Man Reading A Book Novels & Stories

He walked past me to his favorite armchair without a word, wearing fresh clothes with his hair still damp, and he picked up a book from the coffee table. Then I saw the cover. The villa at sunset. The woman's silhouette in the window. The man's shadow falling across the threshold. My book. The book I had been so careful to keep away from him, the book I had deflected and dodged and lied about for weeks. He had a copy. He opened it to the middle and began to read.

But Dominic was there. Leaning against the headboard like he owned not just the bed but the very air around it. Shirtless, all lean muscle and dangerous shadows, his legs crossed beneath the duvet like he was settling in for the long haul. He was reading a book—some thick tome about international finance—like this was the most natural thing in the world. I stopped dead in my tracks. "What the hell are you doing?" He didn't look up from his book, but I caught the slight curve of his lips. "Reading."

As soon as he said that, the person standing in front of the line dropped a book. Hunter picked it up and read the title of the comic books. “Boys over flowers.” The owner of the book turned around. He has small face, slanted eyes and cheerful appearance. "Oh? That's mine," the guy said before getting his book back from Hunter. “Thank you for picking it up!” After smiling to Hunter, the man looked back to the cashier and placed his order. Hunter leaned closer to his companions and whispered, “That man is reading romantic comics.” The three giggled in secret. Soon, it was their turn to order.

Whatever that means. I see the bookstore ahead of me; the neon light flickers each time a rumble of thunder booms, rattling the town. It’s raining, so there shouldn’t be anyone inside, and I'll be alone. As I open the door, I pause briefly with my senses on high alert. The baby hairs on the back of my neck and my arms rise stiffly as the feeling of being watched begins to invade my mind. The only person I see when I turn my head to scan around me, is a scruffy looking man in his twenties, approaching the bookstore in clothes that cling to his sculpted body. I smile at him to ease the discomfort as I hold open the door for him and walk inside, taking shelter from the icy rain. He follows behi

I was watching Zachary practice his swordsmanship when I received Simon’s invitation to meet at a tea room. Zachary’s arms were strong and well-defined. As he gripped the hilt and moved through his forms, the lines of his muscles and the veins beneath his skin became clearly visible. I rested my chin in my hand, watching idly, when a maid approached. “Mrs. Pendleton, a gentleman outside named Simon Castor is requesting to meet you in the tea room.”

I waited, just for fun, then let the silence draw out. Jack squirmed, like he thought I was about to say no. I was about to say yes when my eyes caught on a movement at the corner table by the emergency exit. A man sat there, alone, reading a book with a matte black cover. He was tall even while seated, with sharp cheekbones and hands too elegant for anyone under forty. His hair was dark and perfect. His jacket—expensive, probably custom-tailored—was so out of place in The Morgue it felt like he’d been CGI’d into the scene.

the man said as he came close to Hayden. With a deep bow, the man extended what seemed to be a hardcover book to Hayden. Hayden reached out for it and thanked the man. Without another word, the man bowed once more and turned on his heels before walking back the way that he had came from. I cocked my head to the side in wonder at what had just happened. Did Hayden order a book to be delivered? I could tell from the image on the cover that it was a book regarding artworks. --To be continued…

"I need your help with something." "What?" "What are the chances that you are a great actress?" "I'm always up for a challenge Nate." She beamed. I looked towards the other end of the beach. There's a man sitting on a surf board reading a book. I usually wouldn't read much into it except that it's a familiar scene. I do the same thing after I surf. "Do you see that man wearing a black hat over his head?" Marianna peered in that direction. "I see him. What do you need?"

I asked quietly, pushing my glasses further up my nose and trying to hide my embarrassment from getting caught reading erotica in the bookstore’s café. The man leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, flexing his biceps through his navy-blue sweater. “Yes, you can actually. I see you here every day”—he snatched the book from my hand—“and you’re always reading the same smutty book.” My cheeks blazed with embarrassment that I couldn’t hide. He leaned his forearms onto the table. “It’s Friday night. Why don’t you take a break from reading, and we can make our own story back at my place?”

"Can you knock me out?" "You've been unconscious and medicated too many times in recent days. Better not." The man paused, lit the oil lamp, and half-sat up, grabbing a book at random. "I'll read a novel to distract you. Try to bear it." In the simple wooden house, the deep male voice read aloud at an unhurried pace.