Me: Look, Mom. I respect my body. You know that. I don’t give it out easily, and I’m not exactly scouring bars looking for random hookups. I work. I go to law school. And I occasionally read a book in Starbucks. I’m careful. I promise.
And for all of her worrying, and all the crazy things I’ve done to coddle her in the past, this is a statement I mean.
There’s almost no one more careful with their affection than I am. If something is going to lure me into a sexual trap, it’s going to have to be one hell of a man with good genes, a great laugh, and cosmically impeccable timing.
Mom: Just keep an eye out, Ruby. The most sexually depraved always pop up when you least expect it. Be aware of your surroundings. Look around every tree, every building. Just KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED, Ruby.
I almost text her back to tell her I’d literally never get anywhere if I had to look behind every building that encompasses this vast city, but I refrain from fueling the paranoia train.
Not to mention, I think it’s pretty safe to say if I can avoid any further interaction with that hot, charming-as-hell stranger from the library yesterday, I can avoid accidentally falling into the sex trade.
Cap
The library is unsurprisingly quiet as I step inside out of the cool, autumn wind and into the heat thirty minutes before it’s scheduled to close.
My mind races with all sorts of sexually depraved thoughts as soon as I walk into the vast space, and the sweet, citrusy scent of the woman from yesterday floods my nostrils as though the place has a physical memory.
I’m back here, in the law library, to run my own fucking errands again because Hell-ary is still in my office screwing everything up.
But thankfully, that’s not the only reason.
Twenty-four hours after spotting that petite blonde bombshell behind the desk and I’m more than ready to step up to my new challenge—the sexy little, porno-listening librarian.
I smirk to myself and head toward the reception area first.
The desk is empty, save a couple returned books on the top surface, and the surrounding lobby is almost eerily quiet. I wipe my shoes on the rug at the door, straighten my jacket, look to my phone for a moment, take out a piece of paper from my pocket, and put it back, all in a harmless attempt to give the center of my current fantasies time to reappear behind the desk.
But it’s all for nothing—or at the very most, an amusing minute and a half for the man in charge of watching the security cameras.
I sigh to myself and scan the surrounding area, but there’s not much I can do. As talented as I am at everything else, even I don’t have the ability to conjure someone with my mind.
Ah, well. I guess I might as well grab the files for the Porvost account first.
Once again, I head for the research room and pull up a spot at a computer to locate the file I’m looking for.
Now that I’ve done it once, I know the process pretty well. I find the information I’m looking for reasonably quickly and make my way to the shelves to start scanning for the physical file.
I’m picking through the files one by one when a floating head pops up above the shelf in front of me and makes me jump.
Holy motherfucking mustache.
“Can I help you find something?” the guy asks, and I look left and right, wondering just how in the bejesus he’s looking down at me from above the shelf like that. Does he have a ladder over there?
“I, um…I think I got it,” I say, looking back to the files and scanning through them once more. I find the one I’m looking for and turn to the shelf behind me to see if they have another one from around the same time, when the floating head pops up right in front of me, and I fucking jump again.
“Still okay?”
I hold the file to my chest and nod with a forced smile. My heart is stampeding through my chest like a herd of water buffalo, but I’m otherwise uninjured. “Yeah. Still good.”
“Okay,” the head says, moving along the shelf toward the end while looking back at me.
Okay, so I have to rule out a ladder. Maybe scaffolding?
“Just let me know if you need anything.”
The only thing I need is for him to stop scaring the piss out of me every five seconds, but I don’t say that.
Instead, I let him disappear and spend the next five minutes looking over my shoulder and above the shelves and in every goddamn direction like a psychopath while I search for the other file.
When I have them both in hand, I make my way back down to the empty front desk and drop them on the counter. I’m looking around the room to see if I can find the blonde when Jack-outside-the-fucking-box pops up in front of my face. Apparently, the head comes with a body attached.
I jump like a teenage boy with his dick in his hand when his mom knocks on the door.
“Jesus!” I yell.
“Oh, whoops. Didn’t mean to startle you,” the guy says, and I crane my head back to take in his form as he continues to stand.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because you’ve been startling me all over the place.”
He laughs a little and then shrugs, standing, finally, to what is apparently his full height.
Cripes, this dude is tall. As in, towers above all living things.
I follow the line of his body up until I finally land on his face. “How the hell tall are you?”
He chuckles a little before shrugging his shoulders. I swear to God, they almost touch the ceiling. “Seven foot two.”
“Christ. What the hell are you doing in a law library, Stretch?”
“Working.”
I shake my head with a laugh. “Obviously, I’ve found a fellow smartass.” I bow regally. “I dig it.”
My reaction apparently lowers his guard a little because he smiles. “I go to NYU Law. In my third year, actually. But yes, I did do a stint in basketball before I broke my back.”
“Ah fuck, man,” I groan. He must hate having to answer questions about this shit every time he meets someone. His height pretty much makes it an impossible subject to ignore. “That blows. I’m sorry. But hey,” I console with a shrug. “If you’re any good at manipulation, you can make more money as a lawyer than you ever would have at basketball.”
He takes the files from my hands with a nod.
I get with the program. This guy doesn’t have any interest in shooting the shit with me, and to be honest, I don’t really have time for it either. Ideally, I would have spent the whole night wooing my potential blond lover, but I’ve got no use for dinner with another dude. Now that poker night is a thing, I’ve got dicks coming out of my ears. “I need copies of both of those.”
“Right,” he remarks. “They’re fifteen cents per—”
“Page,” I finish. “Yeah, I got it. The blonde who was working yesterday let me know.” He raises a brow, and I latch on to its significance. He must know who I’m talking about. “You wouldn’t happen to know her name, would you?”
He squints his eyes slightly, and I’m just observant enough to notice. Maybe he wants to date her—fuck her. Something.
I mean, I sure as hell want to fuck her, so I can’t blame the guy. But it could be something else. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want a good-looking fucker like me to have her information.