ctice all the time with books that piss me off. My walls have dents from where I throw them repeatedly when I’m in the mood.
“So,” I say brightly when he doesn’t move from the spot, smirking at me. “If that would be all…”
“You know, you’re cute when you’re flustered,” he says, and my mouth drops open. “And mad.”
“What?”
His baby blues do a slow once-over, his gaze sliding from my face to my boobs to my legs. “With those glasses, and if you wore a mini skirt and heels… You’d totally fit my librarian fantasy.”
Now the flush is spreading down my body. My breasts are tingling, and in the land down under, there’s a fire burning.
Joel Kingsley is checking me out. And he has a librarian fantasy. Jeez.
I open my mouth to say something so stupid and embarrassing I’ll never live it down, when his phone dings, and he whips it out of his pocket to check his messages, his brow furrowing.
“Oh fuck, sorry,” he mutters, “gotta go.”
And that’s it, ladies and gentlemen. Playtime is over.
Clutching the history book against his side and murmuring a thanks, vaguely directed at me, Joel Kingsley turns in the direction of the register.
He just goes.
After checking me over and tricking me into thinking he finds me pretty.
Who? Me, with my nerdy glasses and nerdy leggings and nerdy hobbies.
Donna’s already at the register. She rings up the book, and he tells her something I can’t hear, too busy pretending to be rearranging the books on the shelf.
Then he’s gone.
***
Donna’s shrewd gaze follows Joel as he leaves without a backward glance, broad shoulders stiff and back rigid.
The door chimes echo in the empty shop.
“Now spill,” she finally says. “What happened? Why did he look like his cat ran away to join a dog kennel?”
I honestly wish I knew. Wish I knew who called him, what was said to make him react like that.
“So this is Obi-One, huh?” Donna puffs out a breath. “He sure is hot.”
“J-One.”
She is an avid reader of my blog—that was actually how we originally met online, and how I got this job—and has more inside information on the story than most people.
Though, let’s be real: any girl with a brain who went to college with Joel and has read my blog has to know who the two Js stand for.
“He is hot,” I agree. No doubt about it.
That was the whole point of getting him in a threesome with me. Even if it’s an imaginary one.
“Do you like him?”
“I’m sorry? I’m practically panting with my tongue hanging out, and you’re asking me—?”
“That’s sexual attraction, Candy-girl. I mean, do you like him? Is he boyfriend material? Or do you only have the hots for him?”