“Why not?”

“She didn’t think it would be appropriate.” He picks up one of the books, flipping through the pages.

“She probably heard all the rumors about you.” I smile. “Smart decision.”

“Funny. She never knew my name, though.”

“Wait a minute.” I raise my eyebrow. “How were you friends with her if you never met?”

He looks as if I’ve stepped on a nerve, so I think of a way to change the subject.

“We wrote notes to each other in the margins of books,” he says. “It was a joke at first, but she kept writing me back.”

“What?” My entire world shifts under my feet and I suddenly can’t breathe.

“I don’t think she was ever planning to give me a real chance…” He’s talking to himself more than me right now. “She turned me down whenever I brought it up.”

I squint at the note that sits next to the book stacks. It’s a simple, “You deserve nice things,” and the words are penned in the distinct handwriting that I’ve come to love.

There’s no way…

“She also preferred tragedies over romance for some odd reason.”

“This can’t be true.” The words tumble out of my mouth as I look over at the spines again, rereading their titles, feeling my heart fluttering wildly.

“I found that to be odd as well,” he says. “I felt like I could tell her anything in my notes. Well, almost anything.”

“How long exactly were you writing her?” I ask, still not wanting to accept that my book friend has been with me this entire time. That it’s him.

“Over two years…I always signed off my letter as—”

“Your Only Friend,” I interrupt him. “And I was Your Only Friend Too…”

He immediately looks up from his book.

Tears prick my eyes as I watch him come to the same realization as me, and my heart is seconds away from jumping out of my chest.

“For what it’s worth, I did try to meet you.” My voice is faint. “I told you where to meet me, and what I’d be wearing.”

“I know.” He steps closer to me. “I missed you because I was kidnapping someone else that day….”

“Well, I guess that’s the end of that mystery, then. I guess I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about you after all.”

“Belle?” he asks, slipping an arm around my waist, pulling me so close that my breasts are flush against his chest.

“Yes?”

“Stop talking.”

He pulls me down to the carpet, his lips owning mine, tears falling from my eyes. I can feel his cock hardening between us, and I slide my hand over it, but he doesn’t make a move to do more.

“I’ll fuck you later,” he whispers. “I have two years worth of kissing your mouth to make up for first…”

Panting, he rolls me on top of him. “Is there anything else I need to know about you?”