The Boy With the Bookstore Quotes

“When he slides in, I press my eyes shut and groan. This is going to be so, so good.
His smooth, slow thrusts turn animalistic in a matter of minutes. All I can do is cry out as the pleasure consumes me from head to toe, gripping for dear life onto the glass.
My head is shrouded in a fog of arousal. I can't get out a single coherent thought other than more, harder, faster, please.
I tell Max exactly that. And he does it all.
When his sounds turn quick and desperate, when his fingers turn viselike against my hips, I slide one of my hands between my thighs and circle frantically in the spot I need it most. This is the wildest, most lustful thing I've ever done in my life. Never in a million years did I think I'd ever be the type of girl who wants to have sex against a window overlooking downtown Portland, but I've never been so turned on. I've never been so consumed with pleasure.
This is the effect Max Boyson has on me. Not only does he make me ooey-gooey on the inside with his thoughtful gestures, his sweet words, and the way he looks at me like I'm the only person in the room. But with a single teasing kiss and the touch of his hand on my skin, I turn sex-crazed. He makes me feel so sexy and comfortable all at once. I love love love all the sides this man brings out in me.
With a firm hand, he grips my jaw and turns my face to the side so he can plant a desperate kiss on my mouth. Soon I'm trembling as climax threatens to wreck me.
When it hits, that's exactly what happens. I groan-scream and come apart in Max's grip. My head goes foggy as pleasure annihilates me. It's a glorious end, though. I'm left quivering, barely able to stand, but Max holds me securely in his arms. It's the sweetest and hottest hug from behind: his entire body covers me while his open mouth rests against my shoulder, gasping and growling at once.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“She wraps her legs around my waist, and I walk us slowly down the hall.
"Mmm, wait," she whines against my mouth. "I haven't showered. I'm so gross, and I don't..."
She trails off as I turn into my bathroom, then set her down. She shuffles her bare feet against the gray stone tile, an inquisitive look on her face as she looks around the narrow space bathed in neutral hues.
I push open the glass door and turn on the shower. Water cascades from the waterfall showered.
"Oh," she says as she grins and bites her bottom lip.
By the time we've helped each other out of our clothes, the water's warm. I help her in first, then step in. And then, under the hot stream of water, we resume our dirty kissing and grabbing.
"Wait, wait." She presses a hand against my chest, then reaches for the shampoo bottle on the ledge. "I do need to get clean first."
I laugh and follow her lead by shampooing my own hair and doing a quick rinse with body wash. She holds her hand out for the loofah, but I shake my head. "Let me?"
A devilish smirk tugs at her perfect mouth. When she nods and licks her lips, I have to take a second. God, this woman. The way she's sweet and filthy all at once is enough to make me lose it right here. But I refuse. Not before she gets what I'm dying to give her.
I work up a lather and run the loofah all over her body. I take my time, paying attention to every part of her. These beautifully curved hips, the fullness of her thighs, the gentle curve of her waist, her arms, her hands, the swell of her boobs. And then I lather up my hands and slowly work between her legs.
She clutches both hands around my biceps, and her toes curl against the earthen-hued river rock that lines the shower floor. Her eyes go wide and pleading as she looks up at me.
I lean down to kiss her. "Tell me what you want."
"You. Just you. Please."
With her breathy request, I'm ready to burst. Not yet, though.
She reaches down to palm me, but I gently push her hand away. I want this to be one hundred percent about her.
When she presses her mouth against my shoulder and her sounds go louder and more frantic, I work my hand faster. She's panting, pleading, shouting. When I feel the sting of her teeth against my skin, I grin. Fuck yeah, my girl is rough when she loses it and I love it.
I love her.
She explodes against my palm, the weight of her body shuddering against me. I've got her, though.
I've always, always got you.
When she starts to ease back down, she lets out a breathy laugh.
"Oh my god."
I nod down at her, which only makes her laugh harder. Then she glances down at what I'm sporting between my legs and flashes a naughty smirk. "Let's do something about that."
Soon it's me at the mercy of her hands. My head spins at the pleasure she delivers so confidently, like she knows every single one of my buttons to push.
When I lose it, I'm shuddering and grunting. For a few seconds, my vision's blurry. She's that incredible.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“It's rich. And smooth. And thick. And fatty, but in a good way. Like butter, but with a deeper, fuller, nuttier flavor."
Max's inky black pupils start to dilate as he gazes down at me, his mouth cracked open, like he's hypnotized and intrigued at once. I cease breathing.
He clears his throat. "Damn..."
I nod quickly. "On hot, crusty bread, it is divine. You need to try it."
He nods right back, like he's in a trance. I'm in a trance too. I can't seem to stop looking at him as I wax poetic about one of my favorite food combinations.
"How is it served?" he asks, his voice between a groan and a growl. "The marrow, I mean."
I watch, mesmerized at the slow movement along his stubbled throat.
I swear I can feel my skin tingling as my internal temperature rises. Who knew talking about bone marrow could get me this worked up?
"Sometimes they cut the bone lengthwise and you can just scrape your knife along the hollow part of the bone and out comes the marrow," I say. "And sometimes they cut it into chunks and the marrow's in the middle, so you scrape out as much as you can, but there's almost always some left, so the best way to get it out is to just put the bone in your mouth and suck it out, really get your tongue in the hole and lick and...”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“Steady, firm hands glide up my legs, resting just under my ass cheeks. Then he kisses me where I want it---where I need it most.
My jaw plummets to the floor. It happens completely involuntarily, like a reflex triggered by ecstasy. His tongue works slowly, steadily, in the most divinely torturous rhythm.
I tug his hair tighter as the ache of pleasure flashes all along my thighs, up my stomach and my chest, all the way to my neck.
"Max, holy..." I trail off as his tongue swirls faster.
Even in my limited dating experience and the few serious relationships I've had, I've always appreciated a guy who knows what to do with his mouth. But Max is head and shoulders above what I've experienced. He's clearly done this before. A LOT.
He hums against me and my knees buckle.
I tug him by the hair to look at me. "This feels incredible, but I'm not gonna be able to stand like this for much longer."
The smug smile he flashes up at me makes my heart flutter right in my chest. Whoa. I didn't think that sort of thing actually happened. I was wrong.
"Let's try this," he says.
With his hands on my hips, he helps me onto his bed, then slides me up so my head is nestled against his pillows.
He settles on his knees, between my legs. "Better?"
I grin and nod, and then he picks up where he left off until I'm panting and my legs are shaking once more.
The pleasure builds higher until my chest feels like it's going to explode. When I finally burst, I shake and shudder, I pant and moan. I attempt to count the seconds as a way to keep the time, but it's too much for my pleasure-riddled brain. I'm shattered in the best way, utterly annihilated by ecstasy.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“I love that you're so kind and generous and empathetic and that you put family first. You're the best person I know. You're a ray of sunshine and I love that about you. I still can't believe you ever wanted to be with me."
A woman passing by makes an "aww" sound.
He pauses, the look in his eyes turning intense and tender all at once. "I love you. I didn't know I could be so happy until I met you."
I go breathless. "You love me?"
"So goddamn much."
My eyes well up and my trembling lips curve up in a shaky smile. "I love you too, Max."
That half smile I adore so much appears. And then he closes his eyes for a long second, as if he's savoring my words. He looks back down at me. "God, it feels so good to hear you say that.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“When I start to feel him slide in, I gasp. I knew he was going to feel big---because he is big. I didn't know he'd feel this good, this quickly, though.
I close my eyes and savor the way he stretches me, the immediate intensity I feel. When he starts that slow slide, my mouth falls open.
Soon I'm clawing at the bedsheets like I'm crazed. I'm certain I'll go hoarse at the end of this, but I don't care. I could lose my voice for a year and it would be worth it, this feels so freaking incredible.
Max eases to a slower pace, then leans over me and kisses my shoulder.
"Damn it, Joelle. You are...god, you're..."
My eyes roll to the back of my head as I smile to myself. His inability to finish a sentence while inside me is the highest compliment. My vision focuses, and I take in just how gorgeous he is in this moment: eyes glazed over with arousal, jaw clenched, brow dotted with sweat, lips swollen from kissing me.
Seeing Max so turned on combined with just how good he feels has me tingling between my thighs once more. He digs his fingers into my hips and picks up the pace.
"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this with you?" he growls.
I moan. "No" and push my hips up higher.
"A long fucking time."
"Same," I rasp. "Same, same, same."
He goes harder and faster until my vision begins to go starry. And then he slips a hand between my legs and works the most sensitive part of me with the pads of his fingers. The intensity deepens until my legs start to shake. I reach around and grip a handful of his delectably rock-hard ass.
"I'm gonna need to get a good look at this up close very, very soon," I say.
He chuckles between pants. I babble that I'm close.
"Thank fuck."
And then Max puts it into some high gear I didn't know he was capable of. He goes harder and faster than I thought was humanly possible. It's enough, though. Because moments later I'm bursting once again. He isn't far behind. He tenses against me before shuddering, then grunting. He lightly bites the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. The soft scrape, so sweet and carnal at once, has me grinning in ecstasy.
We collapse on the bed, him on top of me, and stay that way for nearly a minute. I close my eyes and breathe in the mint-spice scent on his bedsheets, relishing the weight of his body on top of mine.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“So, um...I don't really know what to say right now." I let out an embarrassed laugh.
The expression on Max's face melts from flustered to amused. And then he stands up, steps closer to me, cups his hand over my cheek, and presses a feathery kiss to my lips.
"I don't either, honestly," he says. "That was kind of..."
"Unexpected."
He nods once. "And fucking amazing."
"And hot."
"Definitely hot."
I nuzzle into his hand slightly, which earns me a sexy smile.
"Can I still come in for my coffee order tomorrow?" he asks.
"Of course."
"And maybe after you close down the bakery you can stop by and we can get up to more fucking amazing and hot stuff?"
I'm full-on beaming. This definitely isn't what I had in mind when I was psyching myself out to ask Max out on a date, it's a million times better. And I'm down to see where it goes.
"I'd really, really like that."
I start to turn to leave, but then Max grabs me gently by the hand, pulls me back to him, then levels me with a kiss so hot, my panties are soaked all the way through.
I stay standing in that spot, my head spinning, as I struggle to find my bearings.
"See you tomorrow, Joelle.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“How happy and energized she looks when it's barely six in the morning. Her hair is tied up in the messiest, sexiest bun, and she's sprinkled in flour. All over her apron, on her arms, her jeans, and the tip of her nose.
My heart slingshots around my chest as I take in the sight of her.
She's so goddamn cute. And sexy. And stunning. And every other word that exists to describe just how amazing a person can look.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“I close my eyes, groaning softly as I slowly work myself with my fingers. "You got undressed so fast. I'm impressed."
I move quicker, savoring the ache between my legs as it slowly intensifies. When I open my eyes, he leans so close to my face, I can feel the hot breath from his mouth coat my lips.
"I can do a lot of things quickly if I'm tempted. And you, Joelle..." He shudders as he works himself in his hand, his eyes never leaving mine. "Seeing you touch yourself is the ultimate temptation."
My mouth is on him instantly. With my free hand, I claw at his hair, and we kiss each other breathless. Soon we're moaning into each other's mouths. Max's hand is on my waist, and then he slides down to squeeze my ass.
Something inside me takes hold. I grab his hand and push it between my legs to take over.
"Please," I whine. "I know we can't have each other the way we want right now, but I just... I need you to touch me."
He nods at me, jaw clenched, like he's determined to take this task and run with it. And run with it he does. His massive hand works me into a tizzy, and soon all of the muscles in my body are tense with pleasure.
"Joelle," he rasps against my mouth. "I want you any way I can have you. Always."
Even though I'm lying down on my side, I'm dizzy with arousal. God, even just his words are enough to send me over the edge. I clutch his bulging arm as the ache inside me builds. When I burst, he's right there to absorb it all: my screams with his mouth, my thrashing body with his own.
When I finally come down, I set my sights on what's between his legs. I reach down and take my time with him, relishing his ragged breaths and growls, how his muscles go tense, how his eyes focus when he breaks apart, and how shy his gaze turns when he's finished.
I press a kiss to his lips, then lean up to grab napkins from the center console to help him clean up. When we're through, we're a sweaty, panting mess, and the inside of the car feels ten degrees warmer.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“He. Is. Exquisite.
If there ever was a perfect male form, I'm certain it's him. It's clear he works out, given the cut of his body and the hard lines that drag across his light-tan skin. But it's more than that. It's the ruggedness that his body exudes. The gold-brown hair that runs along the center of his chest and down his stomach, the curly hair dotting his tree-trunk thighs and calves, the spicy smell of his cologne.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“I press a kiss to his mouth, then give Roan a kiss. Before I turn to leave, I take a moment and look at the two of them. My heart thunders in my chest at the sight of my husband and our baby.
My boys.
My whole world, right in front of me.
Max smiles at me. "All good?"
I kiss both of them again. "Yup. I just can't resist my bookstore boys.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“His worn leather boots are a stark contrast to the white sneakers I wear almost every day. I realize how we look so very opposite: a tatted-up bookseller clad in leather and the sweetie-pie baker in a puffer jacket and thick-rimmed glasses.
But when I look down at our clasped hands, my heart thunders yet again, like it has ever since the two of us got together.
We fit together perfectly.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“I love this place already," Max says as he gazes at the flying saucer not op of the blue-and-coral-pink building that is South Beach Fish Market.
The hole-in-the-wall seafood joint is quirky for sure with the random artwork and sculptures all over the exterior. Giant cartoon renderings of fish and crustaceans in vivid colors adorn the outside, while the roof boasts a silver flying saucer and a lighthouse.
"Wait until you taste the food," I say.
It's a long wait in line, but I know once we get our meals and find a spot to sit down at one of the outdoor picnic tables, it'll be worth it.
As we sit down, I savor the clear summer weather with the sun shining bright above us, offering warmth against the brisk coastal breeze. When the aroma of spices, lemon, and batter hits my nose, my stomach roars. I inhale my fish and chips before Max is even halfway done with his oysters and halibut.
"Damn," he says around a mouthful of food. "Sometimes I forget how monstrous your appetite is. I would have never guessed given your size. But every time I watch you eat, I'm reminded all over again."
I dig into my clam chowder. "Food is my life. I am not ashamed of it.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“I love this place already," Max says as he gazes at the flying saucer on top of the blue-and-coral-pink building that is South Beach Fish Market.
The hole-in-the-wall seafood joint is quirky for sure with the random artwork and sculptures all over the exterior. Giant cartoon renderings of fish and crustaceans in vivid colors adorn the outside, while the roof boasts a silver flying saucer and a lighthouse.
"Wait until you taste the food," I say.
It's a long wait in line, but I know once we get our meals and find a spot to sit down at one of the outdoor picnic tables, it'll be worth it.
As we sit down, I savor the clear summer weather with the sun shining bright above us, offering warmth against the brisk coastal breeze. When the aroma of spices, lemon, and batter hits my nose, my stomach roars. I inhale my fish and chips before Max is even halfway done with his oysters and halibut.
"Damn," he says around a mouthful of food. "Sometimes I forget how monstrous your appetite is. I would have never guessed given your size. But every time I watch you eat, I'm reminded all over again."
I dig into my clam chowder. "Food is my life. I am not ashamed of it.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“As I walk over to them, I pick up part of their conversation.
"...you should totally come by."
"Thanks, but I'm busy. I've got plans with my girlfriend."
"Aww, come on! Just one drink. On me, if you know what I mean."
She wags a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. His smile turns to a wince as he looks away.
When I plant myself next to him, he twists around to look at me. I almost laugh at the relief in his expression.
"Hey," I say to the woman as I smile.
Her smile wavers the slightest bit. "Oh. Hi." She glances between us. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't realize..."
I climb onto Max's lap, straddling him with both legs wrapped around his waist. I snake my arms around his neck and then I gently bump my nose against his. Amusement flickers in his eyes as he gazes at me. And then I plant a kiss on his mouth.
When I'm done, I look back up at his admirer. "Sorry, were you saying something about a drink?"
Her jaw on the floor, she shakes her head. "Uh, no."
She mutters something unintelligible and then scurries away. Max squeezes my waist with his hands while the corner of his mouth quirks up. "That was pretty aggressive. I like it."
I chuckle. "I suppose that was a bit on the territorial side, but she sounded pretty adamant about getting you to go with her. She wasn't going down without a fight. I figured an obvious gesture was the best way to go."
I start to scoot off his lap, but he holds me in place. "I like it when you get a little territorial over me."
"Yet another thing you bring out in me.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“I'm here for you, Max. Always."
Those words. Every time she says them, they land like an arrow to my heart. They're a reminder that I've got her in my corner. And I want her to know that I'll be there for her too. Always.
"I'm here for you too, Joelle. Always, no matter what."
The way she melts into my body softens me. I'm head over heels for this woman, and I fucking love it.
Love.
The word echoes in my mind.
I wrap my arms around her and kiss the top of her head. For a quiet minute we just hold each other. I close my eyes and relish the feel of her against me.
Without her I'd...
The thought cuts off in my head.
Without Joelle.
Just imagining that scenario has me panicking.
Love.
An unfamiliar ache claims my throat as my heart races.
Love.
It rings louder in my head until it's the only word I know.
Love.
I glance down at Joelle, cuddled into my chest, blinking slowly, her delicate shoulders rising with each breath she takes. And that's when it hits me. I don't ever want to know a life without Joelle. Because I'm in love with her.
The thought lands like a brick to the head, but in the best way. Because the impact of that realization leaves me in a daze. It's like I'm floating. The most thoughtful, beautiful, kind, funny, and loyal person I've ever met---and she's with me.
And I love her.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“Soon she comes back into focus. The flicker in her eyes, the most angelic smile, pure tenderness and joy in her expression as she gazes up at me. I'm toast. I've lost all words except for one.
Love.
I ache to say it as water rains around us, creating the most surreal shield. Nothing and no one can penetrate this bubble we've created for ourselves.
But before I can utter a word, she places her hands on my shoulders and pulls me down to her mouth. Another slow, long, teasing kiss. It goes on for more seconds than I can count, until all I can hear is the thud of my heartbeat in my ears and the sound of our pants. And then I decide that this is a perfect moment on its own, these seconds where there are zero words exchanged between us, where it's just our bodies expressing what we feel for each other.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“Well. Look who it is."
I grimace at the irritation in her tone.
"Hey, Whitney. I'm sorry to bother you. I know I'm the last person in the world you want to hear from---"
"Nah, that would actually be my cheating ex-boyfriend," she says. "But yeah, after him, you're next.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“We fall into a familiar rhythm of filthy kisses and eager hands. Soon we're shedding our clothing onto the floor.
"Mmm, shower," Max mutters against my lips. "I need a shower. I'm so dirty right now."
I lean away, playfully pulling out of his hold, and walk down the hallway to stand by the bathroom door.
"You know, if I'm gonna move in, first I think I'd like a tour of the bathroom, specifically the shower. I need to know what kind of water pressure this place has before I commit to anything."
A mischievous gleam flashes in his eyes. "You've been in that shower once or twice before. And you seemed to enjoy your time in there, if I remember correctly."
"True, but I think I need to test it out one more time. Just to be sure I know what I'm getting."
That half smile I love so much appears. As I stand there, I soak in the bliss of this moment. Max and I are together. After eighteen months of harboring secret crushes on each other, a million friendly conversations---and a few super-awkward ones---and all the conflict and work upheaval and family struggles, we're here. Together. Back in each other's arms and crazy in love.
The motion of his muscled, beautifully tattooed arm yanking off his shirt pulls me back to the very hot moment unfolding. He walks over to me and hoists me over his shoulder. I squeal before falling into a fit of giggles.
"Allow me to give you an up-close-and-personal grand tour of the shower," he says.
"And the bedroom after that?"
"Absolutely."
And for the next few hours, Max Boyson gives me one hell of a grand tour.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“He sips a latte, complimenting the yummy nutty-vanilla flavor of the ube before taking a giant bite of his croissant. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he moans, and I nearly choke. I'm one thousand percent certain that I've never heard a sexier sound in my life.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“You, Joelle, are fucking goddamn mind-blowingly beautiful. I have no idea how you don't see it. Those glasses that you think made you look nerdy? If they're nerdy, then nerdy is so incredibly hot. Because when you wear your glasses, you look smart and sexy. Your hair that you think is unruly and messy? It's not. It's wild. And wild is so fucking hot, I can't even begin to tell you." He presses his eyes shut and shakes his head, like he can barely contain the thought. "I can't take my eyes off it. Every time you brush past me and I feel your hair on my skin, I get goose bumps. And your skin is so soft that every time I've touched you, I've almost lost my damn mind. Like when you were on my lap kissing me, I honest to god thought I was going to pass out. I mean, did you not feel my boner against you? You felt so fucking good I could barely take it."
My eyes are wide as I soak in every word he says.
"When we started working in the same space together, I overheard you mention how big your ass is when you were joking with your mom and aunt. Why? Your ass is a fucking national treasure. Why do you think I spent so much time grabbing it while we were fooling around?"
Against his palm, I let out a muffled "oh" sound. It's the sound I make when I've figured out an especially challenging crossword puzzle clue. These are some damn good points he's making.
Shaking his head, he looks away for a split second, like he's so frustrated, so hell-bent on getting these words out that he needs a moment to collect himself.
His eyes cut back to me. "Do you have any idea the way people look at you? Everywhere you go, people can't take their eyes off you. Nonstop. And you don't even notice it because you're too focused on others. Do you have any clue how sexy it is? Everyone else is so concerned with their image and what people think of them. But you don't give it a second thought. Even if you don't realize it, you come off so sure of yourself. It's the hottest thing ever.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“I'm head over heels for her. Someone who's as hardworking as she is stunning, who runs a successful business on her own, which she built from the ground up, no help from anyone. That's rare to find, you know?"
The way he narrows his stare at Mindy has her pursing her lips.
"Well. That's just great," she practically mutters. "I should get going. Lovely to run into you, Joelle."
"Likewise." This time when I'm smiling, it's one thousand percent genuine.
She spins around and jogs away, her pace noticeably faster than when she made her way over.
"She can't get away from us fast enough," Max says. "I'd call that a win."
My head falls back as I laugh. I start to let go of his hand, but he keeps a gentle hold. "Let's sell it for a bit longer. Just in case she turns around and looks back at us."
He winks down at me, and I'm sold.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“It's a short and silly exchange, but there's a playfulness that hangs between us that's making me all sorts of giddy. It's probably because we've officially given in to the tension that we've spent the past year and a half building. It kicked off that day in his office when we made out like two hormonal teenagers. It amped up the day we saw each other topless while arguing. And it culminated early this morning when we both admitted that we've been crushing on each other ever since we met.
And even though I'm not sure how exactly to proceed, one thing's for sure: there's really no way to go back to being the friendly colleagues we once were---and that thought excites me.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“But Joelle doesn't do "nice". Nice is too passive for what she is, which is a genuinely sweet and kind and thoughtful person---one of the best I know. I've watched her for over a year and a half pouring her heart and soul into her bakery, treating her customers like members of her own family. She remembers their names, the names of their kids and pets, birthdays, first days of school and work, graduations and weddings.
I've seen her give out pastries and drinks to people on the street near our building. I've seen her offer up her bakery as a hangout for local high school students who want a place to play cards and dominoes. I've seen her give cash out of her pocket to a kid in need.
All because she cares. She doesn't do a single thing that isn't rooted in sincerity.
That's why what she said to me yesterday meant so much. Because despite the stress of our current work setup and how it's caused countless fights between us, she still cares about me. And that means everything---more than she'll ever know.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“How easily she shifted from bold when she told off that woman to kind and sweet when she helped put Henry at ease by feeding him and chatting about books. Witnessing that makes my heart beat faster. All the bones in my rib cage shake.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“Society really is going straight to hell now that we're rewarding criminals. You should be ashamed of yourself."
I don't miss Joelle's eye roll, the way her chest heaves as she inhales and pivots back to the woman. "Actually, I think this is a sign of a good society, helping people who need it. And the only person here who should be ashamed is you. I make the best damn matcha latte in all of Portland and you didn't like it. That means your taste buds are crap."
The start of a chuckle falls from my lips before I clear my throat.
"And on top of that, you went out of your way to make a kid cry. Pretty damn shameful all around."
The lady's jaw plummets all the way to the floor at what Joelle said. "That's it. I'm out of here."
"Thank god," Joelle mutters. I hold back a laugh.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“My chest heaves up and down as I spit the words out when I feel my pointer finger jab against something very hot and solid. And that's when I realize I'm poking Max's chest with my finger. God, wow... that's... that's some firm bare flesh right there.
I remember just how exquisite his skin felt under my touch the one time we made out. But touching him like this, when our emotions are running high and his skin is hot and wet, it's a completely different sensory experience.
A second later I remember that I'm only wearing a sports bra. My cleavage and my stomach are on full display, mere inches from Max's body.
And that's when I notice that glazed-over look in his eyes... and where exactly he's looking.
It's not at my face. It's at my chest. My boobs specifically.
I step back and cross my arms over my torso. My cheeks heat and I start to turn away instinctively. And then I see Max's hands fly to the waistband of his jeans. His fingers fumble and for a moment, I wonder what the hell he's so panicked about.
But then I see it. The bulge at the front of his jeans.
Max is turned on at the sight of me, sweaty and in a sports bra.
A whole new feeling consumes me. It feels a lot like satisfaction. Maybe a tad smug too.
I can't help it. Max Boyson is turned on by me again, but this time I barely even touched him.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“I stammer as I gawk at his sculpted chest. And his shoulders. And his arms. And his abs. My lizard brain counts the muscles.
One, two, three, four, five, six, s---holy shit, you can have eight ab muscles? What the hell, I never knew...
And oh damn, those V-lines along the sides of his stomach that I'm sure have a name, but I can't think of it right now. Because my brain is too busy taking in the flawless visual.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“All a dude has to do to be seen as a dream guy in this modern dating hellscape is to be halfway decent. But you know what he should have to be to be seen as actual 'dream guy' material?"
I nod, chuckling softly. We've had this discussion countless times when one of us has had a frustrating experience with a guy.
"Kind," I say.
"And smart."
"And attentive."
"And patient."
"And funny."
"And hot. Super hot. And dynamite in bed."
I snort at Whitney's embellishment. "Of course. Can't forget that."
"And willing to be open and honest about how much he cares about you," she says.
"Willing to say 'I love you', no matter if you're blissfully happy or fighting like cats and dogs... and mean it just the same." I clear my throat, unable to hide the wistfulness in my tone. "That's a fantasy for sure.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“These furry little bastards own our hearts. We can't help but cry over them when they give us a reason to.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore