The Bookworm's Guide to Dating (The Bookworm's Guide 1)

They all laughed.

“Oh,” Kinsley said, looking at me. “Um, would you give me a ride home?”

I blinked at her. I opened my mouth to tell her no, but instead what came out was, “Sure. If you leave now.”

Like a pro, she downed the rest of her wine and put the empty glass down. “Thanks. Holley, I’ll text you when that shipment arrives tomorrow.”

“Should be by ten. Let me know if you need help with it.”

She waved her hand and slid out of the booth ahead of me. “I’ll be fine. Have fun.”

I bade them goodbye and beat Kins to the door, holding it open for her. “Are they staying?”

She nodded. “I left the store early tonight so I could get ready for my date, and they’re both supposed to be off tomorrow. Holley’s just panicking because we’re getting a big delivery of books and her inner control freak won’t let it go.”

“Inner control freak? I don’t think she’s containing it very well,” I said, letting go of the door.

She laughed, the same laugh she’d given Elliott earlier tonight. The laugh that had reared my little green monster. “I know, but nobody really wants to point it out to her. It’s just the way she is, but me and Say aren’t control freaks at all, so she keeps us on the straight and narrow.”

“Well, you’re the awkward introvert, so what’s Saylor? The rebel? Is she going to have a bright purple mohawk next time I see her?” I unlocked the truck and got the door for her again.

“Rebel is a little too far. Rebels don’t hide in libraries from bullies. They punch the bullies.” She hopped in.

“You’ve just been telling me about how dangerous books are. Don’t tell me you’ve never smacked a bully with a book before.” I closed the door and rounded the front of the truck and got in the other side. “Well?”

She mulled it over while I started the engine. “Once. It was seventh grade and Charlie Fisher was teasing me about being the only kid in the class who got full marks on the reading test that morning.”

“Really? Not even Holley and Saylor?”

“I don’t think I was in the same class as them that year. Anyway, I was trying to read and it was getting to the good bit. He wouldn’t leave me alone and actually kept tugging on my hair and touching my leg, so I whacked him. In the face. With my hardback.”

“Did you break his nose?”

“Does it matter?”

“For my personal safety, yes. Just trying to ascertain how far away I should be from you when you have a hardback book in your hands.” I glanced over at her and caught her smiling at me.

It was one that reached her blue eyes, making them shine.

Stupid fucking smile.

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Yep. I was hauled to the principal’s office, and when my mom showed up, she asked him what the hell he thought he was doing to a girl who was clearly defending herself against unwanted attention from a male student.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Woah.”

“Yeah. She basically talked him around in circles until he admitted he’d made a mistake, and as long as I knew that it wasn’t acceptable to hit people with books, he’d be calling Charlie’s father in immediately.”

“What did your mom say?”

“Nothing. I told him I understood it was unacceptable, but if he did it again, I’d hit him harder. He didn’t know what to say to it, so he sent me back to class with a sigh.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. That was such a Kinsley thing to do—behind her quiet, introverted exterior, there was a strong hardass who didn’t take any shit.

Which was probably why she struggled with dates so much.

“Is that why you hate dating?” I said as I pulled up outside her house.

“What? How is that even remotely related to this conversation?”

“You’re all soft and nice and quiet on the outside, but on the inside, you don’t take any crap from anyone.” I looked over at her, my hand still resting on the steering wheel.

She peered down at her hands in her lap. “I guess. Maybe people think I’m a pushover, and when they realize I’m not…”

“They realize you’re not the kind of woman they’re looking for.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know what goes on in people’s heads, and I’m definitely not going to change myself to fit someone’s idea of what makes their perfect partner. And that’s that.”

I stared at her. “I know. And when you find the person whose perfect partner is you, and he gets to have you, he’s going to be one lucky motherfucker.”

She jerked her head up. Her eyes met mine, and a mixture of uncertainty and shock danced in the blue of her irises. Her full lips parted just enough that she could draw in a sharp breath.