Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
He couldn’t fucking want anything from Rian.
They were so far apart on the spectrum of lived experiences they couldn’t even fucking see each other from opposing shores.
Being physically attracted to a pretty thing didn’t mean shit. Nor did it mean shit that said pretty thing was physically attracted to him, either. It couldn’t be more than that.
Because Damon wasn’t about to let someone like Rian Falwell break his heart.
He tried to keep his voice even as he ripped the foil packets off a few bags of plain black tea, when right now didn’t seem the time to ask Rian if he’d prefer mint or orange spice or some other blend. He’d probably get a throw pillow lobbed at his head. Though he was bracing for one anyway as he said, “...do we really need to talk about that?”
Rian let out an irritable little huff. “Kind of seems like a relevant topic, yes.”
“Nah.” Fuck, it wrenched deep in his chest to say that so casually, but he forced himself to keep it light. “Don’t you ever read romance novels? Sometimes two people just get so pissed off at each other they can either punch it out, or kiss it out.” He shrugged. “I don’t like punching people. So kissing is the better option.”
He expected yelling.
Possibly a little bodily harm.
He didn’t expect the stunned silence that followed, and fuck, he hoped he hadn’t just flippantly crushed something fragile. Like capturing a butterfly in his palm...then closing it into a careless fist.
He turned back to face Rian, only to find Rian staring at him incredulously over the top of the laptop, while the sound of the coffee maker—hissing and sighing and trickling as it began to boil water into the carafe—filled the space between them.
“You read romance novels?” Rian spluttered.
Damon arched a brow, then jerked his chin toward the bookshelves under the window; clearly Rian hadn’t noticed the spines when he’d been twirling around Damon’s space before. “Yeah. They’re good,” he said. “Problem?”
Rian blinked, then inclined his head, gaze drifting along the wall, and he leaned forward to set the laptop on the coffee table before twisting himself sideways in the easy chair, kneeling on the seat with one hand braced on the armrest, another stretched out to run his fingers over a few of the well-worn, well-read paperbacks.
“Not at all,” he said absently. “Only wondering if you’d lend me some.”
Now it was Damon’s turn to stare. And Rian glanced back at him, eyes widening slightly, a puzzled knit to his brows.
“What?” he asked a touch defensively. “Art is art, no matter its form, and literature is art.”
“Uh-huh.” Some of the tension left Damon’s shoulders, letting him relax a little, shifting to lean his back against the edge of the counter. “Sure. Pick out whatever you want. I’m not a library, so no due dates.”
“Mm.” Rian seemed utterly absorbed in perusing the spines, though he stopped on the Reluctant Royals trilogy, tugging out A Princess in Theory and cradling it gently in his hands, looking down at the cover with such clear curiosity and interest that Damon didn’t expect the next pointedly mild, “So that’s all it is, then? We make each other so angry that a kiss was a safe outlet to vent that frustration.”
Inwardly, Damon groaned. Outwardly, he only shrugged. “Seems like all it needs to be.”
“Intriguing.” Rian lightly ran his delicate fingertips over the cover of the novel, following the coils of mauve concentric circled patterns against the bright teal of the heroine’s dress. “I’ve heard enough about these books to know...in that trope, isn’t their anger just a mask over their attraction? Don’t they usually end up falling into bed, then falling wildly, torridly in love?”
Damon stared at that innocent expression on Rian’s face, barely hiding the laughter glittering in hazel eyes. “It’s a book, Rian. Not reality.”
With an exaggerated intake of breath, Rian fluttered a hand to his chest. “Gasp. He calls me something other than ‘Falwell.’ It’s starting already. He’s in love with me, and now—” He paused, cocking his head at Damon, while Damon scowled. “He’s going to scowl at me furiously. And tell me to—”
“Stop being a brat,” Damon snarled, right as Rian echoed,
“—stop being a brat.”
While Damon glowered, the back of his neck hot, Rian let out a delighted laugh.
“I’ll stop,” that little brat said, and leaned forward to set the romance novel on the coffee table with utmost care, his smile lingering. “I’m sorry for teasing. I did need something to lift my mood after what a day it’s been.” With a sigh, he folded his hands over his knee, looking across the room at Damon with a sort of dry, frank warmth. “It’s fine, Damon. It is. We’re both adults. We kissed. It was a moment of impulse. We don’t need to make drama over it.”