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It’s not an outlandish conclusion. Public libraries are often a haven for those without a home. But the tone he uses, the one that makes it sound like Ishouldhave somewhere else to be, and if I don’t then I’m lacking, makes annoyance prick over my skin.
Gathering all my disdain for his perceived authority over me, I infuse the disgust into one word.
“No.”
His face creases into a glare which smooths out immediately at the sound of a door opening.
“He didn’t leave did he?” At Summer’s question, I realize the guy shifted to block her, so all she sees is his back.
“Still here. Wouldn’t leave without you.” I say this with my gaze on the security guard’s, who seems to be fighting another frown.
“Good. I’ve been on my feet all day, and I didn’t want to chase you down.” She comes into view, bright red purse over her shoulder, wide smile on her orange-painted lips. The colors should clash, but Summer could wear a technicolor outfit and still look adorable.
“No need.” I lift the still-considerable stack of materials left on the counter as she reaches my side.
“I would have though. If I needed to.”
As we turn toward the exit, side by side, the greedy part of my brain shouts at me again, demanding I stop waiting. Begging me to make some kind of play. Any type at all.
But I don’t. Because a yes is not guaranteed.
Instead, I speak low enough so only she can hear.
“Chase me whenever you want to.”
Chapter Two
SUMMER
He saidyes, and not in the usual way that makes me want to claw his eyes out. A very kind clawing. I only maul people with my help.
As we head toward the parking lot, I barely notice the sore soles of my feet. Joy makes me light.
I am helping my most elusive patron.
And yes, I think of him as mine. But I think of a lot of the patrons as mine. My regulars. The ones who I know by name because I’ve scanned their library cards so often.
That’s how I know his name.
Cole Allemand.
I love all the Ls it contains and how my tongue gets to play with those letters. Well, it would if I ever had a chance to say his name. When I see him, I’ll often find myself mouthing it, wanting to speak the moniker aloud. But I haven’t had a reason to yet. He’s never officially introduced himself.
He knows my name.
How can I get him to say it again?
Maybe if I talk about the change of seasons we’ll eventually get around to the one I share my name with, and then I can pretend he’s talking about me. These are not the thoughts a librarian should be having about one of her many patrons. I should be friendly but not…affectionate.
Out of the corner of my eye, I observe the lithe way he walks, all casual and smooth. Cat-like. He’s a giant cat, and I want to reach up and scratch behind his ears.
Stop it!Not appropriate.
But I can’t seem to force my mind to appropriate topics around Cole Allemand.
Maybe if I talk, that’ll shut down the strange, sexual thoughts this tattooed man inspires in me.
“You go to the writers’ group on Thursday, right?”
