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So, he’s good-looking, and he has The Chair.
But he doesn’t get my name.
With determined nonchalance, I return to my notetaking and answer in a dismissive voice, “I’m Shorty, apparently.”
When his light chuckle drifts across the quiet space, I ignore the goose bumps it raises on my arms.
5
HANNAH
I barely dared to hope,but when I turn the corner, The Chair sits empty.
Glorious day!
My feet kick up in a happy skip as I cross the rest of the way, only to stutter to a stop when I realize there is actually something sitting in my seat. Only it’s a sign rather than an annoyingly cocky boy.
In red letters, the wordReservedshouts out at me from the tented piece of paper. Underneath the bold proclamation, there’s some smaller type. I snatch up the sign to read whatever the explanation is.
This spot is reserved for Nathan Cooper, a very smart, very hard-working elementary education major. If anyone—especially the notorious spot-stealer known by the name of Shorty—attempts to sit in this chair, they will promptly have the library police called on them. You have been warned.
As I make my way through the note, my mouth pops open in outrage. Then, when I’m just about to crumble the offending piece of paper up, a heavy presence fills the air on my left. Before I register my mistake, Lucifer lands with a bounce on The Chair, which I didn’t sit down in while reading.
“Hey, Shorty. Glad you saw the sign.” He gazes up at me with a self-satisfied grin.
I want to punch him right in the junk.
“No.” Like I was planning before, I ball up the paper and spike it at his forehead.
He dodges, chuckling all the while.
My blood boils up to my face. I’m sure it’s splotching up nicely. “I was here first. Get your ass out of that chair.”
One of his eyebrows arches slowly, and he crosses his arms, still smiling like a doofus. “Or what?”
“Or”—my breath fills up my chest, as if puffing it out will somehow make my short stature more intimidating—“I’ll make you.”
Shit, that was not a good threat at all, which is obvious by the smirking shake of Lucifer’s head.
FYI, I refuse to use his real name before I get any sort of proof that he is not in fact the devil.
“I need details, Shorty. How will you make me?”
The question is a reasonable one. He’s probably got a good sixty pounds and ten inches on me. A physical altercation would really only work if he was a gentleman about it and let me push him around.
No way can I trust my nemesis to be a gentleman.
There’s no actual library police despite what his ridiculous note said, and running to the front-desk workers feels too much like tattling in a preschool class.
Though it stings, I realize that today is another battle I’ll have to lose. But that’s only so I can fight again another day. And next time, I’ll be utilizing guerrilla tactics.
“I wasn’t finished.” I cross my own arms and glare down at him. “I’ll make youpay.” The effort I put into adding a sense of foreboding to my words is wasted, as he just snorts.
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
Concluding that my angry eyes aren’t doing anything to intimidate him, I flip to the other end of the spectrum and try my best evil smile as I wag a finger in his face.
“Nuh-uh. That’s not how this works. Give up the seat, or face the consequences. This is your last chance.”
