Sunday I have to work, but the bookstore is empty. By the time I’ve finished sorting fiction for clearance and reorganizing the books around the register, I’m bored out of my mind. I already studied my notes on my phone at Carter’s last night, but with nothing else to do, I pull them out and start reading through them again.
“What’s a guy gotta do to get a little service around here?”
I smile at the sound of Carter’s voice and look up, clearing my phone screen and sliding it into the pocket of my jeans as I step toward the counter. “What are you doin’ here, troublemaker?”
“Checking out this hot cashier who works here,” he says, letting his gaze travel over my body. “Don’t tell my girlfriend.”
I play along, asking, “Is she a real ball-buster?”
“She’d kick my ass.”
Bracing my palms on the countertop, I lean in and give him a kiss. “All right, I’ll keep your secret. But only if you don’t tell my boyfriend. He’s fucking crazy.”
Carter chuckles against my lips before murmuring, “Damn right, he is.”
Since I shouldn’t really be kissing him at work, I pull back. There’s really no one around to see anyway. Even the manager went in the back to do paperwork, since no one is coming in to sell any books.
Not seeing Chloe anywhere, I ask, “No cute little sidekick today, huh?”
He shakes his head. “Didn’t think I’d need one this time.” Glancing around the empty aisles of books, he asks, “Has it been this dead all day?”
“Yep. I’ve done every bit of side work that belongs to me, and some that belongs to other people. I’m just watchin’ the minutes tick by at this point.”
“Why don’t you recommend me some books,” he suggests. “Surely a nerd like you has wet dreams about bookstore dates. Let’s squeeze one in since no one’s here.”
Rolling my eyes as I walk around to the outside of the counter, I tell him, “Whatever, you like my nerdy ass.”
Coming up behind me, he grabs my butt. “I sure do. And what was that thing you said to me last night?” he muses.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t say anything last night. Zero words were spoken by me.”
Playing along, he says, “No, there was something. Something about how you felt about me. An l-word?”
“Get your hands off my butt before you get me fired,” I say, pushing his hand away.
“You’re the only one in the store.”
“The manager is in the back, and we do have cameras.”
Carter glances up at the ceiling, checking to see where the cameras are pointed. “And he’ll fire you because a customer groped you?”
“Probably. This world is a fucked up place,” I tell him, shaking my head. Glancing back at him over my shoulder as I lead him toward the small Beats section where many of the books that make me think of him reside, I inquire, “Have you ever read Bukowski?”
“Nope. Should I have?”
“I have a feeling you might like him,” I tell him, leading him down to the end of the aisle, then squatting down to peruse the limited selection. “Tales of Ordinary Madness makes me think of you,” I add, pulling our single copy from the shelf. It’s a weathered copy with aged pages, but that’s okay. Handing it to Carter, I explain, “His writing style isn’t for everyone, but if you can get into it, my hunch is you might enjoy his stuff. I’m gonna be really basic here for a minute, but I also think you’d like Catcher in the Rye if you haven’t read it already.”
“If it hasn’t been assigned in class, I haven’t read it.”
“That has been assigned.”
“If it has been assigned in class, I also might not have read it,” he amends.
I shake my head disapprovingly. “You can’t rally girl your way through law school, you know? Someday you might actually have to do your own work.”
“Nah, doing all the work is for plebs. I’m a delegator,” he tells me, only half-joking.
“What’s your plan when you leave high school? Bang all your professors?”
“Only the lady professors.”
I wrinkle my nose up and turn to smack him in the abdomen. He smiles like a rogue, not even grunting from the impact. “This is why we’re getting divorced.”
“Because I’m charming?” he asks, innocently.
“Because you’re a rule-flouting whore,” I inform him. Turning on my heel, I lead him back through fiction toward Salinger. “Franny and Zooey is good, too. So is Nine Stories, actually. I bet you’d like Salinger.”
“Man, you jump tracks like a ninja.”
“My brain is sharp from all those years of doing my own work,” I tell him sweetly over my shoulder.
“Work smarter, not harder,” he offers back.
I shake my head, stopping and running my fingers down spines until I find what I’m looking for. “I have a hunch the real world is going to be quite an adjustment for you.”