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“It’s on the third floor. I can show you where, if you want.”
On the third floor? “Yes, please show me right away.”
I come around the desk and allow Mr. Curls to lead me across the second floor to the back stairwell that’s built into one of the spiral towers that make up the library. Our footsteps echo up the massive cylinder made of bricks, glass, and concrete. My mind races as I try to think of who to call for help. A janitor probably. I could use the help trying to salvage some of the books, that’s for sure. I’ll need to call Ms. Barbara. She’ll want to know ASAP given she’s the head librarian. Mentally, I try not to groan. Calling her will probably take more time than actually moving the books to a new location.
We make it to the next floor where Mr. Curls opens the door and steps aside for me to go first. The gentlemanly behavior catches me off guard and I blush. Ducking my head so he can’t see it, I step onto the third floor, and then wait for him to walk by me. When he does, I follow. He takes us all the way to the front of the building. The third floor isn’t used often. There are a few study rooms in the back that are only accessible by appointment, and there are desks scattered about, but they’re usually empty.
“The leak is just over here,” Mr. Curls assures me, leading me further and further into no-man’s land, or what the students call ‘the stacks’.
These books are probably the oldest. I’m glad the school hasn’t just done away with them. Who knows when a little tidbit of information hidden within these pages will be needed when their web searches reveal nothing helpful?
“I appreciate you showing me. I probably never would have wandered over here until it was much too late,” I murmur, aware of how quiet it is on the third floor.
“Of course,” he looks over his shoulder at me, giving me another swoon-worthy smile before turning to face the front again.
We step off the main walkway and start weaving through the bookshelves. Somewhere nearby I hear giggling and… is that a soft moan? I start to slow, ready to pull on my adult-panties and stop whatever nonsense is taking place, but Mr. Curls turns and says,
“It’s just over here.”
With a sigh, I let go of the inappropriate library behavior happening and follow him around three or four more turns. Finally, Mr. Curls stops, steps out of the way, and points to the end of a row of books. “It’s right there.”
I brush past him, ready to check out the damage, but only get a few steps before skidding to a stop. My heart slams in my chest as I find Grant Gipson and another boy that I’ve never seen before at the far end of the aisle. Grant is leaning up against the wall. His hands are shoved into his front pants pockets as he regards us. The other boy is yanking books off the shelves and carelessly tossing them down onto the floor. There are already several books laying in a pile around his feet.
“Miss Wilson, how nice of you to join us,” Grant greets softly, not moving from where he’s standing.
His eyes are pinned to my face as I stand there in shock. The unknown student rummaging through the books stops and looks over at me. He has a square face, short nose, dark brows, and wide shoulders. His light brown skin is partially covered by tattoos that climb up his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his t-shirt and reappearing around his neck. The sharp cut of his jawline is emphasized due, in part, to his buzzed hair.
If Pianna was here, she’d immediately point out that this guy is definitely my type. The tattoos, the bad boy look, the muscles… Yeah, he’s my typical go-to guy for sure. Too bad he’s a student.
Blinking away the thought, I force myself back into the moment.
“W-what’s going on? There’s no leak in the ceiling,” I point out stupidly to my crush.
I turn halfway around to find Mr. Curls blocking the exit to the aisle, his arms crossed over his chest. One thick brow slowly raises as if to challenge me, but the expression is softened by his smile.
“What’s going on here is that we’re recruiting you to participate in a fun little game we’ve devised,” Grant answers, pulling my attention back to him. My head slowly twists in his direction.
“What? I don’t have time for childish games,” I snap, trying to make myself seem more confident than I am.
The unknown student chuckles. The sound is dark, nearly menacing. My heart rate picks up speed.
“Trust me when I say there is nothing‘childish’ about the game we want to play,” he assures me, with a slight Spanish accent.
A cold sense of trepidation slides over my skin, causing my stomach to sink. My hands flex and relax at my sides as I take a step backward, toward Mr. Curls.
“Where are you going, Miss Wilson? Haven’t you been thinking about getting me alone with you? Well, here you go, we’re alone…ish” My crush mutters from behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin at how close his voice is. I look over my shoulder to find that he’s moved closer to me while my attention was elsewhere. Oh, he’sverytall. I tilt my head back to look up at him.
“You’ve been eye-fucking my friend here from afar, Miss Wilson,” Grant starts softly. “And sinceyouwon’t make a move, we’re doing it for you. I think it’s safe to say we’ve finally found a way to give you what you want.”
I look back at him, shaking my head as I do. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve watched you stare longingly at Jason every night he’s been here for a year. Whenever I walk in, there you are at your desk, undressing him with your eyes.” Grant grins as I gasp in indignation and heat steals into my cheeks.
“I have not!”
“Deny it all you want, but we all know the truth,” the third boy says with a chuckle. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but Grant cuts me off.
