Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
I snorted. “Is that right?”
“Oh, abso-posi-tootly! The cowboy with bulging muscles and a big belt buckle, the sassy damsel who’s never in any real distress, and a series of fences that are always falling the heck down. There’s usually a sex scene on a haystack in a barn or with someone bent over a fence and—” Moody slapped his hand on his mouth. “Oh, my gosh.”
I guffawed. I couldn’t help it. He was so freaking…adorkable. “Recommend one of those to me too, will ya?”
I was joking. Remember the guy who couldn’t get through a whole page without falling asleep? That was still me.
Moody gnawed his lip and closed his eyes briefly as if hoping for celestial intervention, then nodded curtly and disappeared.
He returned a minute later with two books.
“I’ve inserted my foot into my gob, and I’m not sure how to remove it, so I shall barrel forward. These are both super romantic, spicy reads. As you can probably ascertain, the one with two gentlemen on the cover is a gay romance and the other with the tough-looking cowgirl is a male-female romance. I’m queer as a maypole, but I’ve read and loved both. You choose what suits you best. Take one or take all…on the house. You won’t regret it.”
“I’ll happily pay. No freebies necessary.” I tried to give Moody my card, but he waved me off.
“No, no.”
I set a twenty on the counter instead. “I insist.”
“Okay, pick your poison while I get your change,” he said, opening the register.
“I’ll take this one.” I picked up the gay romance novel and dropped it into my bag.
And on that note, I tipped my hat and sauntered to the café door, cool as could be, as if I’d purchased a gallon of milk at the corner store from the most ordinary guy on the planet. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
In a twist, my impromptu side trip into the Santa Barbara valley might have been just what the doctor ordered.
2
MOODY
Oh. My. Gosh.
I’d just sent a cowboy off with a gay romance filled with some of the sexiest, blush-worthy intercourse scenes ever written. Two hunks with muscles to spare, tight jeans, bulging cocks, and penis parties galore! The part where Clive roughly shoves Boone’s Levi’s over his derriere as they kiss in a passionate swirl of tongues, then breaks for air and says, “Bend that fine ass over the fence, boy. I’m gonna fuck you till you see stars” still gave me vapors.
Yes, there were some conspicuous discrepancies. How did they manage to keep their hats on while they’d been busy cleaning each other’s tonsils and copulating in every corner of the barn and in the woods? If I wasn’t mistaken, they’d had a naked encounter in the shower with their hats and boots on. That was exceedingly unadvisable.
A man who owned a real live Stetson would either laugh like a loon or weep at the very idea. Assuming Hudson survived the shock of reading highly salacious material.
Breathe, Moody…breathe.
I fanned myself, blinking like an owl behind my glasses as I talked myself off the proverbial ledge. Sex was positive and life-affirming. And I had issued a content warning. Hudson had chosen to partake of his own volition, so…that was on him.
Okay, better. Much better.
I cast a wary glance through the sliding-glass window and spotted Hudson. I couldn’t see his face from this angle, but I hoped like heck he was contemplating lunch and not wondering about the weirdo pawning porny romance in a town dedicated to all things Christmas. At least I hadn’t given him the link for the naughty Santa novel I’d unintentionally—I swear, it was an accident—bumped into on an online site.
Santa and the naughty elf he’d taken over his knee and— Stop!
I swiped my clammy palms on my shirt, straightened my glasses, and sneaked another peek. Hudson was gone.
Phew! Nice guy and all—not to mention, exceedingly handsome—but he was just a tourist with sad eyes and “complicated” written in invisible ink across his forehead.
Not that it mattered. I’d probably never see the cowboy again.
That was the sobering, honest truth. So, cool your jets and get to work, Moody. There were orders to place, books to reshelve, and holiday inventory to sort through. I didn’t relish that last chore—however, it had to be done. Bah humbug.
Oh, no.
No, no, no. Not yet.
It was too early for bah humbugging. There was no reason for negativity in any way, shape, or form. Business was booming, the town was thriving, birds were singing, I had plenty of food, a warm bed, and thousands upon thousands of books to keep me company. Add a surprise cowboy sighting that made for delicious fantasy material…
Life was good.
“Yoo-hoo, Moody! I brought you a fresh blueberry muffin and your daily taste of soupy yumminess. Where are you, honey bun?”