Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I tucked my phone away, feeling better about being away knowing that nothing was going on without me, and browsed around a couple of the merch stands, pulling my naked man cart behind me. It was full. Actually, it was over-full. Books were piled halfway up the handle part, wobbling ominously. I got a few heavyweight totes to load them up, knowing it was too much to carry when we left, bought Reese a small surprise, and returned the cart before going to wait for her outside the panel room doors.
I was right, too.
There were seven more things she needed to see before the announcement came that Bookjam was over.
I walked out of that building with the happiest woman on earth on my arm.
In turn, I was the happiest man.
I had never realized it worked like that before.
Apparently, Reese had things to show me about the world as well.
THIRTEEN
Reese
Have you ever had a day that was so amazing, so full of all the best things, that it trumped literally every book you have ever read put together?
Don't feel bad if you haven't.
I hadn't either until I got to have a full day of Cyrus treating me to all the things that I loved most. Books, authors, swag, food, toe-tingling kisses, and, well, him.
Yes.
I was going to go ahead and say it.
Maybe it was still in the beginning stages.
Maybe it was just a flicker of something, still younger than noon.
But it was there.
There was no denying it, even if I wanted to. And, why would I ever want to?
I was falling for him.
Slowly, but quickly, somehow at the same time.
I guess it worked that way when you were in friend-love with someone first.
I had weeks of being near him to like his humor, his easy smile, his sparks of wisdom, his passion for music, his loyalty to his brotherhood and family, his sweetness. I got to know all his preferences, all his pet peeves.
So, really, now that we were more than friends, there wasn't that much to learn, wasn't much more to fall in love with. Except maybe how good he was to me.
And he was good.
Exceptional.
Incredible.
I bet the rate of divorce in the world would plummet if couples surprised their significant other with a day full of everything that would make them smile, even if it wasn't their cup of tea. It showed just how much you meant to someone to be that selfless, to be that giving, that thoughtful.
Books weren't Cy's thing.
I was sure that, some day, when I found the right book for him - and that was my mission in life - he would get all kinds of wrapped up in fiction as well, but that wasn't his current reality. And yet he stood in signing lines with me. He listened to me as I met bloggers I had been virtual friends with for years, but never met, but was blown away with how awesome they were in real life as well. He pulled that naked, sexy man cart around like it didn't bother him in the least. He didn't so much as sigh when I said for the umpteenth time "just one more thing" when, in fact, we both knew it wasn't going to be just one more thing. Even after being there the whole day, he listened to me speed-babble for the walk back to the hotel. All forty-minutes of it. And he wasn't just daydreaming and pretending to listen either; he was engaging, and asking me questions, and offering opinions as well.
In short, he was being the absolute, ideal, perfect leading man.
Oh yeah.
I said it.
Move over all my book boyfriends; there is a real life man who blows you all out of the water.
If you had asked me a few weeks ago if that was possible, I would have laughed.
But it was possible.
It was happening.
To me.
Of all people.
I was afraid if I thought about it too much, it was going to make it all somehow go away.
So I didn't think. I felt. I smelled. I saw. I heard. I tasted.
We got back to the hotel sometime around early evening, Cyrus putting my bags on his bed so I could sort through everything while he ran out to grab food. By the time he got back, I had things stacked into categories, and organized by whether they were signed copies or not. All my bookmarks were stabbed inside the front covers for safekeeping. My mugs, keychains, pens, and a few tees were all in another pile. All of them, though, were still on his bed. Because, while I wasn't sure I could force the words out to his face, I wanted him to know that he was sleeping with me again.
Maybe more than sleeping.
Almost definitely more than sleeping.
At least, if I had anything to say about it.