The Bookworm's Guide to Faking It (The Bookworm's Guide, #2)

by Emma Hart

  “That’s not fair,” Seb said, staring at her. “I did all the hard work.”

  “Don’t worry.” I got up to put her back to bed. “I’ll tell Ivy you were a superstar.”

  “Hey, if I’d left when you told me to, you wouldn’t have made that sale.”

  That was true. And it wasn’t like it was just one book. It was a ton of books, both for now and for next week when the next order came in.

  “All right.” I sat down and patted his thigh. Ooh. Solid. “Thank you. I really appreciate your help.”

  His eyes bore into mine. “That really hurt you to say that, didn’t it?”

  My nose twitched as I fought a laugh. “I don’t know what you mean.” My tongue stuck in the side of my cheek.

  Damn it!

  Seb grinned. “You did the tongue thing.”

  “I hate you for pointing that out.” I jabbed my finger in his chest and got up. I had no desire to wake Tegan, and I was mad he’d told me that because now I was super aware of it.

  “Oh, come on.” He followed me out, pulling the door closed behind him. “Admit it. You needed me just then.”

  I leaned against the counter and folded my arms. “I wouldn’t go that far. She would have come back. The woman has six kids.”

  “Six kids?”

  “Mhmm. Better her than me,” I added as an afterthought. “So no, I didn’t need you, but I do appreciate that you stayed to help.”

  “So… Are you saying you owe me one?”

  “Where could you have possibly gotten that from?”

  “I stayed to help.”

  “Sebastian.” I held my hands up in front of me. “Last weekend, I pretended to be your girlfriend and am now stuck in that same lie as it spread through town.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Yeah. Forgot about that.”

  “If anything, you owe me like, ten.”

  “How about I cook you dinner?”

  “A ploy to talk me into a date.”

  “No. It’s not a date. You’d know if it were a date.”

  “There’s no reason for you to cook me dinner except to corner me into another uncomfortable discussion I don’t want to have today.”

  “Dinner tomorrow?”

  “I’m busy.”

  “How about the next day?”

  “My God, you’re like a bad rash, aren’t you?” I picked up the baby monitor, made sure it worked, and headed for the storeroom. If the store was closed, I was going to make use of this time and sort some books.

  And if Sebastian was here, well, I’d put his muscles to work.

  No, don’t you look at me like that.

  All right, fine. I’d put his muscles to work so I could look at them. Happy now?

  As I’d suspected, he followed me through to the storeroom.

  “I’m not going to give up.”

  “I assumed as much,” I said dryly. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and help me move some of this stuff around and I’ll consider your offer?”

  “How heavy are the boxes?” He glanced around at the myriad of boxes that were in a mess and driving me nuts.

  “Well, they’re books, so I expect USPS to take each box and send it for less than ten dollars.”

  “Smartass. I can’t lift anything too heavy, remember?” He shrugged his bad shoulder. “I could hurt my shoulder and put my recovery back.”

  Shit. Of course.

  I sighed. “What’s the use of having a hot baseball player in my debt if I can’t even get him to move heavy shit around?”

  “I’m hot, huh? Why? Did you want to perv on me?”

  Looking over, I saw the glint in his eye. Yet again, he was baiting me. I’d slipped up in my last sentence, and he was trying to get me to do it again.

  Oh, screw this.

  WWTHD?

  What Would The Heroine Do? It was a question I had to ask myself. I happened to be reading a fake relationship romance, and I knew exactly what she would do.

  She’d play him at his own game.

  I wasn’t going to win by being awkward and a pain in the ass, and I really wanted to win.

  I didn’t know what I was winning or what the prize was, so this was a slightly dangerous game, but I wanted to win.

  “Yes,” I said, tilting my head to the side. “I did.”

  My change in attitude threw Seb for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “I can make that happen.”

  I waited.

  He pulled off his sweater and sat there in his tight white t-shirt.

  “What am I supposed to perv on?” I asked. “If you’re not moving anything, you’re just a hot guy in a t-shirt watching a girl do all the heavy lifting.”

  “I didn’t want to have to do this to you, but you leave me no choice.” He gripped the back of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head in one swift motion.

  Just like guys did in books.

  Swooooooon.

  “Is that better?”

  “If I said no, will you keep going?” I raised my eyebrows and pointedly glanced down at his crotch.

  He looked as if he were about to say something, but stopped himself, then smirked. “Either you’ve suddenly gotten sick or me holding that baby has addled your brain.”

  “Addled my brain? Settle down over there, Mr. Darcy, no need for fancy words.” I took the cheap laptop we used for stock taking and set it on the desk. “Can you work a laptop, good sir, or should I call for your horse?”

  He strolled across the room, deliberately slowly, and adjusted the belt of his jeans. My eyes dropped to his hands and, by definition, his lower stomach where those stupid ass ‘v’ lines were taunting me.

  “I think I can figure out a laptop, ma’am.”

  “It was fun ‘til you called me ma’am.”

  He clicked his tongue. “Yeah, kinda sucked all the joy out of it, didn’t it?”

  “Little bit.” I logged into the laptop and brought up the software. “It’s pretty simple. I have three boxes left from this week’s delivery that my delightful business partners never got around to doing—”

  “Probably because they knew you would.”

  “—So I’m going to call out the number, you type it in the search bar just here.” I tapped the screen. “And then I’ll count, and you just log how many copies there are right here.” Another tap. “Think you can manage that?”

  “Can I take it to the sofa?”

  I glanced at the sofa Saylor had just moved out here. Mostly so she could read while she was pretending to organize stock. “Sure. As long as you don’t mess up my stock intake.”

  “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “So don’t mess it up,” I repeated.

  “This was a terrible decision,” Sebastian muttered, moving to the sofa.

  “I know.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN – HOLLEY

  rule nineteen: fake it. even when you feel something real, fake it.

  “That’s the most tedious thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

  “It’s really not that bad,” I said, locking the store behind us. “And it only took that long because you messed up.”

  Seb huffed. “I did not mess up.”

  “You said we had ten thousand copies of A Night to Remember. We had three. I don’t even know how you did that.” I tucked the keys to the store in my purse and zipped up my coat. It was snowing again and it was way darker than I was happy with.

  Ivy and Kai had picked Tegan up almost two hours ago. Seb and I had been stuck in the back after he’d somehow managed to create an entirely new formula in the software that had it doubling and tripling all our stock, then he’d inserted a whole new product line of takeout cups.

  Don’t tell him, but I really liked that idea.

  And I was going to take credit for it, so.

  It’d taken me half an hour to find and restore the software to a backed-up version which, of course, had taken us right back to the beginning.

  We switched after that. He called the stock n
umbers and put books on the shelves. It was a smart choice. I was about ready to beat him with my laptop.

  “Okay, now you have to let me cook you dinner to say sorry for screwing up your day.”

  I stared at him. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  “Holley, I’ve just paraded around your stock room half-naked for the past three hours.”

  “And the problem is…”

  “You’re having dinner with me. I’m cooking.”

  “You can’t cook.”

  “I can cook.”

  “You used to burn fried eggs.”

  He paused as we reached his truck. “Well, I had to learn. I can make a mean lasagna.”

  “Garlic bread?”

  “What?”

  “Do you have garlic bread?” I asked.

  He hit the button on his key fob. “Yes. I think.”

  I sighed. “That’s a big risk, baller.”

  “Yes, I have it, and if I don’t, I’ll go buy some. How does that sound?” He opened the passenger side door. “Get in.”

  “What about my car?”

  “I’ll bring you back after dinner to get it.”

  I got into his truck. I was running out of things to stall him with. “Do you have anything I can use to make dessert?”

  “You’re going to bake?” he asked, starting the engine.

  “I can bake. I’m a very good baker,” I replied. “I just don’t always do it. It’s messy and, well, I could be reading in that time.”

  He slid his gaze over to me. His mouth pulled up into a half-smile, but he dragged his eyes back on the road as he pulled away.

  I sat back in the seat and looked out. It was snowing hard now, and I was glad I wasn’t driving. I probably would have walked home anyway, just because the visibility really sucked and I hated driving in heavy snow.

  Wow. Even the weather was working in Seb’s favor now.

  We didn’t speak as he drove us to his place. I hadn’t seen his house up close, but as we approached, I was surprised. It was smaller than I thought and had an adorable modern-slash-mountain cabin vibe that shouldn’t have worked in the way it did.

  “You look shocked,” he said as he pulled into the garage.

  “I thought you’d live somewhere bigger.”

  He turned in the seat and pointed his keys at the garage door. “I have a lot of land. It’s only me here, but there’s enough space for, you know. The future and stuff.”

  I nodded slowly and got out. It was a triple garage, so I wasn’t entirely sure ‘small’ was the correct word, but it was mostly storage in here. Boxes lined one wall, stacked so haphazardly I wanted to go over there and straighten them all up. A fake Christmas tree was still up like he’d just picked it up by the base and carried it out here. Two bikes, some skis, snowboards—all kinds of outdoor exercise equipment that made me want to tie myself to a chair and never ever go anywhere like that.

  “What?”

  “It’s a big garage for one truck,” I remarked.

  He met my eyes. “You want to sort those boxes, don’t you?”

  “So bad,” I admitted. “They’re really irritating me.”

  Seb took me by the upper arms and steered me toward a door. “Come on. Another time.”

  “But—”

  “Holley,” he said my name slowly.

  “It’s just an excuse to get me to come back!”

  “One hundred percent.” He laughed and pushed open the door.

  We stepped into a laundry room that was thankfully much neater than the garage. From there, I followed Seb into a kitchen that was twice the size of mine and then some. The dark granite counters were shining, and the white cabinets were a stark contrast and added some much needed brightness.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed. “I could live in your kitchen.”

  “If I knew that, I’d have brought you here before.” He grinned and opened the fridge, pulling out two bottles of water. “I have to make the lasagna from scratch, so it’s going to take a while.”

  “This seems like an elaborate ploy to get me to talk,” I said, opening one of the three eye-level ovens.

  “Yeah. You’re finally in my house, and that’s what I have in mind. Talking.”

  Was this another play him at his own game moment?

  It was. It was.

  Okay.

  I closed the oven and adjusted my glasses, peering over my shoulder. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  “I have a pool table,” he said, throwing me off. “Wanna play?”

  “Um, sure?” I removed my coat and winter items. “Is there somewhere to hang these?”

  “Hooks in the laundry room.”

  I took my things in there and hung them on one of the empty hooks. Turning around, I walked right into Seb who was doing the same thing.

  “Sorry,” I breathed, my face practically smooshed into his chest.

  “It’s fine.” He looked down at me, lips curved up. “You’ll survive.”

  “Mhmm.” I darted around him and back into the kitchen. “You need to help me find stuff to make dessert.”

  “I have to make dinner,” he said, coming back in after me. “I can’t chase your dessert around.”

  “I don’t know where anything is!”

  “There might be stuff to bake a cake in that cabinet.” He pointed in the general area of three cabinets.

  That narrowed it down.

  “This one?’ I opened the first one. It was full of pasta and spaghetti and other non-perishables.

  “No, that one.”

  “That one?” I opened a second only to find bottles of water all lined up in neat rows. “Ah. I like that one.”

  “Thought you might,” he muttered. “That one.”

  Finally following his direction properly, I saw the high cabinet he was talking about. “I can’t reach that, Sebastian.”

  He gave a long-suffering sigh and put down the onion. Before I could move, he was behind me, stretching up to the cabinet. It was so high that he was able to open it without the door so much as brushing the top of my head, but it could have beat me for all it mattered.

  Because his body was right against mine, and I was all but pinned to the lower cabinet doors.

  “What are you doing?” I breathed, trying not to focus on how his cock was pressing against my lower back.

  And getting harder.

  A lot harder.

  “Getting the baking box down,” he answered. “It’s at the back.”

  Sure.

  Sure.

  “You have a baking box?”

  He pressed his body fully into mine. “Got it.” He slid it out of the cabinet and pulled it down. “It’s technically not mine, it’s my mother’s.”

  “I don’t know if I want to use that.”

  “She put it there two months ago and forgot about it. Go wild.” He swung the door shut again and put the box on the counter, finally freeing me from being pressed against his penis.

  I swallowed hard and turned away so I could examine the box. He laughed, but I was going to pretend I didn’t hear him. He obviously knew he had the makings of a pretty serious erection and wasn’t bothered by it at all.

  That’s fine.

  Neither was I.

  Nope.

  Not bothered.

  Not at all.

  Ahem.

  I rifled through the box and pulled out all the ingredients for chocolate brownies. I was pretty impressed by the contents of the baking box, if I was honest. It was a cool spread, more than I had in my own kitchen.

  I side-eyed Sebastian. “This is your box, isn’t it?”

  “I told you. It’s my mom’s.”

  “The flour is open, baller.”

  “Fine. It’s mine.” He turned around with his hands on his hips. “I bake. Is that a problem?”

  I stared at him for a moment.

  Then I burst out laughing.

  “This was a terrible idea,” he muttered.

  “Ar
e you kidding? This is the best thing ever!” I laughed, leaning on the huge island where he was dicing garlic.

  “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “What do you mean? You baking cookies has to be the best thought that’s entered my head all day.”

  He paused in his dicing and peered up at me. “Really? Everything we’ve done today, and that’s what gets you?”

  “Do you have a little apron?”

  “Holley.”

  “Well? Do you? If not, can I buy you one for Christmas?”

  “I regret this wholeheartedly.”

  “Me coming here or admitting that you bake cookies?”

  “It’s not something I do a lot,” he said, returning to his garlic. “I used to bake with my grandma, and she passed some recipes down. I usually only do it for family stuff like Thanksgiving or Christmas or something. I don’t have a lot of time for it.”

  I put my forearms on the counter overhang and grinned. “How did I never know that?”

  “It’s not something I broadcast.”

  “Should I be doing the lasagna while you do the brownies, or…?”

  He tossed the garlic in the pan with the ground beef. “Go and bake your brownies, Holley, before I change my mind about having you as my dinner date.”

  “Dinner date, eh? I knew you had ulterior motives here.”

  “Me? Surely not.”

  “Mhmm.” I pulled all the baking stuff to the island and set out what I needed. “Where are your scales?”

  He pointed to the cabinet behind me. Thankfully, these were easier to find than the actual box had been. I pulled them out and set them done, then went hunting through all his other cabinets for mixing bowls.

  “Weren’t you just telling me this week to get out of your cabinets?”

  “Yes, but you were being nosy,” I said with my head stuck halfway into one corner cabinet. “I actually need things.”

  “What could you possibly need that means half your body is inside a cabinet and your ass is in the air?”

  “Is it a problem?”

  “Is what a problem? The fact your ass is in the air in the middle of my kitchen?”

  “If that’s the one you wanna go for, sure.” I moved to the next cabinet and repeated my position.

  “The only problem is that you’re doing it while still wearing pants.”