What has come over me?
A thick hand comes to my upper arm as Nathan twists away from me and warmth seeps through my body. Then my blouse continues moving with him. My mouth pops open to say something, warn him, as my shirt opens wider at the neck, exposing my nude bra as my blouse follows the twist of his body.
I’m stuck on him.
“Um …” I hold up a finger, and he turns to glance down at me. I freeze. All thought escapes me as his eyes dip lower and heat rises up my neck. I lick my lips. Another second and I’m certain I’ll be frothing at the mouth despite my embarrassment. I’d like to say I understand my reaction when he looks at me like he is—silver eyes glistening. But I don’t. I’m a thirty-nine-year-old sexually-repressed librarian who practices self-love in hopes of reviving her inner goddess.
I’m still waiting for divine inspiration to spring forth.
With that thought, the fabric springs free of his protruding belt buckle and his hand releases my arm.
Thank you, Mother Earth.
I risk a quick glance up at him to see if he noticed our attached clothing, but it appears as if he missed everything. Instead, he looks like a god with his broody-edged jaw layered in white with a smattering of lion-brown in the mix, not to mention his hulking body. While Wiccan practices remind me life is about balance, it also teaches me I don’t need a man on the other side of my seesaw. At least, the way I celebrate my religion.
I blink. I blink again. Then I reach for my shirt, tugging the hem forward to notice a small hole caused by our caught clothing. How appropriate considering the hole he left inside me. And just like the time before, he doesn’t even notice what he’s done to me. He doesn’t look back at me, like he didn’t look back then.
Rough fingers with short nails like they’d been bitten come to his belt buckle and absentmindedly press at the metal confine. He straightens it against his waist, leaving his callused digit on the tip a bit longer than necessary. Then he smooths his hand down the front of his zipper.
My mouth falls open. Swollen tongue. Then it snaps shut.
Nathan chuckles softly to himself and glances up at Sara who is slack-jawed and wide-eyed, watching us with interest. I don’t imagine the night shift offers much entertainment, and right now, the sexual tension vibrating off me is higher than a Passionflix rating of five heats.
“It’s your turn,” I say, nodding toward the clerk, and he turns his body, giving me his back as he steps forward. Harley Davidson, I read across his broad back and take in the symbol underneath. Is he a member of a motorcycle club? Not versed in the who’s who of area bikers, I know enough of the Iron Wraiths, the local MC presided over by the incarcerated Razor Dennings, to make me shiver.
Nathan’s box of condoms swipes over the scanner and Sara lowers the package for a bag.
“Oh, I won’t need a bag. Keep the environment safe and all that.” His eyes drift to the carrier over my shoulder, the one I use to collect my groceries. Environmentally friendly, women in Africa make these bags as a way to raise money for an education which could lift them from oppression. My heart leaps in my chest. He cares about the environment. “Not to mention, I’ll be opening the package soon enough.”
Or not.
He turns to Sara and winks. Fingers come to her pinkened cheeks while her other hand reaches for the twenty he offers for his purchase.
Quickly understanding his meaning, I begin removing items from my basket, setting them on the belt with more force than necessary. Why would I care that he’s going to use a condom soon?
Brownie mix. Rice cakes. Tampons.
I look over at the magazine rack to my left and reach for a novel from the ten bestsellers at the top of the display. I don’t even read the title. I simply grab the book with the cover of a bare-chested man ripping the bodice of a woman in a floor-length gown and drop it down on the belt with the remainder of my things.
“Looks like an interesting night,” Nathan says, eying my stuff as he holds out his hand for his change. Sara seems to be taking her sweet time doling out the bills and pressing coins in his palm.
Did she just stroke his fingertips?
My brain mutters a litany of profanity, but my mouth tweaks up in a false smile.
“Well, we can’t all be as interesting as you.” My brows tip up as my eyes flip to the box in his hand.
What the … Nice retort. Am I in high school?
Nathan leans toward me, his head lowered, and his voice deepens. “Plan on it being very interesting. Want to join me?” He smirks—literally—with a rough chuckle. A raised brow matches mine and that damn corner of his lip creeps upward again. Is that a dimple? Sara’s eyes flick between him and me, her mouth clamping in a grimace as her head tips just the littlest of bits, almost encouraging me to follow him.
“No thanks,” I mumble, sweat trickling down the center of my back, coating my spine. You’re lying, my brain taps my forehead.
Deny. Deny. Deny.
His eyes focus on my breasts for a moment. Maybe I’m imagining it? Then he tips his chin upward like he’s a movie star and I’m lingering paparazzi. “Okay then, Naomi.”
It takes a moment to register he said my name. I’ve seen Nathan a few times in the last year, but he hasn’t acknowledged me. I assumed he forgot me, like he must have forgotten my phone number. I, however, have never forgotten him. My chest clenches—a sensation like my ribs are caving inward—and I want the tile floor to open and swallow me whole.
Sara watches me as she scans each of my items slowly, her expression stoic but I sense the question churning inside her. Him? You? Her eyes shift once again to Nathan’s retreating back as he exits the store and then to me. I remain focused, following the swipe of each item before they are placed in my environmentally friendly bag. My toes wiggle in my leather boots and my fingers twitch, tapping a crisp twenty on the raised counter waiting to pay as I refuse to watch Nathan’s departure. My entire body flickers with a flame I haven’t felt in a long time.
I will not live my life in the past.
Sara reaches for the impulse purchase, scans the back, and then holds the book up to face me, as if waiting for an explanation.
Tonight is not going to be an evening of stellar, stimulating, quality literature like we host at the library. No, tonight will be a late night of unadulterated smut and self-soothing pleasure.
“You tell anyone, and I’ll never let you check out the 9 ½ Weeks DVD from the library again.”
Sara slams the book into my bag and winks.
Interesting evening indeed.
Chapter Two
Dewey Decimal Classification: 612.6 Reproduction, Development, Maturation
[Naomi]
It’s almost October and in a few days, we will decorate for Halloween, a Green Valley Public Library favorite. Fall used to be a dreaded time for me. Summer was life when I was a teen. As I grow older, I appreciate the crispness of the changing seasons, the preparation for shorter days, and the necessity of a revolving life cycle. Like the season, I’m in the autumn of my life, desperate for a change, but not knowing what such a change should be.
This time of year is also a crossroad for me. The locals celebrate through the annual Halloween party at the community center, but I refuse to attend organized functions at the former school, especially on the night of such a commercial holiday. The lore of vampires, werewolves, and witches isn’t really my thing, being that I’m rumored to be one.