“I might also attract every hungry man walking down the street, but that doesn’t equate to more sales.”
She wiggled the book in my face, bringing it back to the forefront of the conversation. “So, have a thing for guys on motorcycles?”
I tried to snatch it out of her hands, but she held it out of reach. “Excuse me, but I’m trying to work.”
“And I’m trying to get to the bottom of your sexual preferences. Is it the motorcycle? The tattoos?” She looked at the cover again and grinned. “That sexy trail of hair leading down to his?—”
“Would you stop?” I interrupted, snatching it out of her hands as my face turned as bright as a tomato. “Just because I was looking at the cover doesn’t mean that I have a thing for…him.”
It would have been more convincing if I could stop staring at the man, but there wasn’t a thing about him that wasn’t utterly appealing. Even his shaggy hair got to me. And I normally liked men with short hair.
God, I really needed to get laid.
“And there’s that look again,” she smirked. “Oh, I’ve seen it before. Not on you, but in the mirror every time I think I’m in love. Personally, I have a thing for bad boys.”
Sighing, she grabbed another book, staring at that one with love in her eyes. “They get me in a lot of trouble. The next man I meet will have no tattoos, no beard, he’ll have a beer gut, and he’ll pray hard to Jesus every day.”
I thought of her description as a smile played on my lips. “So, you’ve narrowed your search to Church Street.”
“Oh, you’re so funny,” she mocked.
“Well, think about it. There aren’t many men in town like that. Unless, of course, you wanted to go after some of the older gentlemen. Bud does have a beer gut, but he doesn’t have any tattoos.”
“Not true. He has a military tattoo on his right bicep. And he does that rolled t-shirt thing to hold his smokes, which is totally hot, by the way.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just call Bud hot.”
“Not him, but the t-shirt thing. He reminds me of James Dean, if James Dean were an old man.”
I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “Yes, if only we could all find ourselves a James Dean lookalike.”
“You already found yours. I mean, he doesn’t look a thing like James Dean, and he doesn’t smoke, from what I’ve seen, but he definitely looks at you like someone he wants to devour.”
Again, my face flushed bright red, so I grabbed some books and pretended I didn’t know what she was talking about. “Who’s that?”
“Um, Mr. Hottie who saved your life yesterday? The blue-eyed devil? Joe Boxer!”
“Is he a boxer? I hadn’t noticed.”
She picked up a hardback and smacked me on the arm. “You so did notice. I saw the way you were staring at him. Trust me, he was just as interested.”
“He was interested in how I managed to get myself tangled up in Christmas lights, and nothing more.”
“Yeah, I totally got that vibe from the way he was staring at you.”
“Well, he was staring at me because I was a complete mess. Did you see my hair after I fell off the roof?”
“You mean the cute braids that hung perfectly on either side of your head under that adorable hat? Yeah, I noticed, and so did he,” she mocked.
“You know, not everything in life is about men,” I said in frustration, stalking away from her. “This is why I don’t read romance. It’s unbelievable. No man could ever be as good as romance novels portray them. I mean, men do not smell good when they sweat. It’s gross and makes any sane woman run in the other direction. Yet, in a romance novel, the woman is overcome with his musky scent and must have him. It’s ridiculous!”
“Uh-huh. Tell me more,” she grinned.
“And what’s all this stuff about immaculately dressed men? When have you ever seen a man like that?”
“Well, Ryder is pretty well dressed.”
I huffed in irritation. “Okay, that’s one man. And he’s from New York, so that doesn’t count.”