The Librarian's Rake

by Z. Allora

  “Welcome. But that’s not the point,” she huffed. “Tell me what happened with the hot librarian?”

  “We watched a movie.” Hard to believe that was the uncensored truth. Phillip grabbed some of his favorite mousse and ran the product through his hair. He used the hair dryer for ten seconds and then added a touch of spray hold. There.

  “You lie! I saw the librarian drop you off out back. Did you think you pulled one off by sneaking?”

  He glared but a full confession would be the only way to make her stop. “I slept in his guest room, if you must know.”

  “Say what now?” Monique’s mouth dropped open, and she put her hand on a hip. She looked as shocked as he felt when he woke up unmolested. It wasn’t like he hadn’t made his availability clear.

  “And he made me a really nice home-cooked breakfast this morning, with fresh orange juice and warm muffins and omelets.”

  “Are you sure you slept in the guest room? Maybe you sleep-fucked.”

  Phillip snorted. “I did not sleep-fuck him.”

  “Well, you know sleep-fucking happens.”

  “Oh my God! You watch way too much porn.” The door opened with his first customer, which stopped Phillip’s eye rolling. He focused on his client for the next thirty minutes.

  And just as he tucked her under the dryer to process her color, Tristan waltzed into the salon.

  Phillip’s heart shouldn’t be doing a happy dance, and he shouldn’t have missed Tristan after, what? Forty minutes?

  He forced himself to ask Mrs. Miller, “Can I get you any coffee, tea, or water?”

  “No, thank you.” Though she did accept a selection of gossip and fashion magazines.

  He set the timer and strolled to the front, even though he wanted to run.

  Tristan beamed. Damn! That smile could melt any ice Phillip had packed around his heart. Fuck. Why did he have the sinking suspicion that he grinned back just as big?

  “Here you go.” Tristan handed him his phone and a paper bag.

  “Thanks. What’s in here?” He peeked in the brown paper and found a sandwich, muffin, and sparkling water. Aw! The Prince of the Library did not bring him lunch. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

  Monique held a pink-frosted sugar cookie and winked at Tristan. “You didn’t have to, but I’m impressed you did. Thanks for my cookie.”

  Tristan nodded, stared at the floor, and his cheeks took on an adorable shade of pink. “I should go. I need to return some calls before I open the library.” He paused at the door. Turning, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yes, tomorrow.” Why did twenty-four hours seem like such a long time? Wasn’t there another reason to see him today? Or tonight? With or without clothing….

  Grinning, Tristan ducked his head and left.

  Phillip tried not to watch him go, but….

  Monique slapped his arm and whispered, “Holy fuck! I’ve never seen you with dreamy, googly eyes… ever.”

  Phillip sniffed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Right.” Monique pursed her lips.

  “I’ve got to get back to work.” No way he could win this discussion, so he turned on his heel and went back to his client. Trying to focus on what Mrs. Miller chatted to him about was never difficult before, but today he couldn’t keep the details straight as he cut her hair.

  All he wanted to do was go someplace quiet and think about the man who’d made him breakfast and brought him lunch. God, this was beyond ridiculous!

  Around one thirty, Monique said, “You’ve got forty minutes before your next appointment. It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t you go out back and eat in Eden?”

  He shrugged. Enjoying the boss’s private courtyard, which Monique nicknamed Eden, might help him get his head on straight. The boss and his lover landscaped the oasis two summers ago, and the shady, peaceful retreat calmed him. “Bossman’s not coming in today?”

  Monique checked the schedule. “Nope. Go eat the lunch your boyfriend made you.”

  “He’s not my—”

  She waved him off. “I’ll text when your client comes in.”

  Phillip stopped arguing, nabbed a handful of fish pellets from the jar on his boss’s shelf, and slipped out into the private haven. He dropped the food into the koi pond. Two pudgy orange fish swam over and gobbled all the pellets in seconds.

  He sat at the bistro table and let the sound of the waterfall splashing against the rocks calm him before he checked his messages and the string of notifications from his various man-finding apps. The subject lines made the messages clear: “Want you on your knees,” “Need your mouth,” “Want you to make me come,” and variations on that theme.

  Earlier in the week, he would have put this break between clients to use. Today those messages had little appeal. He found the straightforward requests somehow… repetitive and uninteresting. After he closed the apps, he checked a private tally he kept of his sexual encounters. He had hooked up about four hundred and fifty-two times in the last fifteen months.

  Four hundred and fifty-two times. He stared off into the shadows, trying to remember the faces of the men he’d met, and failed. His luck fared no better when he tried to think of an experience that stood out from the others. Though he’d had some really nice cocks, they all merged together into a penis collage.

  He’d not allow society to slut-shame him, but what did he have to show for the hookups? A good time. Yes, he’d had exciting sex with some hot men. And some not-so-hot men. Not everyone got high ratings on the honesty scale when it came to their age, looks, or length. Though he rarely cut bait, even if the men weren’t what they said. He’d made the effort to get there, so he always justified staying, even when twenty-five and hot turned out to be sixty-four and not.

  Phillip was satisfied with his life. Or at least he had been. He hadn’t wanted more in… ever. Bullshit. He hadn’t allowed himself to want more.

  Spending time with Tristan made him want things.

  “Phillip?”

  Damn. He forced himself not to jump, but he started to ease out of the chair and collect his things. “Hey, Bossman. Didn’t expect you, or I wouldn’t have invaded your inner sanctum.”

  Andrew waved his hands as if to keep Phillip seated under the shady tree. He took the other bistro chair. “Looks like you were lost in thought.”

  “Me? Nah, my hair’s longer than my thoughts.”

  Bossman folded his arms across his broad chest, challenging him without words.

  The focus was disconcerting. Phillip shrugged but admitted nothing.

  “A bag lunch? How very domestic of you.”

  “A friend dropped it off for me.” Knowing Monique might have given Andrew the complete rundown, including the fact Tristan brought her a cookie bribe, he hedged with “His grandfather and mine are living in the same adult community.”

  “How is your grandfather? I was out of town the last time he came in for an appointment.”

  “He’s fine, though I think he’s actually hot for my friend’s grandfather.” Phillip filled the silence by adding, “My friend is the librarian.”

  “Are you hot for the librarian?” Bossman always cut right to the heart of the matter. “Monique thinks you are.”

  Phillip wouldn’t squirm. Andrew didn’t have secret powers that could ferret out the truth.

  “Phillip, come on. I’ve seen him. He’s a nice-looking man and has been a big part in revitalizing this community.” Bossman wasn’t telling him anything Phillip didn’t already know.

  “And?”

  “As your boss, nothing. As your friend, I wish you’d stop settling for less than you deserve. Just ’cause you’ve done so in the past doesn’t mean you need to continue to do so.”

  Phillip opened his mouth but found no words. He hated when the Bossman dropped wisdom on his head like a brick from heaven.

  That was easy for Andrew to say, but Phillip didn’t know if he could take such a risk. “We’re just friends.
He wants someone to show him how to walk on the wild side.” Then he’d cast Phillip aside and settle for Mr. Right.

  “Wants someone to show him or wants you?”

  Phillip put his hands out in front of him to ward off the idea. “You know I’m more catch and release.”

  “But maybe this time you shouldn’t be so quick to throw him back.”

  A smart-mouthed quip about “As soon as they find release they’re out the door anyway” came to mind, but a text vibrating to his phone kept his mouth shut. “My client is here.”

  “Finish the last bites of your muffin. I’ll go chat with them and have Hope shampoo them.”

  “Thanks.” His boss used to ride his ass about every little thing, but ever since Phillip started to take his job seriously and build his reputation, Andrew had been nothing but supportive.

  “Anytime.” Andrew stalked back inside.

  SO WHAT if the salon had a machine that brewed individual cups of gourmet coffee. Maybe the stuff for four bucks tasted better and was worth the extra steps. And if his path happened to go past the library, well, that wasn’t his doing. It was simply coffee shop placement.

  Phillip glanced casually over at the library in a nonstalkerish way. No Tristan. Was it still open? Tristan’s fuel-efficient Ford Fusion sat in the parking lot. Phillip crossed the street to check the library hours because, well, in case someone asked him.

  No Tristan. They were open for another two hours.

  Coffee. He’d get Tristan a thank-you coffee for bringing him lunch and his cell phone. It would be rude not to.

  Phillip hurried to the coffee shop and came back within record time.

  He burst into the library. The woman behind the desk said, “I’m sorry, you can’t bring those in here. No food or drink.”

  “Right.” He made sure the top snapped shut on his travel mug and tucked it into his bag. He handed her the one with the big red Thank You, Tris scrolled over the side. “This one is for Tristan.”

  “Oh, how nice. Let me take it to his office. He’s doing sleepy-time reads.” She pointed toward the back corner.

  Not feeling like a stalker at all, Phillip slipped behind one of the shelves, which allowed him a direct but unseen path toward that section where a crowd gathered.

  Tristan sat on a small stool, reading a book to twelve little library patrons who sat on the floor, leaning forward on their cushions with their mouths open.

  “Mr. Cooper, please read that again. Mica was talking.” A little girl in a pink jean jacket frowned at the chatterbox next to her.

  “Okay, Melody.” Tristan flipped one page back and whinnied like a horse. “Sierra. That’s a funny name for a talking caterpillar.”

  Tristan did his best caterpillar glare until the kids all giggled and attempted the expression too. “Hmph! As if Carlos Sirus Broominschmeckle is a good name for a magical unicorn.”

  Tristan’s delivery was absolutely charming. The kids roared with laughter.

  Phillip swallowed hard. Love was just a way to dress up lust. But as the story continued and the man did voices of talking caterpillars and magical unicorns, Phillip decided he wanted to have Tristan’s babies. He saw their fictional children. Three of them playing in the front yard, each one perfect little replicas of Tristan and—

  Whispers from the parents, guardians, and probably some singles hot for the librarian ringing the perimeter of the group told him he wasn’t the only one to notice Tristan’s charisma. Several adults were casting hungry looks with pervy intentions in his librarian’s direction. There were a couple of men. Yeah, well, Jimmy might have two daddies, but he didn’t need a third. Nor did Jimmy’s two daddies need a private librarian to shelve things.

  “And that’s why you’re my best friend, Carlos Sirus Broominschmeckle!” The story’s exciting climax caused a mayhem of clapping and chattering little ones. Several of them hugged Tristan and had a lot to discuss about the plot twists during the saga the magical caterpillars and unicorns took.

  Phillip wanted to talk to Tristan, but a quick schedule check showed he had one last appointment. He needed to book it back to the salon.

  As he was hurrying into the salon, a text vibrated his pocket. It was from Tristan.

  Thanx for the coffee.

  He typed back: Anytime.

  Phillip finished his appointment and looked at his texts. He was drawn to reread his conversation with Tristan. Damn, he seriously meant anytime! The ways in which he could undo the librarian kept replaying in his mind and making his dick hard.

  His bike was parked out in front of the shop. It was Saturday night; which club should he grace with his presence? His traitorous eyes gazed down the street at the library. Decision made.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Phillip headed to his apartment. He opted for an evening of librarian porn and jerking himself off until he began experiencing early symptoms of carpal tunnel.

  HEY FAG! Get over here & suck my cock.

  Phillip was standing in the mall when that particular charming text buzzed his phone. It was from a guy he’d sucked off a couple of times. Thankfully, they’d met in the guy’s car, so he didn’t know where Phillip lived or even his real name.

  While someone calling him derogatory names and slurs didn’t bother him—after all, he bought into the take back the word bullshit—he no longer wanted to reward a fucker for assholeic and rather rude behavior. He simply blocked the number…. Gone.

  Dammit, that felt great.

  Someone caught his gaze. Yum! Tristan strolled toward him, looking delicious in his crisp, white, buttoned-up-to-the-neck shirt and black trousers. Since when did workwear make Phillip weak in the knees and hard in the cock?

  They weren’t meeting for playtime!

  Tristan’s smile got bigger when he waved at Phillip and didn’t seem to notice the other men and women doing double takes. Phillip wasn’t going to analyze why extreme happiness flooded him when he was out of bed so early on a Sunday.

  “Good afternoon, Phillip. Do you want to shop first or eat first?”

  “Shop.” Phillip buried the odd need to hug him by putting his hand on Tristan’s back as if he needed a physical guide to the anchor store right next to the food court. Once they were in the men’s department, he asked, “We’re going to start with some basics. What size jeans do you take?”

  Tristan scratched his head, then reached into the pile of jeans and pulled out a pair.

  Phillip laughed at the tag. “That’s not your size.” He pulled out a smaller size.

  Inspecting the label, Tristan concluded, “Those won’t fit.”

  “That’s what the dressing room is for. We’ll figure out the size jeans you wear, and then we’ll get different colors and washes. Now, T-shirts.”

  Tristan pulled out a tent from the pile.

  “You and who else is going to wear this?” He snagged the correct size and one smaller.

  Shaking his head, Tristan insisted, “The medium will never fit.”

  “The medium will be for clubbing.”

  Tristan’s face screwed up as if Phillip spoke a foreign language. “Clubbing?”

  “For showing your wares.” Phillip appraised Tristan from head to toe, a nice and slow perusal to make his point.

  Tristan’s face turned red, and he folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t have abs.”

  “Most men don’t. But tight means scrumptious. Besides, your arms in the medium will show off your muscles.”

  “I guess lifting all those books got me a nice set of guns,” Tristan teased and did a cheesy pose.

  Instead of laughing on cue, Phillip touched the displayed arm. He couldn’t help but remember feeling safe enough to fall sleep within Tris’s arms. That was a first.

  Their gazes met and locked.

  Shit, he had it bad. How much trouble would he get into if he dropped to his knees—

  Tristan shivered and stepped back.

  “Let’s get you into the dressing r
oom.” No one was there to let them in, but as luck would have it, the family fitting room door was ajar. Phillip herded him in and sat on the bench.

  Tristan clasped the clothing tight against him. “What are you doing?”

  Too cute. Phillip leaned back on the bench and folded his arms. “What does it look like? Sitting down while you try on the clothing.”

  “I can’t with you watching me.” The indignation would have done a grandmother proud… not Phillip’s, but some grandmother somewhere would applaud his modesty.

  Phillip pressed his lips together, then teased, “Just pretend it’s part of you being wilder. Getting undressed in front of someone… in a changing room.”

  Tristan got red in the face and frowned.

  Sad how excited the prospect made Phillip, but he didn’t want Tris uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to say he could—oh fuck!

  The man slowly unbuttoned his shirt and parted the front, revealing a white tank undershirt, then shrugged the fabric off his shoulders like it was no big deal….

  Sexy, sexy, sexy!

  In his haste, Tristan forgot to undo the sleeve buttons, so his hands were locked behind his back. The shirt became a businessman’s bondage, combined with the staying power of a Chinese finger lock. He turned this way and that as he fought the fabric.

  Not looking at Phillip, his movements got more frantic.

  “Shhh. Let me help you before you dislocate something.” Phillip stepped behind him and ran his hands down Tristan’s arms to calm the flailing. He dropped to his knees because, well, he did.

  His brain screamed that he had gotten so used to kneeling… it was all he was good for. But a quick peek in the mirror with Tristan’s gaze on him, and he told his brain to shut the fuck up.

  Tris’s dreamy expression made him feel warm and want softer things. Maybe it was stupid, but Phillip wanted more of those looks. He needed to do things that he never dreamed he wanted before he met Tristan Cooper.

  He smiled into the mirror and then eased the tangled shirt off Tristan’s wrists.