by Olivia Dade
Eventually, the spark with Sam would fade, and she’d grow restless. Or he’d demand more than she was willing to give. And when that happened, his feelings might get hurt, despite her best efforts. She didn’t want to test Penny’s loyalties or alienate a coworker. At least, not more than she’d already alienated him.
Helen pursed her lips. “I see.”
“Being stuck inside Big Bertha with him for a week will be a nightmare, Hel. How am I supposed to stop myself from sleeping with him? Or kicking his ass into last year?”
“I believe that’s ‘next week,’” Helen said.
“What is?” Con frowned at her bestie. “Are you talking about when he’s boarding Big Bertha? Because that’s next week, all right. Monday.”
Too soon. Much, much too soon for her liking.
“Never mind. Let me just say, though, that if you should find yourself involved with Sam, despite all the, um, very convincing and extremely legitimate reasons you have for avoiding him”—Helen ignored Con’s death stare—“I certainly wouldn’t object. And if you talked with Penny, I’m sure she’d say the same. Don’t deprive yourself for our sakes, lady.”
“Weren’t you listening to me?” Con pounded a fist on her desk. “I’m not interested in Sam Wolcott. At all. Period. Even though sometimes I really want to pin him to the stacks and climb him like a really sexy tree.”
Helen leaned across the desk and patted Con’s fist. “Always a telltale sign of disinterest.”
“Fuck you, Hel,” Con said without any heat, but with considerable volume.
“You wish, Chen.”
The office door cracked open.
“Ladies…” Tina began.
Con dropped her head to the desk with a groan. How was she supposed to resist the man she’d lusted after for almost a year when she had to see him all day, every day?
Code of the Sisterhood, she reminded herself. Don’t forget the Code of the Sisterhood. Hos over bros. Just keep your distance from Sam over the next few days. Work on tamping down your libido. By next week, you’ll be completely immune to his charms.
Those delicious lumberjack-y charms.
She groaned again.
4
Sam couldn’t seem to make himself open the door to the library’s garage. Behind that barrier, Constance and Big Bertha were waiting for him. This week, he’d work forty hours beside the former and inside the latter.
Hopefully. He’d spent more than a few days worried that the opposite might occur.
Forty hours working inside Constance. Holy fuck, that sounded amazing.
Shake it off, he ordered himself. Stay professional.
After a deep breath, he flung the door wide and strode inside the garage. Immediately, he could hear the distant sound of Con talking to someone. A family member, from what he could tell.
“I sent you money last week to help with your security deposit, Pru.” She leaned her forehead against Big Bertha’s gleaming flank. “What happened?”
Someone had obviously washed and touched up the paint on the Bookmobile. No evidence of the salt and sand from wintry roads remained on the enormous metal vehicle, and the small scratches he’d noticed from a few days ago had disappeared. He circled around Bertha, eyeing her closely, just as he’d seen Con do last week. But since he didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for or how the Bookmobile normally appeared, he didn’t figure his observations would prove of much use to anyone.
Con lifted her head from Bertha’s side, only to drop it again with a noticeable thunk. Her voice remained calm and patient, however. Certainly more calm and patient than the voice she used with him.
“I know you need to eat.” She paused. “Yes, textbooks are ridiculously expensive.” Another, longer pause. “What about a part-time job? And I don’t mean selling plasma.”
As he got closer to Con, he could hear an agitated voice on the other end of the phone. The words weren’t clear, but the emotion was: desperation. If he had to guess, Con’s sister was appealing to her for mercy and money.
Con gripped the back of her slender neck with one hand, squeezing tight. Her eyes were closed, frustration clear on her face. At least, the half of it he could see.
“Okay.” She sighed, so faintly her sister probably didn’t even hear it. “I’ll send you enough to cover the security deposit. Again. And I’ll check with a few ties I still have on campus about a decent part-time job that pays enough. But Pru, you’re almost thirty. Even though I love you, I—”
Jesus Christ. Con’s sister was only a year or two younger than him. Did Con think of him as an obnoxious kid brother? Had he mistaken sisterly annoyance for tamped-down lust?
Then Con opened her eyes, turned her head his way, and caught sight of him. That dark brown gaze locked on to his, and her words stuttered to a halt.
In an instant, her golden skin turned pink, the flush emphasizing the freckles along her cheekbones and temples. Her lips had parted, and she licked them in what looked like an unconscious gesture. He almost shuddered at the sight of it.
No, she didn’t think of him as a brother. And he certainly didn’t see her as his sister.
A few strands of her dark hair had slid out of her sloppy bun, as usual. They’d brush Sam if he edged any closer. Because at some point, he’d moved to within a breath of her. And she smelled amazing. Like…
Shit. He didn’t even know what the hell she smelled like. Maybe like the outdoors. Apples with a hint of diesel. She must have filled up the Bookmobile’s tank first thing that morning. And even though he usually hated the smell of gas, he was about two seconds away from burying his face in her hair and snuffling at her like an inquisitive pony.
Goddammit. She’s rubbing off on me. He backed away a few feet and tried to return his attention to Big Bertha’s paint job. What the fuck do you know about inquisitive ponies, Wolcott?
But an indelible image had been planted in his brain: Constance Chen, rubbing off on him. Straddling his thigh and grinding against it. Her dark eyes cloudy with pleasure, her thick sweater and faded jeans lying in a corner of his bedroom, and her steel-toed boots nowhere to be found….
He rounded the Bookmobile in a hurry, before she could notice the changing fit of his cargos.
Remember your sister. He summoned an image of Penny and concentrated on it until the urge to snatch Constance close and explore their mutual attraction faded. Until he could think clearly once more, an IT professional instead of a man lusting after the Bookmobile manager.
By the time he came back around Bertha, Con was disconnecting her call.
“Sorry about that.” She sounded breathless. “I’m running a bit late because I stopped to fill up Bertha’s tank this morning at County Roads. I’ve already done the morning inspection, so we should get moving.”
“No problem.” He climbed up the steps she’d lowered for them. After sitting down and strapping on his seat belt, he looked around the interior of the vehicle with fresh interest. These cramped confines would serve as his workplace for the next five days, so he’d better familiarize himself with Big Bertha’s layout and contents, the sooner the better.
From what he could tell, the Bookmobile had two entrances, one behind the passenger’s seat up front, and another in the back. Shelves lined both sides of the interior, and they were packed with library materials. Books, of course, but also Blu-Rays, magazines, and audiobooks. If he craned his neck, he could see a little desk behind his seat and another in the back.
“Your seat swivels to become one of our two librarian stations,” Constance explained. “People come in through the front entrance and check in their books there. They check out their books at the rear desk. There’s a wheelchair lift on the passenger side too.”
“How many people can Bertha hold?”
“About ten to twelve adults. But more importantly for this morning, about fifteen to twenty kids.” She came to stop at the edge of the parking lot. “Listen, I’m
going to need your help. We’re turning left out of here, and the visibility on your side sucks. You’re going to have to let me know when the road is clear and I’m good to go.”
Stupidly, he could feel his chest expand at the knowledge that she needed him.
Your eyes, he reminded himself. She needs your eyes. A chimp would serve just as well, as long as he knew sign language and didn’t require corrective lenses.
“This side is clear,” he said after a minute of watching traffic.
She pulled out onto the road and accelerated smoothly. “Thanks.”
“Let me know if you need me again.” After he saw her nod, he peeked around the edge of his seat a second time. “How come the books and magazines didn’t go flying when we turned?”
“The shelves are slanted back. But if we hit a curb or dip in the road, the books become projectiles.” She drummed the steering wheel with her fingers, looking unhappy. “I know Bertha is showing her age, by the way. We try our best to keep her clean and shiny, but there’s only so much we can do.”
“It’s pristine in here.” And to his surprise, he wasn’t lying. Con must save all her messy tendencies for her office, because as far as he could tell, not a single item appeared out of place in the Bookmobile. Someone had even created a decorative bulletin board in back of the vehicle, one featuring a poster of a grinning man he’d never seen before. Apparently a guy who called himself The Naked Carpenter, which seemed odd. And dangerous to his family jewels, depending on the woodworking tools used.
“No room for clutter. But she could use an overhaul.” Con’s frown faded, transforming into a cocky grin. “Luckily, once we win Department of the Year, we’ll have the money for that.”
“Nice thought.” He turned toward her again, ready for a little bickering to cut his unexpected feeling of camaraderie. “But the IT department is taking DOTY.”
“Please don’t whine when we win. It’s not my fault my department is so awesome.” The smugness in her smile increased exponentially. “Oh, wait. It is my fault. Because I’m a fucking kick-ass manager, and we totally deserve to win DOTY.”
He rolled his eyes, refusing to respond to such obvious baiting. At least this once.
“You’re going down, Wolcott.” Constance kept her eyes glued to the road as she taunted him. “Like an elephant tripping over a shoelace.”
He couldn’t help a small snicker. “Enlighten me, Ms. Chen. Under what circumstances would an elephant possibly be wearing shoes?”
“The elephant isn’t wearing shoes. Obviously.” She shot him a quick, disdainful glance. “Someone else is. And the elephant is tripping over the laces.”
“But—” He sighed. “Never mind. My point is that the IT Department deserves DOTY. None of the other departments would be able to run without us. And we need that money from the city to hire someone who can work full-time at the branches. Don’t you want Penny to have functional computers at Battlefield?”
Her face twisted in a grimace. Whether because he’d championed his department or reminded her of his sister, he wasn’t sure.
“Of course I do,” Con said. “But you don’t deal with patrons, which is the real purpose of the library. And the Bookmobile Department needs to buy an all-weather SUV for delivering materials during snowy weather or to places where Big Bertha won’t fit.”
He saw an opening and attacked. “By all rights, you should be paying money to the library, not getting more. Given the amount of equipment you and your department destroy on a monthly basis.”
She emitted a sound from her chest that he’d heard several times before. Not quite a roar, but more than a grumble. A growl?
After braking a bit too hard at a traffic light, she rounded on him. “Shit happens on the road. And if your fucking department could keep our equipment functional for more than a week or two at a time, maybe one of you could devote more energy to the branches.”
“Doesn’t matter what you say.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You’re not taking DOTY.”
“Au contraire, Sir Geeks-a-Lot. As I told you, you and the IT department are going down. Like a sapling kicked by a Sasquatch.”
He smothered a smile, both at the increasing outrage in her voice and her mangled simile. Nothing distracted him from his lust quite like pissing off Con. But maybe it was time to call a truce so she didn’t strangle him before lunch?
“We can agree on one thing, can’t we?” He offered an olive branch he knew she’d accept. “Neither of us wants Marsha in the Children’s Department to win that money.”
If anything, Con scowled even harder. No doubt at the thought of Marsha, their impeccably groomed, invariably polite coworker, who offered the world an ingratiating smile as she mercilessly screwed over anyone who got in her way.
“Fuckin’ A. I know I should support our local kids getting better resources, but with Marsha in charge…no. They can all visit the Bookmobile instead. I’ll take good care of them.” She smiled with remarkable sweetness and added, “Come to Mama Chen, children of Nice County. I’ll give you what you need.”
His mouth shaped the next words without his permission. “If you said that in just the right way, I’m pretty sure you could make some men come too.”
She shot him a startled glance, her eyes wide with shock, and he felt his cheeks heat. Fuck, that had come out way filthier than he’d intended, hadn’t it?
“I mean coming as in coming to the Bookmobile. As in grown men and a few grown women might want to visit too. Not coming as in—”
Niceville Elementary appeared in the distance, and he cut himself off. He hadn’t remembered to ask crucial questions about what his work today would involve, which might prove problematic at some point. Also problematic: the fact that he’d referred to coming and Constance in the same sentence.
He hadn’t planned to have a personal conversation with her, much less one referring to male ejaculation. Apparently sublimation through bickering wasn’t working as well as he’d thought.
“I really didn’t mean it that way,” he muttered, his shoulders hunched.
“I know.” Her voice was husky, but her gaze remained locked on the school’s entrance. “And it doesn’t matter right now. Brace yourself, Wolcott.”
“Why?”
She nodded toward the right of the school. “Because over three hundred schoolchildren are headed your way. And they’re going to want their damn books. Pronto.”
Kids. Kids everywhere. Jostling, screeching, and laughing loud enough to be heard from inside the Bookmobile a couple hundred yards away.
“Oh, Jesus.”
Her smug grin reappeared. “Now you get it.”
***
Three hours later, Sam trudged from the back of the Bookmobile to the passenger seat, collapsing into it with an involuntary whimper. “How many classes came on board? A hundred? A thousand?”
“Twenty, Sam.” Con shook her head. “What a wuss. Just wait until we visit a school with eight hundred students.”
“How are you so patient with those kids?” he asked in wonderment. “Is it because of all your brothers and sisters?”
Constance clearly contained untold depths. She’d handled those urchins with the perfect blend of kindness and firm direction, checking in their book returns whenever she wasn’t maintaining order or helping them browse for new authors. She knew a surprising number of the children by name, and the teachers accompanying the classes had all greeted her with enormous hugs. So had many of the kids.
When particularly shy children came through, her face gentled and her voice softened with warmth and affection. Those kids held her hand as they browsed, clinging to her like grateful limpets. Others who wanted to shout, push, and make a fuss, on the other hand, tended to heed her stern stare and the occasional admonishments she whispered into their ears. Then they bloomed under her subsequent praise.
She’d make an amazing mother. No doubt about it.
“I basically
raised three of my five younger siblings. Pru, Chas, and Christian. You heard me talking on the phone to Pru earlier.” She shrugged. “I’ve always felt more like their mother than their sister. So I know how to handle kids, even if I’m glad to relinquish them at the end of my shift.”
A surge of curiosity made him forget every vow he’d made about keeping his distance. “What about your parents?”
“Second-generation Chinese-Americans whose faith didn’t encourage birth control. Also underpaid public librarians who took extra shifts to feed their nine children.” She looked out the front window at nothing in particular. “They loved us, but they didn’t have time to care for us. So we all had responsibilities. I dealt with the younger kids and did most of the yard work.”
He sat back at the rush of realization. “The plants. That’s why you love plants so much.”
She shrugged again. “They remind me of our garden in San Diego. My parents transferred me from cleaning duty to yard work when they realized how much I hated tidying and disinfecting.”
In his imagination, he saw those nine children in a sunny garden, chatting and working and laughing together. Con must have always had someone to talk to during her childhood, someone to play with. Loving ears and loving arms surrounding her at all times.
Never alone. Never lonely. Nothing like the boy he’d once been.
“From the conversation this morning, I assume you’re still close to your family.” He smiled at the memory, at how Con was caring for her sister even now, years later and from thousands of miles away. “Do you talk to them often?”
“My parents only call once a week, but I hear from my siblings every day. Usually several times a day.” She flicked a finger at her backpack. “I have to turn off my ringer during work hours and put my phone in my bag, or I’d never get anything done.”
He stared at her, struck by the way a stray shaft of winter sunlight coaxed red highlights from her dark hair. By the lines of her lithe body beneath her thick, nubby sweater. By how fully she embodied everything he wanted. Intelligence. Sex. Belonging. Family.