Better Than The Movies Audiobook Novels & Stories

“This may shock you, Audry, but I actually do enjoy that movie, especially during this time of the year.” Her mouth fell open. “Seriously? Don’t let someone else hear you say that. You may ruin your street cred,” she joked as she put on the Halloween kids movie. We settled in to watch the three Sanderson sisters come back from the dead. I soon realized that a movie might not have been the best idea. Sitting in bed, in a dark room with Audry was difficult. Our connection was electric and my body was begging me to reach out and touch her. But I was good and kept my arms crossed and my eyes on the TV.

Yetunde reported numbers that continued to grow in the particular quiet way of a book that was moving through genuine recommendation rather than marketing momentum. The podcast with Funke had aired and had generated its own response — women writing to say they had listened to the conversation and then immediately bought the book, women who had read the book and found in the podcast something additional, the particular difference between the written voice and the spoken one that produced in listeners something the reading alone had not quite produced. She had done two more events.

“We improvise it live.” Pauly handed her a slim, battered paperback—Mockingbird, cover worn, pages gutted to hold a wafer-thin transceiver and a micro-SD slot. “Your new copy. Same weight as the real one. Press the title twice if you’re burned; it wipes your last three hours and plays an audiobook. Press the author twice and it pings us with location.” She slid the book into her tote without looking. “And if I press the spine?” “It complains about being objectified,” Pauly said.

“I do audiobooks.” God. Now I was wondering what he sounded like reading those filthy lines out loud. Damn it, Eve. “So,” he said, taking a sip of his cappuccino, “you’re a fan of Lola Noir?” I finally worked up the courage to speak first. “So, you read Lola Noir?” Stupid, Eve. What a stupid question. His lips curved into a slow smile. “I do audiobooks.” God. Now I was wondering what he sounded like reading those filthy lines out loud. Damn it, Eve.

Yet here was Samuel, just nine years old, diving deep into material that had only come to me much later in life. You might be tempted to dismiss it as merely an audiobook, presuming he couldn’t quite grasp the complexities within. But when we started discussing it, I was taken aback—he understood the nuances far better than I had at his age. In contrast, poor Tristan was visibly bewildered, bless his heart, struggling to keep up with the conversation.

when I said, “Come on. Let’s go down the rabbit hole together, and see if we end up in Wonderland.” I sit back, thinking about her podcast. Dammit, I knew I recognized her. I listen to her because I love her husky voice and her quirky sense of humor. She never fails to make the people she’s interviewing laugh. She’s also really smart at analyzing books and movies, and I enjoy her critical mind. I think about some of the episodes I’ve enjoyed, and I’m filled with a sense of wonder. I already thought she was amazing, but now I’ve filled in the gaps, it’s only amplified my admiration for her.

She raised a brow. A low chuckle rumbled through my chest. "You're right, T," I said, shaking my head and a small smile playing my lips. "My common sense is most definitely not as good as it should be." But my common sense was as good as it could possibly be. I hadn't been paying as much attention to what Leia was carrying as I had been to how she moved. How her hair fell, the way her hips swayed with every step, the way her lips moved as she spoke, and how her eyes held that sparkle whenever she was fully focused on her task.

Being in a bookstore increased those chances a bit. “You know,” the young man said, “I read your first book, Out of the Shadows, Into the Dark.” “Well, thank you.” “Don’t thank me yet. I didn’t say whether I liked it or not.” This surprised a laugh out of Brad. “Touché.” “I’m just messing with you,” the man said, wearing an infectious grin. “I thought it was a great book, creepy and atmospheric. The movie adaptation, on the other hand . . . that was a real stinker.”

He return's my smile. Mirabelle leans into my ear, “Yea, nice.” she whispers. “Stop it.” I laugh. The movie was amazing, a romantic movie. Mirabelle's crying began half way through the movie until the end of it. I didn't cry as much as her because I've read the novel version of the movie and the ending wasn't as written in the book.

A woman brings in the two plates of tiramisu then removes our dinner plates. We spend dessert talking about favorite movies. Milos hasn’t watched many of the newer ones—his mother was a lover of classic movies she watched to learn English. He shrugged, he preferred to read with what little free time he had. I find out he reads mysteries and thrillers—several I have as well. We even share a favorite author who has had several of his books made into movies. “Oh, I really want to watch the latest. I’m dying to see how they turned it into a movie. Usually the movie ruins the book for me, but somehow the movies of his books have been really good.”