There was just something about her. In her presence, he could feel the energy of her metamorphosis. Could see her little hands reaching up to break out of whatever shell she’d been living in. That dress? Forget it. The only librarians who dressed like that lived in the imaginations of pubescent teen boys. Talia obviously wanted something more in life.
But he had to forget it. Forget her.
Talia King was off-limits. Case closed. He was her mentor, nothing more.
Maxwell poured three fingers of whiskey over ice and stirred it with the fourth. Licking the residue, he grabbed his phones and a peer’s paper he’d promised to review and walked a worn path to his favorite chair.
He managed to make it through the abstract. After that, he re-read every other sentence. Focus eluded him. And he knew exactly why.
His interests weren’t as innocent as he’d like them to be.
Hormones were a hard thing to calm once they started raging. His had been at it for twelve hours straight. Release was the only way to handle them.
Grabbing the Spider-Man flip phone, he found his paper contact list and started scanning. Entering his personal numbers was still a work in progress. Still, he found what he was looking for—TK, short but simple for Tamara Kline. Just in case anyone ever decided to be nosy, he’d keep it like that. No one needed to know what he and Tamara texted to each other. There were no strings attaching them, but if their texts leaked out on campus there certainly would be.
Under her initials, he had scribbled two numbers. Thinking about the day he made the list, he tried to remember what they were for. But the afternoon was hazy. Images of sprinklers and Talia were all that came to mind. He liked the thought. Other names on the list had double numbers. A quick scan up to an entry he had memorized—his old friend President Harlow—and he recognized the first entry as an office number and the second as his cell. Surely it was the same for Tamara. A simple text would confirm.
He decided to go with the second and fired off a message. It wouldn’t deliver to an office number. Those were landlines. It was an easy answer. At least, in his mind.
Hey. Netflix and fuck?
It was an inside joke they shared. One that poked fun at the sexual repression so many still felt. Why say “Netflix and chill” when everyone knew it meant “fuck”? An honest hookup was all Tamara wanted. It was her one stipulation when they’d started fooling around. Maxwell had zero issues with casual sex. In fact, he preferred it. Who needed strings? They only tangled.
A note in the margin caught his attention—prefers life’s edges. Huh, that was Talia and their literary discussion the first day they’d met. There was odd spacing between the numbers in that section of his list. He didn’t remember writing Talia’s number down. She’d decided to play in the sprinklers before he could. Right?
Surely, that explained the spacing. Talia’s name wasn’t anywhere on the list. He’d been interrupted before writing it.
Minutes passed and there was nothing from Tamara. Had he switched things? It must be her office line. He was just about to copy the message to send to the other number when a reply came in.
TK: Hmmm…I’m gonna need a little more than that.
MAXWELL: Okay, how about this— If you don’t get your fine ass over here I’m going to start without you. You’ve got 10 minutes. I bet you can make it in 5…
TK: Oh, I wanted to cuddle. Couldn’t we snuggle and discuss our feelings?
Tamara was such a fucking tease sometimes. A pit viper was better at cuddling than she was.
MAXWELL: Liar. There’s only one *feeling* we explore together.
MAXWELL: Ticktock, ticktock.
TK: Okay, I’m cumming. Be naked when I get there. On your couch. With peanut butter smeared from tip to ballz.
MAXWELL: Crunchy or smooth?
Maxwell smacked his lips. Peanut butter? That was new. But Tamara had a sexual appetite to match his own. Experimenting was fun.
Ten minutes later, he was standing in front of the pantry wondering if almond butter would have the same effect when he realized Tamara should’ve been there. Ticktock, ticktock. Maybe she hit traffic.
He went back to his phone to check the time stamp on their messages. Tamara never responded with her peanut butter preference. Surely almond butter would do just fine. It was organic.
A flash of movement outside his window caught his eye.
He moved a curtain aside and peered into the darkness. Moonlight cast shadows over the crushed-stone driveway that snaked its way through a large yard from his mother’s house to what used to be the carriage house. When he returned from Cambridge his mother had converted it into an apartment like most of the other houses in the area. Who needed carriages these days? While it wasn’t the living arrangement he had in mind, he couldn’t refuse her request. She was all alone in that big house. And his younger siblings were too self-centered to worry about Mom.
Outside, everything seemed in order when he caught the movement again. Farther up the driveway, barely visible in the darkness. It was a female form, moving from one side to the other. Slowly. Rhythmically.
Dancing?
His chest tightened.
He flicked on the exterior lights. Flooded in bright white luminescence, the figure stiffened and slowly turned toward the lights.
She was dressed in a sheer blue gown. High heels. Red lips. And a fur stole that fell away from one bare shoulder.
His heart fell to his toes.
Shit.
He dropped his phone and grabbed a blanket.
“Mom!” he shouted and ran out into the night.
Chapter 11
Talia
“I cannot believe I let you two do this.” Talia read the text again, face-palmed, and slid her phone across the coffee shop table toward her friends. Crunchy or smooth? She shook her head and startled when the coffee bean grinder whirred to life behind the counter, sounding just like the Whole Foods nut butter grinder. What perfect timing. “Some poor guy is going to be sitting around with a sticky thing all night long waiting for someone who never shows.” She wrapped her hand around the warm paper cup and worried a thumbnail over its seam.
“A fate he deserves for not checking the number before inviting you to ‘Netflix and fuck.’ What if that message had ended up on my niece’s phone? This dude deserves it.” Emily Redding, Talia’s favorite new coworker, read the text again. Stifled a giggle and dismissed her concern.
“Say ‘sticky dick,’ ” Doris pleaded, looking up from the phone Emily slid her way. “Just once.”