Love and the Library

by Lauren Connolly

  His grimace makes me grin. I do have to admit, Nathan is slightly more handsome than is fair. Smooth, sculpted lips sit on a freshly shaved jaw. His chestnut hair seems damp, as if he walked over here after getting out of a shower.

  Mmm. Nathan in a shower. Now, that would be pretty.

  With him this close, I can pick up that subtle cloves scent. All combined, it’s a little too much for me to handle.

  The scowl he has on gives way to a smirk, so fast that I’m almost positive my teasing didn’t actually upset him at all. “You waited too long to tell me your name. Shorty is how I think of you now.”

  “Well then, I’m sticking with Lucifer. I think it fits you better anyway.”

  In response, he reaches out to tweak the end of my braid. “Whatever makes you happy, Shorty. Now, come on. Let’s get you out of the library for one night.”

  I shake my head, holding up my book for him to see. “I’m good right where I am.”

  “One Foot in the Grave?” he reads the title as if confused by its awesomeness. “This is your Friday night?”

  “Hell yeah, it is. Vampire huntress kicking some undead ass. What’s better than that?” I snatch my book away from his reaching hand.

  He sighs and sits on the coffee table across from me.

  I’m simultaneously grateful for the relief from his hovering and regretful that I can’t smell him anymore.

  “Okay, that does sound sort of intriguing. But come on, Shorty. You can read anytime. And the library is closing in an hour anyway.”

  He has a point. But counterpoint, I’m very comfortable.

  Clearly realizing his reasoning hasn’t moved me, Nathan props his elbows on his knees before leaning toward me and throwing out probably the best offer he could make.

  “You come hang out with me, and the next time I get the spot before you do, I’ll forfeit it whenever you get here.”

  “Deal!” Maybe it would’ve been more prudent for me to take a moment to think his offer over, but then he’d have had the opportunity to take it back. “So, what are we doing?”

  He shrugs. “Something fun.”

  With a groan, I slide deeper into The Chair. “It’s not a party, is it? Because college parties are not fun. They’re all overcrowded, sweaty, and full of people trying to hook up with each other.” I’m whining, I know, but if I gave up a night of reading to go stuff myself in some upperclassman’s crappy off-campus house, I’d be pissed.

  Nathan grins and pats my knee. “Don’t worry. I won’t make you go to a party. We’ll do something that’s actually fun. But you need to come with me to find out what it is.”

  With that cryptic invite, Lucifer clasps my forearm to lever me out of the chair.

  Once standing, I stiffen for a second, watching him with a wary eye.

  “What?” He tilts up one eyebrow at my obvious tensing.

  “Just waiting to see if this was all a ploy to get me out of The Chair, so you could steal it.”

  Instead of lunging for the soft cushions, he tosses an arm around my shoulders and scoops up my bag, sliding it onto his back.

  “Not tonight, Shorty. I’m taking you out.”

  10

  NATHAN

  “I’m gonna die. Seriously, this is so good; I’m going to just keel over. I can’t even handle it.” Hannah’s eyes threaten to roll back in her head as she scoops up another piece with her fork. A happy hum emanates from her throat while she chews.

  “Glad to hear I’m lethal.” I give her my best smirk before taking a bite of my own.

  She hits me with a friendly glare. “Stop trying to take credit. When they identify my cause of death, it won’t be Nathan Cooper. It’ll be death by pie.”

  “Death by pie, provided by Nathan Cooper,” I amend.

  Hannah ignores me as she licks the last traces of caramel off her fork.

  After getting close to her in the library, I couldn’t help taking a deep inhale of her pear scent. It made my mouth water and gave me an idea of what to do once she finally agreed to abandon The Spot.

  Slice ’Em Up is a local pie shop I found at the end of my freshman year, which serves a variety of flavors. One happens to be a mouthwatering pear pie with cinnamon-caramel glaze, the filling so sweet that it makes my teeth ache and a crust so buttery that it flakes off in smooth chunks. I plunge my fork in for another round of the mind-melting taste.

  On the pathway to my mouth, I realize Hannah is watching me. More specifically, she’s tracking my utensil. Then, I notice her plate is polished clean while I still have a good third of my piece left.

  “Guess you approve of my version of fun, huh?”

  She doesn’t acknowledge my smile, eyes glued to my food. “Still haven’t passed judgment. Maybe I need more convincing.”

  “More convincing? Or more pie?”

  Hannah’s gaze flicks to mine with a smile as tempting as my dessert, and I’m incapable of denying her. Carefully, I extend my fork across our small table.

  Her delighted grin holds out momentarily before she opens her mouth to accept the offering. Once the pastry sits on her tongue, I retrieve my silverware, watching it slide out of her closed lips. A flutter of her lashes and the slow movement of her jaw betray how she’s savoring my gift.

  Suddenly, I’m hit with the knowledge that not only does she smell like pears, but if I were to dip my tongue into her mouth right now, she’d taste like them too.

  “Okay, I concede. You have mastered fun.” Her words come out garbled from the food.

  I let silence descend for a moment as I watch her finish chewing and swallowing while I consume the last bit still on my plate. The night air carries a slight chill, but Hannah doesn’t seem to mind, once again wearing her overly large sweatshirt with its mystery symbol.

  When we’re both done, I collect our trash and toss it in a bin.

  “Okay, so I guess that was a decent alternative to reading in the library. Thanks for the pie.” Hannah hefts her bag onto her shoulder and makes like she’s going to leave.

  Without thinking, I reach out to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her in toward me. Hannah’s eyes go wide in surprise, staring up at me as if waiting for an explanation as to why I grabbed her.

  Thinking on my feet, I throw out the first idea that comes to mind. “Let’s watch a movie. At my place.”

  Hell, that sounds like such a line.

  “That sounds like a line.” She seems to read my thoughts as she glares at me.

  While I do like the idea of Hannah coming back to my apartment for some adult activities, that’s not what I meant at all.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter, Shorty. When I say movie, I mean, movie. It’s still early.”

  She glances at the time on her phone and then gives a halfhearted shrug that sends a spark of excitement through me.

  “Okay. But if you pick a crappy movie, I maintain the right to walk out.”

  “Deal.”

  As we leave the shop, she steps away from my hold. No problem. I just slide my hand into hers, lacing our fingers together.

  “You’re a very touchy person, aren’t you, Lucifer?” She holds up our clasped palms but makes no move to detach herself from me.

  Not so much with other people, but with Hannah, I can’t seem to stop myself. Everything about her acts as a siren’s song, luring me in, tempting me to touch and caress. She’d probably shove me away if she knew how often I imagined sliding my hands past the waistband of her jaunty shorts and cupping the bare skin of her generous ass.

  For now, I’ll keep my cravings to myself.

  “Nah, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t sprint away from me. I’ve seen how fast you can run.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t know I had that kind of speed in me. You saw me ninja leap over the bench, right?” She beams up at me.

  We spend the rest of the walk going back and forth about our mad dash to The Spot, and by the time I unlock my front door, we’re both having trouble getting words out arou
nd our laughter.

  “I just”—giggle—“jumped! Can’t believe”—snort—“it either!”

  “You almost strangled me!” I toss my keys on the counter.

  Her hand gives mine a squeeze before sliding away. The loss takes some of my laughter with it.

  “Well, now, you know. Don’t mess with Shorty,” she murmurs with a smile while wandering around the main room of my apartment.

  The suite is in one of the older buildings on campus, which people might think makes it appear quaint because it’s historical. I’d like those people to try living in the place during the last few weeks of summer and see how they enjoy not having any AC. Still, despite the drafty windows and low ceiling, these suites are pretty coveted because they each have two single bedrooms, and they’re some of the few places on campus that aren’t dry.

  As in, if you’re twenty-one, feel free to stock up on alcohol.

  Speaking of which …

  “You want something to drink? I’ve got beer.”

  In the past, when I brought a girl over and said the same line, the response was always excitement. Everyone is eager for a drink.

  Should’ve known Shorty wouldn’t fit in with the mold.

  “I’m twenty.” She lets her bag drop onto the scarred hardwood floor and examines one of my roommate’s concert posters he’s tacked up on the wall.

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  Hannah shifts her stare over to me, eyes wide and blinking. “Is … is this what it feels like?”

  My brain stutters over her reaction. She looks so lost.

  “What what feels like?”

  Just as quickly as the innocence appeared, it’s gone, and her face falls into mock disappointment. “Peer pressure, of course. My parents warned me about people like you. Out to corrupt the innocent.”

  Back on firm ground with our joking, I affect a frat-guy tone. “Come on, Shorty. All the cool kids are doing it.”

  “Just what I expected, Lucifer.” Her eyes smile as she sucks on her bottom lip. The sight is so distracting that I almost miss her next words. “You’re gonna have one, right? I’ll try some of yours.”

  “What is it with you tonight? Eating my pie. Drinking my beer. Soon, you’re going to demand fifty percent of my assets,” I call out to her while pulling a bottle from the fridge. When I pop off the cap, a light mist drifts out of the cold glass neck.

  Shorty approaches, and when I hand the beer to her, she suspiciously sniffs the contents. A thought dawns on me.

  “You’ve really never drank before?”

  Only when the words are out, do I realize how condescending they sound.

  “Nope. Never got the urge. Don’t really have it now either, but”—she shrugs—“it’s here. I’ll try it.” With that unenthusiastic declaration, she takes a swig.

  Then, she immediately spits it out.

  In my face.

  “Ugh! What the—oh my God! Nathan, I’m so sorry!”

  Stunned, I haven’t moved. Instead, I just let the mixture of beer and spit drip from my cheeks. I don’t even know what to do.

  The caress of something soft and dry wiping over my face brings me back to life, and I reach up to find Hannah grabbed a kitchen towel to clean me off.

  “I swear, I didn’t plan that. Only, if you’re going to try to make me do something illegal, you could’ve at least made it taste good.”

  That does it. I snatch the towel out of her hand and bury my face in it. The noise I make is only slightly muffled by the fabric.

  “Are you …” She hesitates over her question. “Are you crying?”

  Hannah’s worried tone only makes me howl all the more. It’s too much. I collapse against the wall, letting the towel fall away so she can see that I’m barely breathing from laughter.

  Through my tears, I watch her eyes narrow and the corners of her mouth twitch.

  “You are”—I don’t think I’ll be able to finish the thought as I choke on my own breath, but I force the last word out—“amazing.”

  That gets her full grin and a nonchalant shrug. “Well, yeah. Duh.”

  I have to leave the room, partly because that’s the only way I’ll recover from my hysterics, but also because I need to put on a clean shirt. When I come back, my breath is under control, and Hannah is sitting on the couch while she unties her sneakers.

  “Okay. So, what do you actually want to drink? I think we’ve got some soda, and there’s always water.” When I grab the fridge handle, I realize she’s followed me into the kitchen, her bare feet not making any noise on our creaky, old floor.

  “Do you have any milk?”

  “Milk? Um, yeah. Whole okay?”

  Bobby, my roommate, drinks it for the protein content, apparently.

  “Perfect. My mom just sent me a fresh bag of hot chocolate mix.”

  I expect her to be holding one of those individual Swiss Miss servings from a box. Instead, Hannah clutches a gallon-sized ziplock full of an unlabeled brown powder.

  “Your mom sent you that?”

  She nods while pulling open cabinets like she lives here. I realize I don’t mind her heavy-handed ways.

  “Need help finding something?”

  “Yeah, I—never mind! Here we go.” From one of the shelves, Hannah pulls down a saucepan I’m not sure Bobby or I have ever used. Probably realizing this, she rinses the thing off before placing the pan on the stovetop. Reaching over to grab the milk out of my hand, she raises a single eyebrow. “You want some too? There’s plenty.”

  “Sure.” Fascinated, I watch her bring the milk to a boil before using a spoon to scoop a generous amount of the brown powder into the pot. The mixture becomes a thick, dark chocolate color that clings to the spoon as she stirs it.

  “Mugs?” Her question pulls me out of my hypnotized state.

  Once everything is poured, Hannah holds hers up to her nose, drawing in a deep sniff of the cocoa. I blow on mine once before taking a sip.

  “That’s hot!”

  She smirks. “Well, yeah, it just came off the stove.”

  “No, I mean, hot as in spicy. What’s in this stuff?” I can’t help myself from taking another deep swallow. Like anything with chocolate, the first wave I taste is a heavy sweetness, but lingering underneath the rich, expected flavor is a hint of a bite that makes my tongue tingle and beg for more.

  “Mmhmm.” She takes her own sip, and a smile creases her cheeks. “Cayenne. Mom adds a little bit. That’s why her mix has ruined me for all store brands.”

  Hannah tops off both our mugs before we wander back into the main room.

  Because I’m a gentleman and a good host, I give her the remote, so she can pick out the movie. I watch her as she scans through the options, my muscles relaxing as I slide down onto my secondhand couch. The two of us hanging out together comes easy, like we’ve been friends rather than enemies all this time.

  If she disappears on me again, I’m going to have something to say about it.

  “Where were you last week? I had The Spot all to myself.”

  “That must’ve been such a hollow victory for you.” Her voice is laced with teasing sarcasm that has me grinning in response.

  “There you go again. Assuming the worst about me. Did you consider that I might be worried about you?” I concentrate on the swirling pattern in my cocoa, trying to keep my honesty from weighing too heavy on our banter.

  “You were worried? About me?”

  The tone of her voice draws my eyes back to hers. An expression of complete befuddlement creases her slim brows.

  Is it really so unbelievable that someone might?

  “Yeah, Shorty. You disappeared on me. With no way for me to check up on you, might I add.”

  “But I’d only ever been mean to you.”

  I reach out and tweak the end of her braid. “Maybe I’m into that.”

  Hannah snorts. After setting down the remote, she slides her cell phone out of her back pocket and fiddles with it for a second
before handing it to me.

  On the tiny screen is a clear picture of two women in long, flowing dresses, as if they were about to attend a movie premiere or gala event.

  “My sister’s wedding. As her maid of honor, I had to be there for all pre-wedding festivities.”

  Because I’m dense, it takes her explanation for me to realize one of the women has on a white dress for a reason. Hannah is wearing dark purple, which contrasts nicely with her golden skin. In the picture, her hair is curled and held up high on her head. Makeup gives her face new lines and angles. She looks hot and intimidating. I prefer the more approachable version sitting next to me.

  Hannah reaches over to swipe her finger along the screen, bringing up a photo with her sister and a man with one of the happiest expressions I’ve ever seen.

  “That’s Stella and my new brother-in-law, Angelo. She met him when she was studying abroad in Italy.”

  “Sounds like a romance novel in the making.”

  My comment was supposed to be a joke, but she nods emphatically.

  “Oh, yeah. Most definitely. And my God, you should hear his voice. That accent is a panty-melter.”

  My eyes leave the phone to watch her serious face. “A panty-melter?”

  “Yeah. He talks, and all the panties in the vicinity just evaporate.”

  I frown. “That can’t be right.”

  She shrugs. “I think it’s just the next step in evolution. But I can see why you might be intimidated.”

  “I’m not intimidated!” That comes out in more of a huff than I intended.

  I mean, come on. The guy isn’t even that impressive. What girl wants that classic tall, dark, and handsome anyway?

  She pats my hand with a consolatory smile. “Of course not.”

  I can’t let her get away with that smug look without retaliation.

  Leaning in close enough to get another whiff of her subtle, sweet pear scent, now mixing enticingly with the smell of chocolate, I put as much sex as I can into my next words. “Il tuo sorriso è bellissimo.”

  Hannah’s jaw hangs slack, and I know I’ve won.

  “Where did that come from?” Her question comes out breathless.

  Yep, I’m definitely victorious. “My grandpa and grandma came over from Italy when they were eighteen. I might have picked a few phrases up from them.” The one I just spoke translates to your smile is beautiful.