Booktok Made Me Read It Scratch Off Novels & Stories

It was bound with beautiful teal leather that caught my eye. I took it from his stretched hand. He took his seat once again and I looked at it. The book had a faint musty scent and surprisingly, it felt light as a feather in my hands. I fingered the gold letterings delicately, a part of me scared that I might disarrange them. It read Lost Memories. I couldn't take my eyes away from it. It felt like it called to me. I turned the cover over and it revealed an almost blank page. I almost did not notice the small writing at the very edge of the page.

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I said, and Rick nodded as he walked to the center of the room and dropped into a chair. My fingers glide along the books as I read their titles. I pull one out, glance at the first few pages, and then slip it back into its place before continuing. “Hmmm,” I hummed as I squatted to see the books at the bottom. My fingers glide along the books, and my heart stops when I read one of the titles, “How to Reject a Mate and the Consequences that Follow.” Slowly, I pulled the book from its slot and flipped through a few pages.

The first pages of the book were typically a story of my mother's childhood, teenage life and all that, nothing worth reading. But as I went further, my eyes caught a text written in bold letters. “The one to mend the bridge between two worlds.” “What does that even mean?” I scoffed, reading further. After about ten minutes of glancing through each page aimlessly, I was fed up. “This is trash,” I muttered, closing the book. “Waste of my precious time,” I added, my face twisted in a frown. But just before I dropped the book, a little paper fell from it, landing on my thighs.

“Up top.” I glance up and spot another title, bold and direct. How To Make Them Forgive You. Real subtle. Of course, it’s sitting right on the highest damn shelf. I swear under my breath and rise on my toes, stretching my arm as far as I can, fingers just brushing the edge of the cover. I lean in a little more, determined to grab it myself and then I feel it. His hand, brushing against my arm as he reaches past me and plucks the book down like it’s nothing.

Names. That’s all that there was in the thick black book. Just names, written down with red ink, none of which were familiar to me. I randomly scrolled through the pages, and then something fell out. To my surprise, it was a… picture. I placed the book down to pick up the picture. I let out a gasp of surprise. The picture was old—very old and washed out. I could only make out a woman’s form; the other figures had faded to white. But the woman’s face had been scratched out. A voice from behind me cut through the silence. “I told you that the next time I see you here, I’d—”

Her head rested on my shoulder, fingers tickling my arms. “Was it a naughty book? Like Karama Sutra stuff about sexual positions?” Biting my lip, I shook my head, for fear I would give myself away. The book was most helpful during my rut. I could hit delightful places with my ‘cock’ and my entire shaft was grateful for it as well. My dragon forced me to read it."

She rocked back and forth on her heels, a nervous smile twitching along her lips. I want to laugh, but I remain professional. I’m supposed to be an expert in all things seduction and sex. I can’t break my cover now. I gently spell out her name before writing my unique yet generic as all h*ll personalized message. After that’s done, I scrawl out my signature, ‘G. Blake’ and close the book once I know the message won’t smear. I slip into the first few pages, a business card, a special bookmark, and a couple of stickers before I place the book in a printed small tote bag. A final touch of an art print of the main characters, and I then finally hand the bag to the reader. Nice and quick. Only ni

It feels good to be doing it again, this time the sun shining down on us. We aren’t hiding anything; we aren’t sneaking around, we’re just us. “I read the book,” I confess. My fingers play with the hair that spills down her back. “And?” “And I think that Our Story seems a lot like our story.” I think back to the night my mom handed me the book. I didn’t even make it past the dedication before having to take a break. The title and the dedication made everything click for me. “What makes you say that?” she asks.

Yet, almost three textbooks have already been disposed of in the corner, insightful but useless to Z’s situation. One rainy night, she came across a tattered book in the pile of books she ought to read. It was the first book the librarian gave her but owing to its old look and almost ruined cover, she neglected it and decided to have a look at those with an eye-catching cover. Now that she looked at it again, she felt a certain spark of magic twinkling from it. She traced the pattern embossed on the cover, thinking that it would have been better to see it freshly printed. From the stains and dirt blurring the illustration of an eye pierced by an arrow, she’d seen the words, ‘Scars: Magic Unk