isidorescastilloā:
Ā Small towns felt notorious for their fake nice personna- it was one of the things Idisore had liked most about being in the Marines. It was all fuck youĀ this, suck my dickĀ that. SoĀ much more his style; but even so, here in Cassel, in a quiet bookshop no less, the abrasive nature of the stranger took the biker aback. Only for a moment, the surprise flashing across his eyes, gone in a blink and so easy to miss.Ā āWell, since you were kind enough to askā¦ā
Ā Ā In truth, the last thing that Isidore had the patience to read was an ownerās manual of his grandparentās ancient microwave back at home; and no, it was still broken, and yes, heād given up on fixing it. There wasnāt even a chance for Isi to fire back something equally spiteful and full of snark before she was speaking, again, and displaying a book that was all too hilarious for him not to have to struggle to bite back a satisfied grin.Ā āOn the fuckinā nose,ā Isi replied sarcastically, but took the romance novella from her all the same, flipping it over to gaze at the back as if he were interested.Ā
Ā Ā Two could play, even if he wasnāt all too sure whatĀ the game was.Ā āWhen Victoria first saw him, she was overcome with lust, breasts perking up under her gown as if reaching for him,ā Isi was reading aloud now, a random page chosen, and taking no care to be quiet. With a serious face, he raised his eyes from the novel and back to the stranger, giving a contemplative frown.Ā āI donāt think I can bring this to my grandma for her evening reading. Iāll give you another shot, since Iām feeling generous.āĀ
Ā Ā The book closed. Isidore placed it randomly on the shelf, and crossed his arms; a challenge within his body language. Gimme what you got.Ā
Darcyās eyes widened just so as the man began reading an excerpt from the novel - loudly, without any of the shame or embarrassment that came with the hyper masculinity sheād pegged him for. Okay... perhaps the people of Cassel were a little spicier than sheād originally given them credit for. Maybe they had to be, with nothing of note to occupy them besides the banalities of their own minds.
āYou mean, you donāt bond with Grandma by doing all the different voices for her?ā Darcy quipped, watching as he returned the book to the wrong shelf. Anarchy in action. How helter skelter of him. This wasnāt that type of true crime documentary though, so Darcy reached across the space between them, grabbing the book again so she could put it back in its rightful spot.
She locked eyes with him, still leaning into his personal bubble.Ā āStay right there,ā she said before turning away, disappearing around the shelf. The storeās organization couldāve been better; it looked as if someone had ordered everything by their own personal taste rather than any discernible system. So it took her a moment to find something decent for Casselās buff, tattooed Little Red Riding Hood to take to his grandmotherās house.Ā
She reappeared after sheād found what she was looking for. She held out the book in his direction - The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky.Ā āI thought maybe Grandma is a woman who enjoys the classics.ā















