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Turns out I wasn’t the only one with this idea. And so began the unspoken battle with the mystery man.
If I had to give him a name, I’d go with Lucifer. Because every time I see him, I wish he’d go to hell.
The amount of brain power I allot to my hostility toward him is probably unhealthy. In contrast, I doubt he even realizes I exist or that this silent competition is something I plan my schedule around.
But who can blame him? If I had The Chair, I wouldn’t take notice of the surrounding world either.
NATHAN
She’s back.
The second the elevator let out its little arrival ding, I knew it was a matter of seconds before she came around the corner. And I was right.
Pretending to be absorbed in my textbook, I watch out of the corner of my eye as she fights to contain her rage at finding me in The Spot.
Her lips press tightly together, and her slim black brows angle down dramatically. But the best part is when, apparently unable to stifle her anger completely, she stomps her foot. The sight is adorable.
And it’s not the first time I’ve seen it.
Last semester, there were a few times I found The Spot filled, so I grumbled to myself and wandered away to some other less impressive chair. This is the best seat in the library, what with it being so far away from foot traffic, having access to a window, and sitting next to a low table, perfect for resting my feet on. No wonder other students want The Spot as badly as me. But over time, I came to realize whenever I missed out on it, the person in the old leather armchair was the same girl.
After I noticed that fact, it wasn’t long before I became aware of her arrival when I was already sitting down. One day, I glanced up at the sound of someone approaching, and there she was, glaring at me. I pretended not to see her, dropping my gaze back to my book, but by the clomp of her heavy footsteps, I got the impression she’d left in a huff.
A girl her size wouldn’t make so much noise unless she was slamming her feet down with purpose.
From that moment on, I never overlooked the arrival of my contender even if she never realized I was watching her.
It’s become a sort of game for me. First, will I beat her to The Spot? Then, if I do, the question is, will Shorty get mad?
I bet she’d hate me even more if she knew about my secret nickname for her. We haven’t stood next to each other, but I’d be surprised if she cleared five feet. Despite lacking in the height department, she’s not what I’d call petite. Shorty has some muscle on her arms and legs. And that butt would probably be a generous handful.
Today, I’m able to fully admire it. That pair of shorts grips her hips in all the right ways. I’ve never really understood the high-waisted trend, but on Shorty, I’m starting to get it. Her waist is more defined, and I glance teases of her rib cage above her shorts and below the T-shirt she’s cut the bottom off of. Over the shirt, she’s thrown on a blazer, like she hasn’t decided if she wants to be casual or professional.
Over the winter, she wears a similar get-up but jeans instead of shorts. I prefer this. Her bare, golden legs are a nice springtime treat.
I look my fill while appearing to keep my eyes on the page in front of me.
After her angry foot stomp, Shorty huffs out a heavy breath before stalking over to a nearby table. Nowhere near as comfortable as The Spot though. I almost feel bad for her gorgeous behind sitting on that hard wooden chair, missing out on the chance to sink into the well-worn leather I’m currently sprawled across. But I don’t let the guilt stick around.
If she wanted The Spot, then she should’ve shown up earlier. And I’m not enough of a gentleman to give it up. I’ve already had to vacate my dorm room, which is supposed to be my home away from home. Freshman and sophomore year, it felt that way. But my roommate seemingly transformed into a different person over the summer, and his new extracurricular activity means I can’t ever count on the place being quiet.
Across the way, her eyes continue to burn into me like death rays as she pushes aside her curtain of silky black hair. I don’t mind the heat though, seeing as how I have a nice breeze floating in from the open window to cool me down.
Shorty obviously chose her seat in hopes that I’d be up and out soon and she could swoop in.
I’m tempted to meet her angry gaze with a smirk before calling out to her to get comfortable because I have no plans to relocate.
Instead, I ignore her and get back to my textbook, keen on finding how long my competitor will hold out.
2
HANNAH
Lucifer didn’t move morethan an inch. For two hours.
Does the guy not have a bladder? Or a life?
I guess I’m not one to talk, seeing as how I’ve sat there just as long. Also, I don’t have what most college students would consider “a life” either. For that, I’d need some friends.
