Driven to Distraction

by Olivia Dade

  He’d never heard Con complain about anything before. Well, not anything personal, anyway. He suspected what she called “hurting some” would constitute a migraine for other people.

  Rising to his feet, he came to stand next to her. “Let me help you to your chair.”

  The fact that she didn’t immediately object told him everything he needed to know. She was in pain. Probably a lot of it. So he didn’t wait long for a response. Instead, careful not to jar her head too much, he maneuvered her gently toward her desk.

  His arm around her shoulders, her body pressed against his side—it felt so natural. Comfortable and exciting at the same time. And for once, she hadn’t stopped her sliding bun in its tracks. It was sagging at her nape, and her hair had half fallen out of it. The silky strands brushed against his beard. They smelled like apples. Crisp, tart-sweet, and very, very Con.

  He eased her into the chair, and she immediately slumped forward, her elbows braced on the desk as she rested her forehead on her clasped hands.

  “What can I do to help?”

  She motioned toward the bottom drawer of her desk. “Migraine meds in my purse. Front pocket.”

  A quick search revealed the over-the-counter medicine. After reading the instructions on the label, he shook out two pills and took a quick side trip into the staff lounge for a bottle of water. When he returned to her office, he closed the door behind him so she wouldn’t hear conversations out in the hall.

  “Thank you,” she said when he placed his offerings in front of her.

  Without another word, she swallowed the pills and drank most of the water. Then she rested her forehead on her hands again. At even that slight movement, the pencils in her hair fell to the floor, and her bun completely unraveled. A sheet of black hair, sparked with blue by the fluorescent lights above, fell over her hands and face, hiding her from both the light and his concerned scrutiny.

  Wait a minute. Fluorescent lights? After jogging to the door, he flipped the light switch just inside the room, then lowered the shade over her window. The room became a dim, warm cave, protected against the chill and gray winter sky outside.

  “That’s better.” Her voice emerged in a thready whisper. “Thank you again.”

  He hovered for a moment, uncertain. “What else can I do?”

  “Nothing. Give me fifteen minutes. Then we can get back to work.”

  Unable to figure out other ways to help her in the meantime, he fetched his laptop and kept uploading pictures of the Bookmobile to the intranet. Constance helping a kindergartner choose an easy reader about elephants. Constance fetching a cozy mystery audiobook for a blind, homebound patron. Constance operating the wheelchair lift for a senior citizen at the nursing home they’d visited that day.

  His camera now contained almost forty pictures documenting her patience and pragmatism. The way she served her community, no matter what obstacles stood in her way. But he’d also snapped at least a dozen other photos, ones she probably hadn’t seen him taking. Ones focused on nothing and no one but her.

  Constance shoving another pencil through her bun, her face turned away from him, her hands strong and sure as she wrestled her slippery hair. Constance laughing at a joke told by one of her favorite patrons, an adult education specialist, right before the woman hustled back into the shelter of the downtown community center. Constance, her dark brows furrowed, concentrating so hard on the wet roads that she didn’t even realize he was still photographing her.

  He’d wanted to capture her beauty last night. Document how she looked with her hair swinging free around her shoulders and her slim frame clad in a formfitting blue-green dress, rather than jeans, an oversized sweater, and those boots. But he’d refrained, knowing the danger of that instinct.

  Capturing her with his camera only served as a pale substitute for what he really wanted: capturing her in his arms. In his bed. In his life.

  Today, though, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from taking those photos. He should find that disturbing. And maybe he would, if he weren’t so damn worried about her.

  After twenty minutes, she lifted her head from her hands and offered a small smile. “The medicine’s starting to work.”

  “Good. Until your headache’s completely gone, though, I wouldn’t try staring at a computer screen.” He closed his own laptop. “Why don’t we just talk for a while?”

  Oh, Christ. What the fuck was the matter with him? The last thing he needed was another opportunity for intimate conversation with Con.

  “About what?” She rotated her chair to face him directly. “You may not have noticed this, but I’m no good at small talk.”

  It wasn’t an apology, simply a statement of fact. God, he loved that about her.

  He snorted. “I noticed.”

  “So…” Brows raised, she waited for him to broach a suitable, non-trivial topic.

  “So…” He began with his most recent matter for curiosity. “Why didn’t you ask your brother to call you later, when you were feeling better?”

  She gave a careful shake of her head. “Family. You do what you have to do.”

  And at that statement, he might have lost a tiny piece of his lonely heart. It was so simple for her. So obvious. Her family came first, above even her own well-being.

  He wanted that sort of familial devotion with a desperation he could barely contain some days.

  “Not everyone does.” He swiveled back and forth in his chair, restless with regret and frustration. “I wish I’d tried harder to keep in touch with Penny before this past year.”

  During Sam’s early childhood, Penny’s dad had brought her to Salisbury every couple of months. While their fathers made awkward conversation, he and his sister would spend the day together at a park or in his home, playing and chatting. Not precisely close, but not distant, either. He’d loved those visits. Counted down the days until he saw his smart, interesting big sister again.

  Then, soon after Penny turned thirteen, the outings abruptly came to a halt. The two fathers had several tense exchanges over the phone about the issue, but Sam wasn’t allowed to listen to or participate in those discussions. And in the end, his father hadn’t offered much of an explanation for the sudden estrangement.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Sam,” he’d said. “She’s just too busy with school and friends to make the trip right now. I’m sorry.”

  Somehow, Penny had never found time to make the trip again. School and her friends always took precedence over her brother. And even after Sam became old enough to visit his sister on his own, he hadn’t done more than call her every year or two. Because of lingering hurt and wounded pride. And because with his father in his life, he hadn’t understood how quickly he could find himself without any family at all.

  Stupid. So very stupid.

  Con seemed to read his thoughts. “Maybe you could have tried harder, but she could have done the same. And you still had your father. You probably never imagined he’d pass away so suddenly.” She didn’t offer platitudes or false comfort, but her voice was gentle. Kind. “You’re making up for lost time now, Sam. Penny adores you.”

  He let that assertion soak into his thirsty heart. Somehow, coming from Con—a woman he knew wouldn’t lie, even when doing so would be easier for everyone involved—the reassurance hit home. Comforted him to an almost ridiculous extent.

  “My relationship with Penny means everything to me,” he confessed. “She’s the only family I really have. Our mom never gave a shit about us, so she doesn’t count.”

  Con’s face twisted into a grimace. “That blows big frozen polar bear balls. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m happy Penny found someone like Jack. He’s clearly devoted to her.” Sam tried to tamp down his instinctive envy, but he couldn’t hide the wistfulness in his next words. “I want that kind of love for myself someday.” Forcing a smile, he added, “Then again, doesn’t everyone?”

  “No.” Constance regarded
him thoughtfully. “I don’t. At all.”

  He blinked at her, stunned. “You don’t…what? Want love?”

  “Precisely.”

  Processing that statement seemed to take more memory than he currently possessed in his hard drive. “You don’t want a partner in your life? A husband?” He realized he was making a big, unfounded assumption. “Or a wife, I suppose?”

  She laughed. “I’ve exclusively dated men to this point, so we’ll go with husband. But no, I don’t want a long-term relationship of any sort. With a man or a woman.”

  This conversation had become much too personal, but he couldn’t seem to let the subject go. And Con didn’t appear offended by his questions. If anything, she looked amused.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Where would I find the time?” She waved a hand around her office. “When I’m not here or on board Big Bertha, I’m dealing with my family and my garden. Or I’m seeing my friends. Or I’m going to hockey or basketball games.”

  “But if you fell in love…”

  “I can’t shoulder any more burdens in my life, Sam. You’ve heard me on the phone with my family. I take care of them. I take care of my patrons. I take care of my friends. And then I’m tapped out.” She shrugged. “I’m done.”

  “But the right person wouldn’t be an albatross,” he protested. “He would lift some of those burdens from your shoulders. Share their weight.”

  “That’s what all my exes said at the beginning,” she noted with a wry smile. “But somehow, a few weeks later, I was always running errands and cooking dinner for us both. I was always expected to stay home instead of going to games or meeting my friends. And at some point, they always informed me I spent too much time and energy on my family’s needs and not enough on theirs. It was predictable and inevitable and so goddamn boring, I can’t even tell you. A decade or so ago, I decided to opt out. And I’ve been happier ever since. I’m not a relationship kind of woman.”

  Jesus, her ex-boyfriends sounded like complete fucking tools. But he couldn’t figure out a good way to dispute her conclusions without using the term not all men. Or, even worse, coming across as a patronizing ass who thought he understood her needs better than she did. So he kept his mouth clamped shut.

  Her hand flicked in a graceful, dismissive arc. “So no thank you. I’d rather be single than exhausted and resentful. Not to mention guilty that my world doesn’t always revolve around my boyfriend.” She saluted him. “But I hope you find what you need in your own life.”

  “So you don’t want a relationship. Ever.”

  “Nope.” Her lips quirked again. “I’m a big believer in booty calls. As in, I call for their booty, and then I call a cab for them when we’re done.”

  The thought of Con in bed with other men, even disposable ones, shorted out something in his brain. But he had no right to jealousy when it came to her. Would never have that right, based on what she was saying. No man would.

  His attack of unwarranted possessiveness faded, replaced by curiosity and confusion. “I didn’t even know Nice County had a taxi service. Are you saying you have guys take a cab to your place? Otherwise, why wouldn’t they drive themselves home in their own cars?”

  “It’s a figure of speech, Sam.” She rolled her eyes. “I just meant I don’t want to play house or deal with morning-after etiquette. I want to hit it and quit it, as Sir Mix-a-Lot once said.”

  “Good thing we never…” He gestured between the two of them, suddenly tired of ignoring the electricity they generated every time they breathed the same air. “You know. Because I want love. Commitment.”

  She didn’t bother denying their mutual attraction. “I won’t say I haven’t been tempted. You’re a sexy slab of lumberjack goodness, Wolcott. But I don’t want anything more than a good fuck, which tends to hurt men’s feelings. And I refuse to damage my relationship with Penny by upsetting her brother.”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t turn against you.” He waved away that concern. “She’d dump me like last week’s lunch meat.”

  She beamed at him. “Good one. Now that’s my sort of simile.”

  Oh, God. She’s eroding not only my control, but also my grasp on figurative language.

  Then her smile faded. “Why do you think Penny would shunt you aside if we got together and then broke up? She’s your family. She wouldn’t abandon you.”

  She has before, he thought. But that wasn’t a story Con needed to hear.

  “She’s fiercely loyal to her friends, and she’s only really known me for less than a year. I wouldn’t stand a chance.” He exhaled slowly. “And like you said, she’s my family. The only family I have left. I can’t risk alienating her. Not even for a relationship with you.”

  “Which I’m not offering.”

  “Which you’re not offering.”

  “So we don’t need to fight to keep temptation at bay.”

  “Nope,” he said.

  Over the past couple of days, they’d jettisoned so many obstacles separating the two of them. Professional antagonism. His history with Helen. Interdepartmental rivalry. But they’d finally found the one barrier that couldn’t be tossed aside. Penny.

  He should be relieved that they’d settled the issue of their sexual chemistry once and for all. That they’d talked it out like rational adults, rather than bickering like cranky children. So why the hell did his entire chest seem to have emptied out, leaving him so hollow he ached?

  “Well, that’s handy,” she said, turning to her computer. “Because it appears we can’t even drum up a good argument about DOTY anymore. I see you’ve been uploading my photos and writing very nice captions for me.”

  He lifted his shoulders. “It was nothing.”

  “I appreciate it, and I plan to return the favor. Before we leave today, I’ll take a few shots of you hard at work on one of the Bookmobile department computers. I’ll post the pictures this evening and compose some glowing captions about you. And may the best department win the money.”

  He studied her beautiful, resolute face, allowing himself one last moment of longing before he manned the fuck up.

  For so many reasons, a relationship with Con was never going to happen. And damn it, he liked her. So the only reasonable path forward was obvious. He needed to become Con’s friend, rather than her enemy or her lover. Maybe even a friend who could help lift a few of those burdens from her narrow shoulders.

  He could handle that, no problem.

  “Agreed. As long as that department isn’t Children’s. Because Marsha sucks.” He opened his laptop and pointed at the screen. “Have you seen her intranet posts? They’re all stock photos. She just cuts and pastes herself into the pictures. I tracked a few of the original images down the other day.”

  “Jesus.” Con glowered. “What an asshole move.”

  “No shit. See this post?” He zoomed into the map on the classroom wall. “That group of beaming schoolchildren is clearly based in California. And if you enlarge the picture, you’ll observe that Marsha doesn’t actually have feet. Only a head and torso. But if we point it out, she’ll give one of her usual good excuses, and we’ll end up looking like jealous haters.”

  “That shameless, soulless mofo.” Con shook her head. “One of us has to win the damn contest, Sam. She needs to go down. Like a wildebeest on a slalom course.”

  He nodded. And did his best not to notice how fucking adorable she was, especially when she mangled the English language. “Let’s do it.”

  8

  “Turns out proximity to Camp David was screwing with our Wi-Fi,” Con told Tina late the next morning. “Scrambling it like a rogue spatula with an egg vendetta.”

  The assistant library director blinked at her.

  “Nothing to be done about that.” Con waved a hand in dismissal. “Sam’s checking all of our equipment to help with other dead zones. In the mountains, though, I’m pretty sure we’re shit out of luck no matter what he does.”<
br />
  Tina glanced at her office door, as if checking to ensure it was still closed tight. She pinched her forehead between her thumb and forefinger and sighed. “Please tell me you refrain from obscenities while in public, Ms. Chen.”

  Con stretched her legs out in front of her, stacking one boot-clad ankle on top of the other. “Of course.”

  The truth, as they both knew. If Con had been lying, Tina would have fired her years ago. But in the privacy of Tina’s office, Con could relax and unleash her tongue, as long as she kept her voice down.

  “Hmm.” With one last sigh, Tina sat up straight. “I suppose I need to pick my battles. At least you’re not yelling about sexual intercourse with a coworker. Again.”

  It wasn’t a question. Still, Con answered her. “Correct. It’s not even lunchtime, though.”

  Tina paused, then clearly decided to choose another battle. “From what I can tell, you’re pleased to have Mr. Wolcott aboard Bertha this week for on-site troubleshooting.”

  Pleased didn’t precisely capture Con’s feelings about Sam’s near-constant presence at her side over the past several days. More…bothered. Not to mention aroused, frustrated, comforted, entertained, and so many other adjectives that—even when combined—couldn’t fully encompass the experience.

  Tina didn’t want to hear how Con’s nipples tightened every time Sam brushed past her in the tight confines of the Bookmobile. Tina didn’t need to know how the ache between Con’s legs intensified when he laughed. Or when he stretched, pulling those thin superhero tees taut against his hard chest. Or when he merely breathed, and the intimacy of it—the fact that she could track every lungful of air he took for hours at a time—drowned her good sense and banished any thought of Penny.

  So she settled for work-related facts. “Yes. I appreciate Kamal’s willingness to station him with my department for a week. Sam has worked hard these past few days.”

  When Tina shifted in her chair, a sliver of her telltale socks became visible. The pattern today featured little bow-and-arrow-toting Cupids. God knew why. Con figured Tina must need to run a load of laundry, because the library’s usual gossip purveyors had been quiet about ill-fated hookups and employee love affairs lately.