Beneath This Man Book Novels & Stories

"And why is that?" The man walked behind the desk and pulled out a large, leather-bound book. He dropped it on the counter with a heavy thud. Jessie and Din exchanged a glance. Then their eyes fell on the man.

Surprised look, "No, I'm not. A lot of people say that when I tell them I'm not into sports. I like sports, the strategy and stuff. But not all the drama about the teams." "So, what are you into?" He reaches into his bag and my world changes. A book. The man reads. And more. It's the third book in the current bestselling sword and fantasy series. He holds the book half our of the bag like it smells bad. "This right now." My pulse quickens. Suddenly, Travis, the dweeb became a much more promising project. "You read fantasy?" He's checking my face, waiting for the mocking. "Yes." I take the book from his hand.

When my shift ended, I found myself walking toward the corner table where Kael sat, his laptop closed now, a book in his hands. I stopped short when I saw the cover. ‘Knot We Cannot Untie.’ That was the book he was holding. I can't believe that Kael would be reading one of Linda Lively’s books. “You read… this?” I said, the surprise evidently in my voice. Kael looked up, one brow raised. “Why? You think I only read racing magazines and bank statements?” I gave a small laugh. “Chill bro. It’s just… not what I was expecting ”

It was unlocked. The bookshop smelled like paper and tea and the specific accumulated warmth of a space that had been inhabited with consistency and care. Floor-to-ceiling shelves on every wall. Stacks on the floor where the shelves had run out of room. A desk in the corner buried under files and notebooks and the architectural remains of someone who had been living inside a problem for a very long time. The man behind the desk looked up. David Asante was younger than Elena had expected.

"Yes. We close at nine." The man walked toward the desk, his heavy boots echoing in the empty space. He pulled a stack of four hardcover books from inside his jacket, somehow keeping them dry. He set them on the counter with a solid thud. "Returning these. Didn't want to get hit with another fine. You guys are ruthless." Owen looked at the books. They were all westerns. Louis L'Amour. "We prefer to think of it as incentivizing punctuality." The man laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the quiet room. "I bet you do. I'm Jax, by the way."

The bell above the door makes a sound, and I wave at the older man standing behind the desk as I enter the dusty old bookstore. "Good morning!" "Ah, a customer! How exciting!" The man pushes his glasses further up his nose and tilts his head at me. His hair is whiter than snow, while his skin is tanned from staying outside for too long. "Anything, in particular, you're looking for?" I nod at him, looking around to ensure we are alone before whispering. "I need the anatomy book you've got—full-on body display and the one murderers look for.."

The woman turned her face back to the book in her hand. "What are you reading?" asked Stev as he walked over. "Can't you read the cover?" replied the woman lazily. "Are you kidding? How can I read if your hand is blocking the title like that?" Bella sighed softly. The woman closed the book and gave it to Stev. The man raised an eyebrow as the white bound book was in his hand. [A thousand ways to be a designer.] "Ohh ...," said the man. He returned to give the book back to Bella.

She looked the man over and thought the title of the janitor befitting of him compared to his present position. Looking from Eva to Camelia, the man saw that Eva was serious. He sucked up his laughter and took down some notes. After a couple of minutes, he redirected the duo to another agent. The man, Jacob Books was tall and handsome. He had a disarming smile and he was blonde. He gave off the vibe of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. He also seemed like someone humorous and yet serious. Eva found herself lost in his eyes the instant they were introduced.

Everything looked expensive but in a quiet, understated way. That was when I froze. There, at a black table with a shiny silver "8" on it, sat a man. Actually, calling him a man didn't quite fit. He had this intense vibe that made the air feel heavy. His face looked like it belonged in a museum, carved perfectly like some statue from ancient times. He sat there, relaxed but powerful, drinking something deep red that definitely wasn't coffee. A thick old book sat in front of him, covered in dark gold. I couldn't make out the writing, it wasn't in any language I recognized.

I even found the karma sutra amongst what I can only classify as the ‘self help’ section, opening it and then quickly closing it in case Enzo or his mother entered the room. A large book at the end of the shelf entitled “The Power and Responsibility of Men” caught my eye. It seemed to be more weathered than the rest of the books, but I didn't get why. “Who would be drawn to a book like that?” I asked myself, pulling it from the shelf.