If you were a book, in which section of the bookshop would you be shelved? Which genre are you most drawn to?

My cover is a splash of red and black, mixed with iridescent silver writing. The woman twirling the sword is wearing a gray tunic that billows behind her with the wind. Her hair is black as night, and her eyes glow like a cat's. The angles of her face are as sharp as the sword she's wielding. She's strong and feminine. A killer and a savior. Made up of all the things men dream of.
I'm placed on the top of the waist high bookshelf, displaying my title and credits. Not only am I written by a New York Times Bestselling Author, I am a Bestseller. I boast a single line review on my cover from a fellow Bestselling Author. If you glance in my direction, my eyes will captivate you, and you'll have to pick me up.
An old man scrolls through the historical section. And a middle aged, salt and pepper haired man is browsing the political thrillers.
I wait for my turn. Knowing it's only a matter of time before someone glances at my back cover to get a glimpse of what's inside. After all, the best readers know you can't judge a book by it's cover.
It feels like hours, and I become impatient as the two men leave without picking me up or even a glance in my direction. Sure, I'm placed in the Teen Read Section, but that doesn't mean I'm off limits to every one over eighteen.
A young mom walks in. She's holding the hand of a toddler who looks like she's ready to tear the pages off any book that gets into her dimpled hands. Even though those things look innocent, I've seen them do more damage than a vacuum machine.
The mom walks the daughter to the kids section, on the other side of the library. Of course, they wouldn't want to distract potential readers with rowdy kids, so there's a designated area for the younguns.
As I wait on the shelf, I realize someone is looking at me. It's the young mom. She squints like she's trying to read my title. My pages itch to be opened, devoured by the eyes of someone hungry for escape from their mundane life. Maybe this woman will be my next captivated culprit.
She's still staring when her daughter grabs her hand and pulls her away.
The day wears on. The mom leaves and more people pass by. But nobody cares to stop by my section. I'm beginning to wonder if my cover isn't flashy enough, or my credits grand enough to draw attention, when the young mom from earlier in the day is in front of me. She picks me up and flips me over.
Her eyes scan my summary and credits. A avid reader from the looks of how fast her eyes are moving from line to line. Before I know it, I'm taken to the front desk, a red scanner going over the taped sticker on my inside cover.
A new adventure has just begun.