Josie gulps and looks around, taking in the crowd—everyone’s talking and laughing, and the Irish band is playing a lively jig. There’s no way anyone could overhear us.

“No one’s paying any attention to the two nerds who brought a stack of books to the bar,” I tell her.

Josie shakes her head but opens her book. “Okay, but here’s the thing: I don’t read romance. So this probably isn’t even that steamy…”

“Then it shouldn’t be a big deal to read it.”

Josie’s eyes spark—she doesn’t like to back down from a challenge. Clearing her throat, she starts reading, her voice low. “A beam of moonlight through the window casts silvery shadows on his torso—shoulders, chest, abs—and the trail of darker hair that disappears into his waistband. Lust pools in my belly.”

She looks up, wide eyed. “This is ridiculous. Why can’t these authors just imply that sex happened and skip to the next scene?”

“Because it’s not just ‘insert tab A into slot B.’ Sex reveals things about a person that can’t be shown in any other way. It’s not just about the mechanics. And if you believe sex can be implied, as if it’s always the same and the details have no impact on the relationship…that might say something about how you think about sex.”

I’m getting worked up, so I grab my beer and take a long sip. When I set it down, I catch Josie’s face—she’s staring at my throat. Her comment as BookshopGirl pops into my mind, about watching a man’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Interesting.

Then she shakes herself. “I can’t read this out loud. I can barely read it in my own mind.”

“Come on,” I say.

Taking a deep breath, she looks at the page again. My pants grow tight in anticipation.

“He crawls over me until he’s caging me in with his arms, gazing down at me, and I’m desperate to feel him inside me.”

This isn’t even close to the most explicit book I’ve read, but the words on her lips, the urgent whisper of her voice—it’s so fucking hot. I’m rock hard, grateful she can’t see from her side of the table.

My foot inches forward until it comes into contact with hers. Her arch nestles against mine. Josie doesn’t move it away, but she stops reading and looks up at me. There’s a question in her eyes.

“Keep going.”

Josie bites her lip, then takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, calling my attention to the hint of cleavage I can make out in the V of her blouse.