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“I have to say, Isabelle, I’m a little shocked to discover you’re a Naughty Princess and you’ve been keeping it a secret from me, but I’m so proud of you. I knew you had a little wild in you, I could see it in your eyes. I’d be even more proud of you if you walked over there and got all naughty on that man’s lap. You’re a pro. Show this old woman how it’s done!”
I quickly reach over the counter and grab Mrs. Potter’s hand when she points at Beast, my face heating with embarrassment when she fails to keep her voice down, and he looks back up from his book.
His eyes meet mine over the top of the pages, and once again, butterflies start swarming around in my stomach.
“We’re in a library!” I whisper a little too loudly. “I’m not doing anything naughty to anyone in here, especially him! And besides, I haven’t exactly done any stripping yet, just administrative work so far. My friends and I collectively agreed that we would each need to dance at Charming’s once before we could book our own parties, and so far, Cindy is the only one who’s been brave enough to do it. I need a little more experience with men, and I need to learn how to dance sexy before I can do that.”
I immediately try to force my brain to stop flashing images of myself doing what she suggested, but it’s no use. In my head, I’m much more experienced than I really am, and I can clearly see myself strutting over there, ripping the book out of his hand and tossing it to the side, then climbing onto his lap and rubbing my body all over his. The hot fantasy that plays in a loop in my mind quickly turns disastrous when I think about just how awful that entire scene would go if I did have the courage to do it. I’d most likely trip over my own two feet instead of walking over there gracefully, and I’d fall on the floor at his feet instead of in his lap, where he would uncharacteristically throw his head back and laugh at my efforts.
“Mr. Potter and I watched a pornography once where a sweet, innocent librarian got her jollies against a bookshelf with one of the patrons. Hoo-wee, that man didn’t need Viagra for two weeks after that one!”
Any fantasies, good or bad, involving the man sitting at the table on the other side of the room disappear instantly with this overshare from Mrs. Potter, as she comes around behind the desk and grabs her coat and purse from one of the drawers.
“I think I’ll head out a few minutes early tonight so you can close up and get yourself some experience,” she tells me with a wink as I help her into her coat. “When I come back tomorrow, I’ll expect a full report. And now that I have an in with this Naughty Princess Club, bring me an application, will ya?”
I shake my head at Mrs. Potter as she slips the strap of her purse over her shoulder and hobbles across the room, pausing right next to Beast’s table.
“I’d say you’re about six-foot-two, two hundred and seventy-five pounds, give or take, am I right?” she asks him, her voice bellowing across the room as she looks him up and down.
I hold my breath, watching as he slowly lowers the book from in front of his face and looks up at the old woman in confusion, not saying a word as she continues with a nod.
“That’s what I thought. Use the A-B shelf in the children’s section. It’s the sturdiest.”
With that, she pats a perplexed Beast on the shoulder and continues on her way.
“YOLO!” she shouts at the top of her lungs as she pushes through the front door and disappears out into the night.
Beast’s eyes meet mine again, and my body gets hot all over when he looks me up and down, the same way Mrs. Potter just did to him, before pulling the book back up in front of his face.
I spend the next hour nervously pretending I have a ton of work to do, filing and refiling the same three pieces of paper and clacking away at the computer, typing nothing but gibberish. I do everything I can to not look over at him every five seconds, even though I fail miserably. Each time I glance over at his table in the corner, I find him looking at me over the top of his book.
Does he even know how to read? He’s a bouncer at a strip club and behaves like a wild animal. This is probably the first time he’s even held a book in his hands.
I immediately feel guilty judging him like this, but it’s his own fault. He’s invading my space and making me anxious, and with only three minutes left to go until closing time, he needs to leave. I shouldn’t go over there and talk to him, but it would be rude not to. But, I know if I go over there and talk to him, my penchant for word vomiting when I’m nervous will take over and I’ll most likely make a fool of myself, saying something ridiculous about how a recent study showed that 97 percent of women in their early twenties have had fantasies about having sex in a public place, like a library. Or, I’ll mortify myself even more by telling him he needs to leave because I live here now, and I need to make up my bed under the counter with a balled-up T-shirt for a pillow and a wool pea coat for a blanket and get some sleep.
