welcome my next customer.

It’s a physical jolt to my body to see Aaron Wylde there, all casual, confident, and totally hot.

Totally out of my league.

He has on a pair of cargo shorts, a navy t-shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. His wavy blond hair flops boyishly over his forehead, and there’s a layer of stubble across his jawline.

I hadn’t heard from him after our wedding date on Saturday other than a text from him later that night asking if I’d made it home okay. When I’d replied I had, he’d merely responded with…

Awesome. I’ll see you next Saturday. More info to come.

It had rankled me a bit, to be honest, that it was all I got from him. In fairness, I knew I had not given him any indication to believe I was interested in him in any way, and, to be clear, I am not.

But he’d been so insistent on going out with me—to the point of practically entrapping me into a date—that I expected more effort. That got me to thinking that maybe there’s just nothing special about me, so he was taking me saying I wasn’t interested at face value.

Which I am most certainly not.

Still, it plays with a girl’s confidence.

I’m stunned to see him in my store, just out of the blue. Three days after last seeing him without any communication.

Not that I expected any, because no way am I interested.

Sure… I’ve thought about him some.

A moderate amount, actually.

Playing over and over in my head everything he’d said, every action he took, on the last Saturday we spent together. I searched my memory and overanalyzed the situation, trying to locate the tell-tale signs of what I termed to be Famed Douche Affliction.

That disease or defect by which people suffering from an unmitigated case of being an asshole because they feel entitled to be such, be it by way of fame or wealth.

I couldn’t see it within Aaron, but to be fair he would have been on his best behavior.

Maybe I’ll see it now.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, but not in a snotty, unwelcoming way. In a truly surprised, slightly awed kind of way, which is how I’m feeling in this moment.

His teeth flash, expression teasing. “I missed you, too.”

“Never said I missed you,” I quip.

“Maybe not, but I happen to know I’m incredibly charming and funny. I’m sure you missed me just a bit.”

“’Fraid not,” I reply, struggling not to let my lips curl in amusement. He is funny and charming… I’ll give him that.

“Actually,” he says, turning slightly away from me and facing the bookshelves. “I thought I would come in to purchase a book. I really should make more time for reading.”

Aaron walks away, disappearing down the first aisle.

I feel compelled to call out to him in warning, “If you’re saying that thinking it will help you get in my pants, I’m telling you it won’t.”

He makes a scoffing sound, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“Need any help?” I ask. Taking a few steps his way, I’m completely unsure as to what to do. If he were an ordinary customer, I’d follow him down the aisle and make a resounding offer of help.

He’s not ordinary, though, and I don’t want him thinking I’m intrigued in any way.

“I’m good,” he calls back, firmly letting me know he does not need or want my attention right now.

Totally confusing.

I resolve myself to ignore his presence—yeah, right—and move to the opposite side of the shop to tinker with shelves laden with picture frames of all shapes and sizes. I move them around, shifting some forward and others back. Totally useless and unneeded work, my ears straining to hear anything from where Aaron is perusing the books.

I finally decide to do something productive, moving back behind the checkout counter to where my laptop is located. After firing it up, I open my inventory report and start making a list of things I need to order.

After about ten minutes, Aaron eventually comes out from the stacks, holding a book. I can’t get a good enough look to identify it. He strolls over to the little reading corner I’d set up, settling down into one of the cushiony chairs there.