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“My heart already belongs to you.” I peck her warm, pink cheek and pull away quickly. “Right, let’s get to work. I’ll show you how to use the system, and you can sit behind the desk and check books out while I do all the heavy lifting.”
“I can carry books,” she protests, and I have to kiss her again to stop her complaining. Hmm, she’s the best sort of distraction but if I don’t put a little distance between us, I’ll be in danger of dragging her between the stacks and finishing what she started at the lake.
“I know. But really you’d be doing me a favour. I hate manning the desk. I have to speak to people, pretend to be nice, smileanddeal with idiots.”
She grins at me. “Okay, I’ll do the peopling today, but you owe me.”
“Anything. Name your price.”
“Another date.”
“Thought you’d never ask.” I wink and pull her behind the counter and log in to the online library software we use. It takes about fifteen minutes to run through how to use it, and we even get the chance for her to practise checking some books out for students on our course. I guess everyone had the same idea about getting the jump on the prof’s essay.
“All the good books will be gone,” Malia complains when they leave.
“Leave it with me. I’ll set some aside for us,” I promise. “You good here while I go and grab them?”
“Sure.” She nibbles her bottom lip and even though it’s tempting to lean over the counter and suck that lip between my own teeth, I resist the urge.
“You’ll be fine. I’ll be right back. If you get stuck, just yell and I’ll come running.”
“Okay.”
I check she really is okay before leaving her to gather books for our assignment. The shelf has been raided, but there’s still a dozen or so decent looking books. By decent, I mean thick. The thicker the book, the smarter it’ll make me, right? I grab them all and take them back to the main desk. Malia laughs when she sees me.
“Did you bring themall?”
“I thought you could look through and see what might be best while I shelve some returns, since it’s quiet.”
She nods her agreement and reaches for the stack. I pile up the returns on the trolley and take off, but make sure to check on her every couple of minutes.
The library’s quiet so she has time to sort through the books, creating a neat pile of the ones she wants to keep behind the counter and leaving the others stacked on the desk for me to grab when I’m done.
“No rest for the wicked,” I tease when I return with the empty trolley and grab her rejects.
“Hush. All that heavy lifting will keep you fit.”
“You think I’m fit?”
Her cheeks ignite, turning her whole face adorably red. “I-I meant fit in the healthy sense,” she stammers.
“Sure you did, little dot.” I wink at her and she flushes even more, making me chuckle. She’s so freaking cute when she gets flustered, but my god, there was nothing cute about the way she was rocking that bikini at the lake and coming on my fingers.
I groan and grab her books, having to turn away and readjust myself. Fuck. Right now I should not be thinking of her curvesorthe breathy little moans she made when I kissed her or the way she tasted when I sucked her juices from my fingers. Tell that to my dick. I want to drag her into the back room and see what other sounds I can coax from her body.
When I’m done, I sit down with Malia and let her talk me through the essay I have very little intention of writing. Although if it means getting to have more study sessions with her, I might be tempted. I was just pretending to try and be a better student to get her to talk to me, but I’d say we’re friends now – at least – so maybe I can drop the pretence.
Only, when she smiles at me and gives me a look full of pride when I do stupid shit like bringing a bag or a pencil to class, or even opening a notebook to doodle because I’m bored, it stirs something alien in me. Like, I want her to be proud of me. So I keep showing up andalmosttrying, because it seems to make her happy. And I love making her happy. I love that she seems to give a shit about me, even if it’s only about my school work. I want to make her smile. To make her proud.
So I guess that’s why I’m hanging on her every word and snapping pictures of quotes in books to cite in my essay, and even going as far as to write notes for a fucking introduction. Whatever one of those is.
“Are you okay?” Malia asks gently.
“Huh?”
“You seem…distracted. Are you ready to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
