“I remember the class,” he said.
“These books are on the shelves,” she said, highlighting a few of the listings. “These are checked out but are due back in a week. You can put a hold on them. That should ensure they’re returned, but if you think you really need that particular book, we can try to bring in a copy from another library.”
“Thanks,” he said.
She slid off the stool. “I’ll show you where that section is in the stacks.”
He followed her to the door behind the circulation desk marked STACKS. While the library’s public spaces were the warm, inviting sheen of aged walnut, polished granite, and shiny brass, the stacks were prison industrial functional, gray steel shelves arranged in rows and lit by florescent lights. “Social sciences are on B3,” she said, and pressed the button on the elevator bank.
The elevator gave a jerk, then started to descend. The man … student … put his backpack on the floor between his booted feet and shouldered into his jacket. The rasp of the sheepskin lining against his shirt pulled the hem up from his jeans, exposing a thick leather belt, and a ridged abdomen, sending heat coursing like rivulets of rain over the surface of Erin’s skin, and for a split second she was very, very aware of the tiny space, the breadth of his shoulders, her quickening breathing in the silent elevator, and exactly how long it had been since she’d had sex.
Almost a year.
The elevator dinged. She cleared her throat and stepped through the doors when he held back, gesturing for her to precede him. For a moment she stared at the Dewey decimal numbers on the ceiling-high stacks, unable to remember what he was researching. “This way,” she said after an extremely embarrassing pause.
She automatically collected a granola bar wrapper and reached for a Coke can abandoned in the Archaeology section. She fumbled the can a little because he was right at her back, but he caught it on the way down, reaching past her to snag it midair. The movement brought him right up against her back.
He held it out to her, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Thank you,” she said formally, flushed, heat prickling under her arms and at her temples. She took the can and continued down the aisle to make a right at the Philosophy section, all the while wondering why she’d worn her most comfortable slacks and a cardigan, a cardigan over a button-down shirt. Like somebody’s grandma. Worse, the florescent lights washed out even the most vibrant complexion, if she even had any makeup on at the end of an eight-hour shift.
Stop it.
Halfway into the narrow stack of books she stopped, scanned high to low, then tipped three books forward. “These appear to be the foundational books in the field. Start with these, and the articles, and see if that helps you narrow the topic a little. Professor Trask will be able to help with that, too.”
“Thanks,” he said. He reached past her to grip all three books in one hand. He wore a Casio G-Shock watch on his wrist, the band scraped and faded with constant use.
“Anything else I can help you with?” she asked brightly.
He shook his head, still looking at her with those slate blue eyes. Her heart turned over in her chest, and she knew she was in big, big trouble. Above them the florescent lights hummed. “You can”—she cleared her throat again—“you can take them upstairs and look at them before you check them out. The circulation desk is open until midnight. Just leave them on the cart if you don’t want them. We’ll reshelve them.”
Shut up, Erin.
“Okay. Great,” he said, but he didn’t move until she ducked her head and took a step forward.
Brushing past his solid, hot body sent a crazy electric current through hers. He followed her back to the elevator, up three floors. When they reached the open, cooler space by the circulation desk, she all but scurried behind it, desperate to put some distance between them.
He leaned one elbow on the information desk. Somewhere in between exiting the elevator and coming around to the front of the desk he’d flipped up the sheepskin collar, so the soft fleece snagged on the dark stubble on his jaw. “Want to get a drink after you get off work?”
Yes. Oh yes. Absolutely yes. But he was a student. She was in a leadership role at the college, bound by the same rules governing relationships as a professor or an administrator. “Thank you, but no,” she said gently.
He gave her that little crooked bad boy smile again, unfazed. “Okay. Thanks again.”
He strode over to the circulation desk, where Carol, the part-time employee who closed five nights a week, fell over herself checking out the books she’d helped him find. He crouched down to tuck the books into his backpack, then pulled on a hat against the April rain and disappeared into the darkness.
Carol turned to look at Erin, then fanned herself and blew out her breath. Hella hot.