Books For Him Novels & Stories

Does he think this is some game, walking in here like nothing happened like he didn’t shut me out and hurt me? I finally reach the row of shelves stacked with books, the bold label ‘SELF HELP’ hanging over the top. I stop there and fold my arms over my chest, not turning to look at him. He wanted a book on second chances and forgiveness? Well, here’s a whole damn section full of them. “I don’t know which one to go for. I think I need a little expert help,” his voice comes from just behind me, too close. It brushes the back of my neck and I can feel him right beside me, close enough that his scent wraps around me.

He held out his hand to me. I just looked at it but I didn’t reach for it so he took it back and. laugh.. "Feisty, huh." His gaze drifted to the rows of books on the mat. He picked up one and read. "Fundamentals in Business Ethics." He got one more. "Economics, Politics. Woo-hoo. Pretty serious in life, meh?" He chuckled. I snatched the books from him and placed them on my lap. "I'd rather study than live a life like a bum like what I think you're doing."

"Certainly." His answer was short and cold as always, but he was walking to his bookshelf and gave me a large dusty book within moments. "You will find him here, also his nemesis and his angelic mate." He didn't say anything more, he just leave with the book to me and was back to his own busy self stirring his cauldron and adding more ingredient into the mix. So there I was for the next two hours reading about his life, from there I had learned that his insecurities runs deeper than I thought. Honestly, I didn't even know if I could handle him after reading the book.

he said on the third night after I eyed his ritual, unsure why he even bothered shelving them when his thirst for reading kept them shelved for maybe two nights at most. “How often do you get new books?” I had asked. “Monthly.” He pointed at a stack of brown boxes at the far end of the shelves; the most recent delivery, I supposed. “Do you have a favorite?” He grinned and eyed me. “History. Medicine. Politics.” The hairs had risen on the back as soon as the words had come out. Was he messing with me? “Interesting… interests,” I managed after a long moment. I stood from my arm chair and made my way to the kitchen, aiming for some water as my throat had become suddenly dry.

My stomach does something stupid. "That’s funny, because I keep tabs on matchmakers who used to be FBI." His face shifts, but only slightly. Just enough for me to notice. I get up to stretch, giving myself a tour of the bookshelf. There are titles in several languages, a few first editions, a dog-eared copy of The Art of War tucked behind a book on modern negotiation theory. "Is that for work?" I tease, gesturing. "That’s for everything," he deadpans.

While I was checking on the development of my work, he asked, "Do you read a lot of books?" I turned around to see him looking through my bookshelf. "Yes! I like reading as much as I love writing." "You have a lot of comics here," he continued. "If you want to browse through it, I have a very good collection. You can take whatever books you like." Sh*t! Without thinking, I stated that he despises books. How is he going to react to that? Is he going to smile as if nothing happened, as he did to his sister? "Thank you for the offer, but I'm not interested in literature."

Our family was complete in that picture. Once inside, he went to one of the bookshelves that were always locked. I was curious about what was inside. He took a key from a drawer and unlocked the bookshelf. He opened it, and I saw many books inside it. What is so special about those books that it needs to be locked up? “This, Baby girl,” he gestured to the books, “are my journals.” “You have journals too?” I was surprised. He didn't seem the type who wrote journals.

said he, low and rough around the edges. I blinked, caught off guard. "Yes, and you are?" He gave a small, humorless smile. "Just someone who admires your work. I've followed your art for years. Controversial stuff. Lust. Desire. Sin. You paint what people are too afraid to say." There was something about the way he spoke that always seemed to tighten my chest. He was not flattering me; he was confessing. "Thanks," I muttered as I finished yet another drink.

He handed the books he had chosen to the young worker and stuffed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "'The SAS Survival Handbook?' and '2020 Standard Catalog of Firearms'?..." The worker raised her brows at the young man in front of her, the corner of her lips twitching unconsciously, as she used this opportunity to look at his handsome face. "Your taste is still as random as always." This guy would either wander around the bookstore just looking around, or buy the most random craziest books ever. She remembers the first time she saw him buying books here, the titles of those being "Demons: The Devil, Possession & Exorcism" and "Poisonous Plants". The poor girl wasn't sure if this guy wa

he says helping me kick off my shoes and getting me comfortable. “You actually fought someone?” He rubs the back of his neck, an embarrassed smile on his lips, and he sighs. “I blame purberty. And to answer your question, I had so many favorites I cannot count, but I had ones I could reread over and over again.” he tells me, his eyes scouring the rows of books, brows tugging towards themselves in concentration. He looks so good this. A very hot nerd is who is in front of me. His eyes browse the spines of books, fingers expertly, and gently pulling them down, one after the other, with the carefulness and precision of a new mother and her baby.