Ryan’s face fills my mind, the sight of him kneeling between my legs, gazing up at me and confessing everything he’s fantasized about. It must have nearly killed him to step away. Yet, he did, because what he wants is something more, something deeper.

Am I brave enough to give that to him? I’m not sure, but I want to be. I want to have the courage to step out of my bookish little world and embrace the possibility of something real, even if it means risking my heart. Because continuing to let fear hold me back feels like the biggest risk of all.

“I think I know what I need to do,” I tell Georgia. “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime,” she says, smiling.

After saying goodbye, I pull up my chat with RJ, take a deep breath, and send a message.

BookshopGirl: I would really like to meet you. In person.

26

Ryan

She wants to meet me. In person.

Correction: she wants to meet RJ in person.

I wrap the towel tighter around my waist and toss the lotion back in my nightstand drawer. I can’t stop thinking about my view from between Josie’s legs, looking up at her perched on the counter, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

Stopping was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But thank god I did—it would’ve been worse if she’d sent RJ that message after we’d slept together.

I leave the message unanswered while I brush my teeth and get ready for bed. Bed, where I won’t be going anytime soon with Josie.

I wish I didn’t know how fucking perfect she tasted.

It was her moaning that ruined everything. Under normal circumstances, it would have turned me on, knowing she was enjoying herself, that I was doing a good job. But tonight, it brought me back to that conversation with BookshopGirl when she told me she was a quiet lover. Josie even brought up the stupid myth thing.

It screwed with my head, being intimate with Josie while I was thinking about BookshopGirl and she was thinking about RJ. Plus, I promised myself that nothing would happen between us until she knows the truth. So instead of fucking the smartest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met and living out my fantasy, my fingers (the very ones that were inside her just moments before) buttoned her blouse and walked her home.

I know she was hurt and confused—and so was I. It’s not like I’ve been exclusive with every woman I’ve slept with—but I’ve never known how deep and real a woman’s connection with the other person was. Because I’ve never also been the other person.