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With one last, deep breath, I tighten my grip on my backpack and open the car door. Rain immediately begins to pour on my head as I jump out, half drenching me before I can manage to slam the door and run for the library entrance.
Ivan honks twice as he rumbles away, leaving me wet and chilled in front of the Fisher Memorial Library, or as it is more commonly known, the Backup.
The Backup sits at the bottom of a steep hill next to a small pond. The building itself is constructed of grey stone and served as a chapel over a hundred years ago. Now it’s a small research library at the far edge of campus and houses all the dusty leather books from a time when the chapel still held wedding ceremonies.
I grip the metal handle of the large glass door—the only part of the century-old construction that’s changed—and take a step inside, shaking water droplets from my hair. A plaque next to the door greets visitors with a history lesson of Penelope Fisher and her various contributions to the college. I step through the archway and into the main room.
It’s clear the area used to be a place of worship, even if the rows of pews have been replaced with rows of bookshelves. Arched, stained glass windows still line the walls, and the chandeliers high above still look like they used to hold candles instead of bright, LED lights. In the back of the former chapel is a high choir loft.
Inside is dry if not overly warm and blessedly devoid of students. The worst thing about a college library is the sheer number of people in it and the surprising lack of librarians in dark pantsuits with long, sharp index fingers held up to their lips, insisting you remaining perfectly quiet. The noise is unbearable, even in the designated study areas. At the Backup, I can actually get some work done.
There is one librarian on duty at the front desk, and she gives me a pleasant smile as she looks at my drenched self and asks how the weather is. I shake like a dog, tossing droplets of rain into the air, and she laughs.
“I’m going to be closing early tonight,” the librarian says. “With only two of you here and the weather the way it is, it just makes sense. Make sure you have what you need before seven o’clock.”
“Will do.”
I head straight for the psychology reference section and find myself an ancient-looking manuscript filled with case studies on the effects of brain damage on personality, going all the way back to Phineas Gage. It’s actually pretty interesting reading, and I get lost in the words. Before I know it, the librarian is calling out for everyone to pack up and get going.
“Shit,” I mutter as I flip back and forth between pages.
I hadn’t been watching the time, and I haven’t taken all the notes I need. I wonder how long I can huddle here until she comes and throws me out.
“Paula, do you mind if I just stay a few extra minutes?” A woman’s voice calls out from between the bookshelves. “I can lock up for you. No trouble at all.”
“I’m not sure.” The librarian glances over at me.
“I could use a few minutes myself,” I tell her. “Almost done.”
“I’m not sure,” Paula says again as she purses her lips. “You aren’t actually working today, Kas.”
“I’ve got my keys,” the woman between the shelves says.
“I do really need to go.” Paula looks over at me once more. “I guess it will be all right. Don’t stay long though. The weather really does look bad.”
I give her a thumbs-up and go back to the last dozen pages I need to read. I finish the chapter and jot down a few more notes before shoving everything into my backpack. Hopefully it will be enough to finish this paper before morning.
I stand and carefully place my chair back under the study desk before returning the book to its spot on the shelf. I peer down the aisles of books until I see a slender blonde at the end of the anatomy section, bent down and running her thumb over the spines of the books.
She’s curvy and blonde. The shape of her fantastic ass is accentuated by the jeans she’s wearing and the fact that she’s bent over. My mind immediately begins to picture her bent over on a mat, hands tied behind her back with intricate knots running down her spine and around her hips.
I’m such a whore.
I look away, swallow hard, and take a deep breath before turning back to her.
“I’m all done,” I call out.
She startles, jumps back, and places her hand over her chest.
“Shit! You scared me!” She glances at me and then looks down at the industrial carpet, breathing deeply.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay.” She stands up straight, gathers her hair with one hand, and tosses it over her shoulder. “I was a little lost in thought. Forgot there was someone else here.”
The hair toss is familiar. I’ve seen her before, but I can’t place her. I’m sure she’s not a psych major, or I’d know her name. Maybe she was a resident in one of my dorms in a previous year, but I think I’d remember better than that.
“I just wanted to tell you I was heading out. I think I’m the only other person here.”
