AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A woman in a dark-gray suit, oversized but not in an intentionally fashionable way, more like in a ‘I don’t care and I want you to know it’ way, sighs in exasperation. She pushes a lock of short blonde hair behind her ear, and points at the book in my hand. “Are you all set with that?”
I open and close my mouth a few times, my brain refusing to catch up. I finally realize she’s wearing a library name tag, and I’m the idiot who’s been standing beside the book return cart for the better part of five minutes, doing absolutely nothing, just staring into space.Gods, I am so out of it today.
“Er, yes,” I say quickly, color rising in my cheeks. I grab a random book off the top of the cart, just to look like I haven’t been spacing out for no reason. “Here, all but this one.”
The librarian purses her lips as she pushes the cart away, muttering under her breath. “Undergrads.”
I massage my temples and blink a couple of times, turning on the spot to face the main room of the library. What was I doing here again?
Oh, right.
I dragged myself over to the university this morning to set up a meeting with my advisor about my options for next semester, only to realize the office isn’t open on Mondays. Unwilling to go straight back home and stare at the walls in my empty house, I dropped by the library. Except now, I can’t focus.
I suppose, now that I think about it, a library was not the best place to go to forget about the other night. My sanctuary has been tainted.
Just like me,a tiny voice whispers.“There you go, good girl. Now you’re tainted.”
Ah, no!I have to resist the urge to smack myself in the face with the book I grabbed from the cart to dislodge my intrusive thoughts. What the hell is wrong with me?
What’s insane is that nothing happened. Not really. But I feel like I have this enormous secret. Like I did something hot and forbidden, when in actuality the only hot date in my future is a dinner with Harrison Dane scheduled by my mother.
The dinner is a peace offering of sorts.
My mother was less than thrilled that I ran away from the party, but softened slightly when I told her I got food poisoning and didn’t want to embarrass her by being violently sick in my white dress. Then, she announced that she’d already apologized for me by accepting an invitation to dinner on my behalf.
If she knew what I was actually doing during the gala—who I’d been talking to, and the temporary insanity that came over me afterward…well, she probably wouldn’t think anything because she’d drop dead.
I sigh, and walk in a zombie-like daze over to the only decent armchairs over by the windows. A beam of sun shines down over the green and blue plaid chairs, and I make a beeline for an open spot. That is, until a dark haired man seated in the opposite chair looks up at me, like my sigh is a silent whistle.
I go stiff.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Helen,” Roman says.
My heart pounds too hard against my chest and I’m frozen, unsure where to go. If I turn around I’m going to look like an idiot. As it is, I’m fairly sure I look like a stalker. How is this possible? In all the years I’ve been coming here I’ve never seen him here, and now, today of all days.
“What did you call me?” I say finally, shaking my head as if to clear it. It doesn’t work, I still feel like I’m standing in a fog.
“Helen?” he says it like he’s asking me.
I furrow my brow. “Why?”
Has my haze of anxiety caused me to actually hallucinate? Not only has Roman Montague never called me anything except “good girl,” or the occasional throw away insult, he’s smiling at me. Actually smiling. I realize he’s getting closer, which must mean I’m still walking toward the chairs.Oh my gods, what am I doing?
His smile turns into a smirk. “Read a book once in a while, maybe you’ll catch on.”
My hackles raise. There’s the Roman Montague I know. Dismissive. Taunting. Mean, if he noticed me at all. In a way, I’m almost relieved. He might smile, but he’s still a villain. A serpent hiding behind an angelic face.
“I read,” I snap, holding up my book.
He puts two fingers between the pages of his own book to make his place and leans forward in his chair to see what I’m holding. “Ah yes, a literary classic. How could I doubt you when you have come to the library to peruse, ‘The art of submission: Power dynamics and the psychology of human sexuality.’”
“What?”My stomach lurches, and I turn to look at the book I’m holding. “No, I—”
Sure enough, he’s right. There it is, in blue and white letters, right across the front.Damned judgmental librarian. Damned random book cart. Why do the gods hate me?
The back of my neck heats, but I absolutely refuse to admit my mistake with Roman staring at me with clear laughter in his black eyes. I would rather die—which I might if my temperature keeps rising at this rate.
I change course mid-sentence. “Yes,” I say indignantly. “Exactly. I am fascinated by all aspects of the human experience.”
