I get to him a hair ahead of Blaire and haul him up by an arm.
“Every. Fucking. Time,” he mutters with a scowl over his shoulder at the offending stair. “I’m going to sue the hell spawn who built that last stair deeper than the others.”
“Are you okay?” Blaire asks, kneeling down and brushing up some papers fanning from a yellow folder that fell out of his bag.
He’s momentarily dumbstruck, and that’s before his eyes even turn to her. It’s her voice—silk over sandpaper. Rough with just a little bit of purr on the kick. Super sexy. And when his eyes find her, I swear he fucking drools.
I shove one of his books in his chest to snap him out of it.
“That’s my usual entrance,” he says, putting on a cocky smirk and flicking his wrist at the stairs. “What did you think?”
She hands him the file and another book she’s scooped up and smiles. “You’re a great flier, but your landing could use some work.”
He takes his things from her and tucks them into his bag, grinning like a moron. “I’ve never been quite able to stick it.”
She shrugs. “Sorry. The best I can give you is a seven point two.”
I see his expression shift and know he’s getting ready to swoop in for the kill.
“Was there something you needed, Jones?” I say, turning for the desk, hoping he’ll follow. But even if he doesn’t, I can’t stand here and bear witness to him hitting on Blaire.
“Yeah.” He thankfully follows and when I get to the desk and turn back, I see Blaire heading to her table. And Jones’s eyes glued to her ass. “Do you know who that is?” he asks, his voice lower.
I shake my head. “All I know is she’s in Duncan’s poetry class.”
He nods slowly and doesn’t say anything else.
“I’m sure you came here for a reason other than to ogle the undergrads.”
Finally, his eyes shift to me. “Just needed that Hemingway biography.”
I bring him around the side of the stacks farthest from Blaire and find his book, but when I hand it to him, he’s peering through the shelves to where we can just catch a glimpse of her. I shove the book at him. “Stop being a fucking pervert.”
“She’s hot,” he says with a small shake of his head, “and I don’t think she’s wearing a bra.”
I shove him toward the stairs. “Like I said, stop being a fucking pervert.”
When we round the corner near the tables, he raises his voice and says, “So, I’ll be kicking your ass again in the ring on Monday, yes?”
I laugh under my breath and mutter, “Yeah. Good luck with that.”
Jones might be bigger than me, but I’m quicker. It’s usually a pretty even match.
“We’ll see if you’re still laughing while I’m pounding you into the mat.”
His voice is still too loud, and when I look up, I see it’s had the desired effect. Blaire is watching us.
I shove him toward the stairs. “Whatever.”
“I’ll work on that landing,” he says with a wave her direction.
She smiles, and when he shifts like he’s going to head her way, I thump a palm into his chest.
His attention snaps to me. “You cock blocking me, man?” he mutters.
I cut him a look.
Understanding dawns on his face and his eyes widen. “You thinking about tapping that?”
I shake my head. “Get the fuck out of my library.”
He grins and turns for the stairs. “Didn’t think you had it in you,” he calls over his shoulder.
When he’s finally gone I return to the desk and focus on the cataloging. As long as I keep my eyes down and my back turned, I can almost pretend the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on isn’t just thirty feet away.
“Excuse me.”
So much for thirty feet. My insides seize and heart slams against my ribcage at the sound of her voice just behind me. When I turn, she’s standing on the other side of the counter, leaning forward on her hands. Her sable hair lays in loose waves to nearly her waist, contrasting with skin the color of cream. Her shimmering whiskey-colored eyes search mine for something and I’m dying to ask her what. The way she’s looking at me, I’d give her anything. Her arms push her breasts up and in, and her nipples bead tightly against the fabric of her heather gray sweater. And Jones was right. She’s not wearing a bra.
My dick stiffens before I can will it into submission.
“Blaire, right?” I say, stepping toward the counter.
She smiles, her plump cherry lips puckering just so. “Right. Didn’t think you’d remember.”
There’s no fucking way I’d forget. “Not too many Blaires around here. You made an impression,” I say, smiling back.
Am I fucking flirting with her? Christ, I’ve got to rein myself in.
“Thanks for helping Jones,” I add quickly with a gesture at the stairs.