Love and the Library Read online

  That easygoing approach doesn’t seem right when it comes to Hannah Mystery Last Name. When I texted her this morning about meeting up for coffee, I didn’t use the word date, which I’m thoroughly regretting now. The idea that some other guy might try to edge me out has my muscles clenching as if willing me to cross the room to wrap a possessive arm around her shoulders.

  When did I suddenly turn into an overbearing caveman?

  Luckily, the rational part of my mind points out that physically removing Hannah from the presence of anyone with a penis is unhealthy and is more likely to piss her off than endear her to me.

  So, I keep to my seat.

  I’m rewarded for my restraint because the moment Hannah reaches my side, she plants a kiss on my forehead before setting our coffees on the table and settling across from me.

  “Good job. I thought I was going to have to brawl with someone to claim this table.” Her smiling eyes watch me over her lid as she takes a sip.

  I mimic her movement, too dazed to do anything else.

  She kissed me. The caress was nowhere near as passionate as what we had done last night, but somehow, the sweet casualness of the gesture felt more intimate. Like she might—

  The coffee hits my tongue in an unexpected briny wave, like taking a swallow of the ocean. Luckily, not much made its way into my mouth because I send it spewing over the table. The napkin Hannah is holding up to shield herself catches most of what gets sprayed in her direction.

  “What the hell?” The question barely makes it out through my coughing.

  “That’s what you get!” Her fist pumps in the air before pointing at me in triumph.

  “What are you talking about?” I pop off the lid of my drink. Inside, there’s just steaming water with a strong smell of salt. “Did you do this?”

  “You’re damn right I did, Lucifer.” Hannah wears a wild grin. “Told you I’d make you pay.”

  It takes me a second to remember what she’s referring to. Then, her promise from a few weeks ago whispers in my mind.

  “Give up the seat, or face the consequences. This is your last chance.”

  “You dirty little sneak.” I try—and fail—not to respond with my own smile. “And you call me the devil.”

  “You practically begged for it.” She wiggles in her seat, having a mini victory dance.

  However, if I thought Shorty was completely ruthless, that notion disappears when the flirty barista appears beside our table.

  “Sorry, man. She said it was an inside joke. And it’s hard to say no to Hannah.”

  The guy sets a cup in front of me but keeps his interested focus on my companion. There is small comfort in the fact that she only gives him a quick nod before attaching her eyes back to me.

  “Thanks, Carl. I owe you one.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” He squeezes her shoulder before making his way back to the register, throwing more than one glance behind him at the oblivious woman across from me.

  “That’s your actual order. I promise,” she says.

  I deliberately raise one eyebrow. “Oh, and I’m supposed to just trust you now?”

  The giddiness in Hannah’s smile dims slightly, and she grabs on to one of my hands. “You’re not mad, are you?”

  The shift in her expression cuts at me, and I flip my hand in hers, so I can lace our fingers together.

  “Mad that you used your evil genius mind to get revenge? Never.” Without checking the contents, I brace myself and take a hearty swallow of my replacement drink. Nothing but coffee washes over my tongue, and I let go of the tension in my shoulders.

  Hannah hums in the back of her throat as she sips her own drink, smiling all the while.

  No wonder Carl was willing to help with her mischief. How could any guy resist the intoxicating curve of her lips?

  I try not to tighten my fingers possessively. “So, that barista seemed like he had no problem acting as the accomplice.”

  Hannah grins. “I wasn’t sure he would, but I’ve let him borrow my Chem notes a couple of times, so I thought I might be able to work the guilt angle. Turns out, he didn’t need much convincing.” She shrugs and then sets a curious gaze on me. “Maybe you have more enemies than just me on this campus.”

  A grunt of disapproval sneaks out before I can stop it. “After last night, I wouldn’t call us enemies. Besides, I don’t think I’m the reason he helped you out.”

  Like a curious puppy, Hannah quirks her head to the side. The gesture makes me want to pull her out of her chair and onto my lap, where I can easily kiss her puckered lips.

  Instead, I explain the obvious to her, “He’s got it bad for you.”

  A crease forms between her eyebrows before she shakes her head. “That’s ridiculous. He was just being friendly.”

  “Trust me, Shorty. This whole time, he’s been looking over here at you.”

  Hannah wrinkles her nose, letting out a disbelieving snort. But when she turns in her seat, it’s to find Carl staring our way again. She returns his half-wave before settling back to face me.

  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  I shake my head, slowly smirking at her, which only earns me a scowl.

  “He does not have it bad for me. I’d be lucky if he even liked me as a friend.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Hannah fiddles with a napkin. “I’m not stupid. I know I can be a little much. To use the words of one of my classmates, I’m ‘demanding’ and ‘abrasive’ sometimes. You don’t seem to mind, which is nice.”

  For a second, I think she’s joking. But when she continues to avoid my eyes, it’s clear Hannah actually believes what she’s saying.

  “Of course I don’t mind being around you. You’re funny and ruthless and awesome.”

  She shrugs, even as the edges of her mouth curve upward.

  I take a moment to consider Hannah’s obliviousness.

  Does she really think people don’t like her? How could she not see the clear interest that guy has for her? Is this a common thing?

  What if she’s never picked up on romantic signals before?

  “So, last night was the first time you ever had a beer, right?” I ask aloud.

  “Yeah.” She watches my face, as if trying to figure out where my random question came from, while I’m searching for a way to broach the idea that just popped into my mind.

  “Was that the only first you had last night?”

  Hannah chews on the corner of her bottom lip. “Are you talking about Mario Kart? Because it’s been a while, but I’ve definitely played before.”

  “No. That’s not what I mean.” I keep my eyes focused on hers, willing her to understand my question. But my staring only makes her huff out a dramatic breath.

  “If you’re trying to ask me something, just do it. I’m not sure I have the energy to figure out how your mind works.” She presses the coffee cup to her mouth again.

  My thumb traces over the thin blue veins in her wrist, and my gaze locks on the movement, as I suddenly find it hard to meet her eyes. “Was I your first kiss?”

  Her snort answers me before her words do. “What? No. How inexperienced do you think I am?”

  “Well, you can’t seem to tell when a guy likes you, so I just wondered …” I trail off.

  Hannah rolls her eyes and shakes her head, all at once, my idiocy too much for her to handle. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Lucifer, but I’ve kissed guys before. Had a boyfriend for the last few years of high school. We even”—she leans in close, whispering to me in a hushed voice—“had sex!”

  Hannah sits up and dramatically glances around us, as if worried about being overheard. All clearly an act to make me feel even more ridiculous.

  Which I do. But only a little bit.

  Some guys get off on the idea of deflowering a virgin. They see it as a manly power thing. I’ve got nothing against virgins, but I find it’s easier to figure out what a girl wants in bed if she’s spent some time figurin
g it out herself.

  “Sorry. I’m an idiot. You are super experienced. A master of the bedroom.”

  I expect her to come back with something equally silly or at least share a grin with me. Instead, the humor trickles out of Hannah’s soft brown eyes, leaving her looking embarrassed. When she drinks from her cup this time, I would bet good money it’s to avoid looking at me.

  “Hey, Shorty? What’s up?”

  Instead of answering, she tries to pull her hand out of mine, but I’m not ready to let her go. When she gives up her tugging, I lift her palm to my mouth, so I can kiss the meaty part at the base of her thumb.

  That earns me a twitch of her lips, but she still keeps her eyes to herself.

  “Come on. Tell me.”

  “It’s embarrassing,” she mutters, barely loud enough for me to hear.

  “More embarrassing than my terrible tan lines?” I make sure to affect a horrified expression.

  Hannah finally looks up and actually giggles when she sees my face. The smile doesn’t stick around though. Keeping her gaze on our clasped hands, she leans closer.

  “I’m bad at sex.”

  12

  HANNAH

  My cheeks are going to set off all the fire alarms in this place. I said it out loud, and from Nathan’s slapped in the face expression, I have no doubt that he heard me.

  Holy hell, why couldn’t I just stick to the jokes? There was no earthly reason for me to tell Nathan Cooper that I was bad in bed. A better route would’ve been to just never sleep with him.

  That seems like a forgone conclusion now.

  Once he collects his jaw off the floor, he’ll either punch me in the shoulder like a buddy and tell me that I’ll find the right guy someday or he’ll make some excuse to run like I’m showing the beginning symptoms of the plague.

  Good-bye, one person I’ve started to feel comfortable around.

  Maybe Carl would be up for hanging out?

  “Why do you think that?” Lucifer digs me out of my pit of self-despair with his question.

  The sound of my high school boyfriend’s voice echoes in my head.

  “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.”

  “How am I supposed to know you like it?”

  “You’re not doing it right.”

  “My ex told me.”

  I swear every set of ears in the coffee shop is angled toward our table. Maybe that’s my paranoia, but the girls sitting behind us were having a super-animated conversation just a minute ago, weren’t they? The idea of everyone in the vicinity hearing my humiliation over their morning caffeine hit makes my muscles twitch in discomfort.

  “What did he say?” Nathan asks.

  “Can we not talk about this here?” I know my voice comes out snappier than I want it to, but he’s poking at a bruise with a sharp stick while in front of an audience.

  “Let’s go for a walk then.”

  “Huh?”

  But he’s already up, pulling me along with him, abandoning our table to the vultures. As Nathan drags me through the exit, I catch up—at least mentally.

  He wants me to talk about it. My bedroom performance. Or really, my lack thereof.

  I glance around for a conveniently dug hole for me to bury my head in. Unfortunately, the university’s lawns are pristine, offering no places to hide.

  “Okay, Shorty, spill it. What did that fuckwad tell you, and why did you listen to him?”

  “He’s not a fuckwad!” Not at first.

  Derrick started out as my lab partner sophomore year of high school. We would joke and pass notes while the teacher was talking. When we started dating, it was easy. And when we slept together after junior prom, I thought everything was still good.

  And for a while, it was.

  Until it wasn’t.

  “Convince me. Because right now, he sounds like a major douche bag.” Nathan keeps his steps shorter, so I don’t have trouble keeping up. He swings our joined hands like we’re going on a pleasant jaunt around campus.

  “We got along really well. We had fun together. I don’t regret dating him.” I can hear the defensiveness in my tone.

  He ignores it, taking a casual sip of his coffee and pointedly not responding.

  My sigh comes out all huffy. “I thought the sex was good. I liked it.”

  Most of the time, I had orgasms with Derrick, which I read online wasn’t always something girls could expect.

  I’m bracing for Nathan to say something. I mean, I’m talking about sex! But Lucifer just keeps up his steady stroll.

  “Are we going somewhere?”

  This gets him to turn his chin toward me. “If you want. But I figured we’d just walk for a bit.”

  Suddenly, he releases my hand, but at the exact moment I start to miss it, the heavy weight of his arm wrapping around my shoulders grounds me. Then, hot shivers trickle across my cheek and neck at the caress of his spicy breath on my ear.

  “When I went on a ski trip my senior year, my brother cut out all the ass cheeks of my underwear without me knowing. The whole weekend, I had to go commando or wear ass-less boxers.”

  The random story hits me like a water balloon in the face.

  My brain goes on the fritz, and all I can do is stare up at Nathan in openmouthed wonder.

  How is it that he’s able to tell such a ridiculous story in a sexy, deep voice?

  A gentle smirk drifts over his lips before he leans down to press a kiss on the side of my head.

  “Wh-where did that come from?” I stutter on the question, barely having regained the power of speech.

  Nathan chuckles. “You seemed embarrassed. I thought I’d put us on even footing.”

  This guy. My heart gives a deafening kerthunk. A dangerous reaction that I can’t seem to help. A boldness overcomes me, and I wrap my arm around his waist, enjoying the soft texture of his T-shirt contrasting with the solid heat of his back.

  Giving him a thank-you squeeze, I smile up into his comforting gaze. “I hope you paid your brother back.”

  The gentle edge of his grin turns wicked, sending more pleasant shivers over my sensitive skin.

  “If you mean, did I throw out all his underwear and fill his drawers with cotton granny panties? Then, yes. Yes, I did.”

  The urge to laugh overwhelms me, and I bury my face in Nathan’s chest, letting the hilarity loose. As I gasp in breath, my lungs fill to the brim with his clove scent, and the tension in the muscles at the back of my neck relaxes.

  Maybe it’s only been a couple of weeks since Nathan and I have been on speaking terms, but the way he hands over these silly pieces of his past makes me feel closer to him than some people I’ve known for years.

  When I’m breathing normal again, I turn the two of us, so we can keep walking. The movement helps, and the words start to unravel from their tight coil deep in my chest.

  “We’d been sleeping together for a few months, and I thought everything was aces. Then, he asked if I’d be up for watching porn with him. He said he’d been using it to learn new moves or something. I’d never seen any before, but I was okay with trying it out.” I shrug, and Nathan’s fingers press into my shoulder in a reassuring massage. “So, one night, we did. Nothing crazy, just a guy and a girl going at it. It got us both … aroused.”

  My confidence wavers but more because I have a sudden image of Nathan and me sitting next to each other on a couch with a porno playing.

  Would he get hard like Derrick did? Would he reach for me with his lazy gaze turning into a steady smolder?

  Even if he did, I know how the rest of the scene would end—with unavoidable disappointment.

  “So, we had sex. I thought it was good, but afterward, he seemed annoyed. He didn’t say why at first. Eventually, he did though. We watched more porn another time, and he pointed out how it was so different from what we did. How I didn’t act like the women in the videos.”

  Nathan’s hand traces over the ridge of my collarbone. When I chance a look up at hi
m, he’s facing forward, expression blank.

  It won’t be in a minute though.

  I brace myself for the pity.

  “I … I’m quiet. In bed. The moaning and shouting and dirty talk … that’s just not natural for me. I can’t even pretend. He said it was barely better than getting himself off.”

  The memory of the night Derrick told me still has my whole body clenching in discomfort and shame. The embarrassment. Thinking of myself as a failure. After he made the comparison, I tried harder. But when I focused too much on what I was doing wrong, I couldn’t enjoy myself. Every time, I’d slip back into being quiet.

  So, he broke up with me.

  “You did a bad job.”

  Every fiber of my body flinches in offense.

  If Nathan thinks I cut myself open and laid out my insecurities just so another guy could explain how flawed I was, he’s signing up for a verbal beatdown.

  I’m warming up my throat for some dramatic shouting when he clarifies, “If that was supposed to convince me your ex was a decent guy, then I have to tell you, mission failed. What a jackass.”

  The angry words I planned to throw at him never make it off my lips.

  “I mean, every guy watches porn, but you’d have to be a moron to think it was real. Those women are doing a job. Sorry, but give me a real girl who actually wants to be with me over that any day.” There’s not a dab of pity in his voice. It almost sounds like he’s pissed.

  “He didn’t want a porn star. He just wanted me to be more vocal.” I try to put some conviction into my words, but Nathan’s raised eyebrow tells me just how weak my retort sounded.

  “He’s an idiot.”

  My eyes roll of their own accord. “Come on, Lucifer. Porn or no porn, you can’t tell me guys want a quiet girl in bed. They want their praises shouted! Oh, baby, yes, just like that!” I’m channeling my inner Meg Ryan, and a guy passing by us gives me an appreciative stare. Once he’s past, I wave at his back. “See?”

  When I glance up, I expect to see Nathan in reluctant agreement, maybe showing a bit of chagrin, knowing he’s one of these men with their specific expectations.