Four Fun (Four)

He glances at the shelf behind me and pauses for only a beat before reaching for a book. As he leans in to retrieve it, I catch the faint spicy scent of his skin.

“This … this was one of my favorites,” he says, thumping his hand on the cover of the historical romance, which features a man with long, dark hair whose blousy white shirt is open to his waist, exposing his tan chest.

“Really? What’s it about?”

The attractive stranger rubs his chin and looks back and forth between me and the book. “Well, you see, this man … he was on a lifelong quest to find the best barber in the land, because obviously — look at him, he has magnificent hair that requires care from only the very finest of hairdressers.”

I clap my hand over my mouth to muffle the giggles that I can’t contain.

“And this lady —” he says, pointing to the red-haired woman whose bosom is about to burst out of her green gown, “it turns out that even though she has no formal training, she is the one who is most skilled at cutting and styling his long locks, so his quest is fulfilled when he meets her.”

“Spoiler alert!” I cry, still laughing.

“Oh, and they live happily ever after,” he says.

“That sounds dreamy.” I take the book from him and add it to my stack.

The man frowns. “You’re not actually going to buy that, are you?”

“Why not?”

“I mean … I could just lend you my copy,” he says with a shrug.

I wipe a tear from my eye. “You’d do that? You don’t even know me, and you’d trust me with your favorite book?”

His eyes slide down my body, taking in my yellow sundress and sandals before returning to my face. “You look trustworthy enough.” He’d been keeping a straight face so far, but now he finally grins and holds out his hand. “I’m Khalil, by the way.”

“Khalil, the romance lover. Nice to meet you. I’m Becca.”

His rough, warm hand envelops mine as we shake. He holds on longer than is customary, his smiling eyes on mine the entire time.

“Since you’ve read all of these books already, what are you shopping for today?” I ask him.

“I’m looking for the science fiction section. Do you happen to know where it is?”

I nod. “I think I do. Follow me.”

“Are you done here? I don’t want to interrupt you,” he says.

Silly Khalil. Much as I love to look at covers, I’ll take a man in the flesh over a book any day.

6

The beauty of one-night stands

“I have a friend who writes science fiction stories,” I tell Khalil as we walk the short distance to the section he’s looking for.

“Really? Are any of their books here?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure they will be someday.” Caz is just getting started with her writing, but I have no doubt she’ll be a success.

“That’s great,” Khalil says, sounding encouraging.

“Are you looking for something in particular, or just browsing?” I ask. I sound like a store employee, but I’m not eager to say goodbye to this man I’ve just met.

“There’s a new release I want to pick up. Do you read sci-fi?”

“Not really, no.” Glancing around at the shelves, I see a lot of men on these covers, too, but they’re not nearly as good looking — or as naked — as in the romance section. “Are there any stories about people flying around in space looking for the best barber in the universe?” I ask.

Khalil’s head falls back as a laugh erupts out of him. His sense of humor has been distracting me, but I’m once again noticing his good looks. The man obviously works out. His muscle tone and definition are apparent through his shirt, and my hands itch to squeeze his shoulders to see if they’re as rock hard as they look. Also, I wonder how far the artwork on his forearms extends.

He catches me checking him out. “Would you like to get a coffee, Becca?” He gestures to the bookstore’s cafe with a tilt of his head.

I bite my lip, hesitating for a moment before deciding to go for it. “Do you have coffee at … your place?”

Even under the fluorescent lights, his eyes darken as they search my face. “I do. Do you want to go now?”

“Don’t forget your book,” I say.

“I can pick that up another time.” He says this in a funny way, like he’s only joking about how quickly he wants to leave, but I think he would run out of the door with me right now if he could. Instead, he finds his new release, and we wait in the checkout line together.

“Do you live far from here?” I ask.

“Only about five minutes.”

“I’ll follow you there.”

“Sounds good.” Khalil’s demeanor has changed. Mr. Funny Guy has been replaced by Mr. Smoldering Eyes, and I’m here for it. Now he looks even more like he stepped off of a romance cover.