She has a look of innocence about her; I guess it could be a front, but something tells me it’s not. I feel myself getting hard thinking about those fucking heels she had on; they should be illegal. She looked like every man’s naughty secretary fantasy, or maybe a dirty librarian. I palm myself, moving in long, steady strokes. I wouldn’t mind seeing her on her knees in front of me, her skirt up around her waist, her legs spread out to show off her pussy, her top open with her breasts hanging over the top of her bra, and her nipples hard and dark pink from being sucked, licked, and bitten. I would stand in front of her, feeding her my cock. My hands would fist her hair, dictating her pace. I feel my balls draw up, my strokes moving faster. One of her hands would cup them gently while her other hand would grip the base of my cock as I fucked into her mouth.
“Shit,” I groan, echoing into the empty shower as long jets of cum hit the wall in front of me. I haven’t jacked off to the thought of a woman I know since I was thirteen, when Margret Jenkins showed me her tits in the boys’ bathroom on a dare. I catch my breath before I wash up and head to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day.
When I walk into the middle school, I’m not surprised when the security guard asks who I am and what I’m doing here. I explain to him that I’m looking for a librarian by the name of Sophie. He doesn’t know who she is, so he sends me to the principal’s office so someone there can help me out. I’m used to being judged by my appearance. I’m covered in tattoos, and I have a fauxhawk and gauges in my ears. Basically, I look like a person you should run from.
“Can I help you?”
I look down at an older woman with light-purple hair and a large smile. “I’m looking for Sophie.”
“The Sophie who works in the library?” she questions, her smile becoming wider.
“Yes. Can you point me in her direction?”
“Oh! She’s not here today.”
“Why are you looking for Sophie?” a male voice asks, and I turn my head to look over my shoulder.
“She’s a friend,” I tell him, turning back around.
“Sophie doesn’t have friends,” he says in a way that makes it sound like he has tried to be her frien, but she wasn’t interested.
I turn to face him, looking him over. He’s dressed like he works here—most likely a teacher—his khaki pants and button-down shirt giving him away.
“She has me,” I tell him.
His eyes look me over before he speaks again. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Is that so?” I raise a brow.
“Honey, she will be here tomorrow,” the lady says. I look at her and smile, and she beams back at me.
“Thanks,” I reply, tapping on the top of her desk before walking past the guy, out the door, down the hall, and out to my car. I have to wait another day, but I know it’ll be worth it when I see her again.
When I get to the school the next day, I go directly to the office.
“You came back,” the same lady as before greets me. “I’m Sue, by the way.” She leans forward then, like she is going to tell me a secret. “Mr. Rasmussen was not happy yesterday.” She wags her finger at me then smiles like the cat that got the canary before sitting back in her chair and clapping her hands together once. “So I guess you need directions to the library.”
“That would be helpful.” I smile.
“You sure are pretty.” She laughs. “If I was a few years younger, I’d be a jaguar for you.”
“A jaguar?” I ask on a chuckle.
“You know, an older lady with a younger man.”
“A cougar, you mean,” I correct her with a grin.
“Sure. Whatever you say, honey. All I know is I would have given Ms. Grates a run for her money.”
“Sue, if you want me, you’ve got me,” I tell her, leaning in the way she did before.
“Oh no, honey. I wouldn’t even know what to do with you.” She smiles, her eyes sparkling. I shrug and she laughs. “All right, mister. I gotta hang on to your ID while you’re on school property, but just sign in here and you can go to the library. Take a right out the door, walk until you get to the end of the hall, and take a left. It’s the last door on the left.”
“Thanks, doll,” I reply, smiling as I hand her my driver’s license, sign the visitor’s sheet, and walk out of the office. I have to say, that’s the first time I’ve ever been hit on by a woman my grandmother’s age.
When I get to the library’s doors, I look through the small window and spot Sophie right away as she stands on her tiptoes to put away books. Today, she is wearing navy-blue slacks with wide legs and a high waist that ends just under her breasts, which are covered in a bright red, short-sleeved, button-down top that matches her heels.
Jesus. Sophie is in heels and looking like she does is going to be the death of me. I push open the door and am bombarded by the smell of books. Sophie turns her head to look at who has come in, and when she sees that it’s me, her eyes go wide and her mouth opens and closes a couple of times.
“What are you doing here?” she finally asks before looking around like she is waiting for someone to jump out at her.
“I told you I would see you when I got back to town. I’m back in town,” I state the obvious.
“Um…okay, but what are you doing here?” she repeats, pointing to the floor.
“I don’t have your number, and I want to take you out to dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes, a meal you eat at the end of the day.”
“I know what dinner is. I just don’t do that,” she mumbles, looking adorable.
“You don’t eat dinner?” I ask, confused.
“No, I don’t do dinner with other people,” she replies.
“You don’t do dinner with other people?” I tilt my head to the side, watching her.
“Like…date—I don’t date,” she huffs out, crossing her arms over her chest, which only accentuates it. My eyes are drawn there, and she immediately lowers her arms to her sides.
“It’s not a date. It’s dinner.”
“I know…you said that.”
“So what would you like to eat on our non-date dinner?” I ask, taking a step towards her, the smell of apples and cinnamon growing stronger the closer I get.
“Nothing. We’re not having dinner together.”
“What time do you get off work?”
“Six—I mean, I don’t know.” She chews her lower lip, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.
“All right, so no dinner then.” I shrug. “Can I get your number?”
She shakes her head no, her cheeks growing even darker. Fuck me, she’s cute. “Sorry,” she whispers, looking away.
For some reason, alarm bells start going off in my head. “It’s all good.” I beat back the urge to touch her, my mind warring with my body. I watch her for a second and then start to come up with a plan.
“I have to get back to work,” she says, looking at the floor.
“All right, sweet Sophie. I’ll see you around.”
“Bye, Nico,” she says softly.
I turn after giving her a chin lift, my chest feeling tight at the sound of my name leaving her mouth. After getting my ID back from Sue and signing out, I leave the school knowing that this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 2
For the second day in a row, I’m waiting outside the school. It’s 6:02 when the door opens and Sophie comes walking out. Each time I see her, she looks even more beautiful than before. I watch her expression go from surprise to shy happiness as she spots me standing next to my car…just like yesterday.
Yesterday when I left her in the library, I went to the grocery store, bought a pint of Phish Food ice cream and a set of plastic spoons, and took it back to the school, where I waited for her to get off work. She said she didn’t do dinner; she never said anything about dessert. When she saw me standing there with the frozen treat, she said that she really shouldn’t, but I told her that it wasn’t a date and I was
just meeting her after school for ice cream. Then I explained how my fragile ego couldn’t bear her denying me her company, making her laugh lightly and give in. We stood outside her car for an hour with a pint of ice cream between us. She was shy but also cute and funny.
Now, I watch as she gets closer and closer, her eyes looking me over then landing on my hand. Today, I stopped at the gas station and got two ice cream cookies. She told me yesterday these are her favorite. I hold one out to her, and she smiles as she shakes her head, making my heart beat a little faster. Yes, I know I’m a fucking pussy, but I couldn’t give a fuck.
“What are you doing here”—she pauses—“again?” she asks, taking the ice cream from my hand and unwrapping it.
“Someone told me you like these.”
“Someone has a big mouth,” she says, taking a bite out of the giant frozen cookie.
“She does,” I agree, looking at her mouth.
She laughs and smacks me on the chest. She covers her mouth with her hand, chewing while holding up one finger. “What are you really doing here?” she asks after she swallows.
“Just in the neighborhood.” I shrug and take a bite of my cookie before immediately spitting it on the ground.
“Hey! What the hell?” she asks, offended, grabbing the rest of the cookie out of my hand.
“That tastes like shit.” I wipe my mouth before reaching into my car for a bottle of water.
“No, it doesn’t,” she defends with an exasperated look on her face.
“Baby, it tastes like cardboard,” I tell her, watching as her face goes soft at my endearment.
“Well, I guess I like eating cardboard then.”
I shake my head, looking at her smile. “So are you working tomorrow?” I ask her, leaning against my car.
She finishes off her cookie, and mine is halfway to her mouth when she answers, “Yes, but tomorrow I work from home.” She puts her bag on top of my car, leans her side against the door, and takes another bite of her ice cream.
I watch her movements, noticing that everything is so fluid and graceful. The urge to touch her is so overwhelming I have to cross my arms over my chest to keep myself in check.
“What about you? Do you work tomorrow?”
“Nah. I have some time off,” I reply, watching her closely.
She nods her head and looks around. “I never asked you—what kind of work do you do?”
“I’m a bounty hunter,” I answer smoothly.
“Wow,” she says, her eyes getting big. “Like Dog?”
“You mean the TV show Dog the Bounty Hunter?” I ask, laughing.
“Yeah! I used to love that show!” She smiles and her cheeks turn pink. She lowers her head so her hair falls in front of her face.
“It’s nothing like that, but yeah, that’s what I do.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” she asks, her eyes meeting mine and her face losing some of the color.
“It can be if you’re not smart,” I confirm with a nod.
“Are you smart?” Her words are quietly spoken.
“Always.” I watch in fascination as her eyes go from worried to respect.
“How often do you work?” she asks while taking another bite of the cookie.
“It depends. Sometimes once a month, and others, three times a week.” I shrug.
“That’s cool. I mean, it’s cool if you like doing it.”
“I do. I used to work construction with my brothers, but then I got into this by helping my cousin. I found I had a knack for it and haven’t been able to stop. And you, do you like what you do?”
“Yes. It’s not exciting, but I like it, and it pays the bills, so that’s a plus.”
I nod in understanding. “What about here? Do you like working at the school?” I ask curiously.
“This is what I love doing.” Her face lights up, her voice becoming animated. “I love books. Have since I was a little girl. I used to go to the toy store with my mom and walk out with a book. I guess I’m still like that to this day. I can’t go to the store without buying one.”
“It’s a good feeling, doing something you love,” I tell her, knowing how important it is to do things that make you happy.
“Yeah, it is,” she says and licks her fingers, and it’s in this moment that I know how unaware of herself she really is. She did that not knowing the effect she’s having on me. I doubt she even understands the way she affects men in general. It could be an act, but I seriously doubt it. She doesn’t seem like she’s trying to be seductive; she’s just being herself.
“Where are you from? You have an accent I can’t place,” I say, trying to clear the image in my head of her licking something else.
“I have an accent?” she asks, pointing to herself and laughing. Then she shakes her head and replies, “No, you have an accent. I sound normal.”
“You may sound normal to yourself, but to me—and I’m sure to a lot of other people around here—you have an accent.”
“I never thought of that.” Her head tilts to the side, her smile getting bigger. “I feel kinda cool. I always wanted an accent, though I wished it was a European one, but hey, I’ll settle for this.” She giggles, and my head goes back and I laugh harder than I have in a long time. When I lift my head and our eyes meet, hers are soft and her smile is gentle. “You have a really great laugh,” she says almost to herself.
Words are caught in my throat. I don’t know what it is she’s doing to me, but I feel completely off-kilter. I’m not used to the feelings I’m having. That’s why I tried to walk away from her the first time I saw her, but then she grabbed my arm and I looked down at her, and something in me shifted. I knew if I walked away I would regret it for the rest of my life.
“So I should probably go,” she tells me, looking away quickly.
My chest tightens in response. I don’t want her to leave, but I don’t want to scare her off either. “Can I get your number?”
“Um, I…” She studies me, her eyes searching my face. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”
“Here. Just program it into my phone.” I pull my phone out of my back pocket and hand it to her.
“Oh…okay.” She presses the button on my phone, and in her concentration, her bottom lip gets a workout from her teeth.
My fingers automatically curve under her chin, pulling her lip down with my thumb so she releases it. Her head lifts and her lips part. Our eyes lock, and I fight the urge to lean forward and press my mouth to hers.
“Don’t do that, baby,” I say quietly before cupping my hand around hers, pulling her concentration back to my phone in her hand.
“Sorry,” she whispers, the pink tip of her tongue coming out to lick her lip, making me groan.
When she is done plugging in her number, I take the phone from her and press the call button. Her phone starts ringing and she pulls it from her bag. I slip it from her hand to look at the picture on the screen, and this time, it’s a picture of the ocean at sunset.
“Good girl,” I tell her, and I smile when her eyes narrow.
“I didn’t change it because of you. I just got tired of looking at that picture,” she says defensively, pulling the phone from my hand. I smile bigger, and I know it’s cocky, but I can’t bring myself to care. She slaps my chest with the back of her hand again, but I catch it before she can pull it away. “I’m serious!” she cries, making me laugh.
I tug her hand and she steps towards me. “I know you are.”
She’s standing so close that her apple-cinnamon smell floods my system. This close, I can see a small scattering of freckles along the ridge of her nose, and I also notice that her eyes have small golden flecks near the center but are almost black around the edges.
“You have a lot of tattoos.” Her softly spoken words pull my attention from her face to where she’s touching me.
“I do.”
I watch as her finger traces a few of the tattoos on my hand that’s holding hers. Her skin is completely unmarked. She’s so pure I d
on’t even want to touch her; something about her is too sweet for someone like me.
“I use to want a tattoo,” she says, sounding far away. Her face is still bent down, watching as her fingers wander over my skin. I’m so hard I’m surprised my dick doesn’t bust through my jeans to get to her.
“You don’t anymore?” I ask her.
Her head comes up, and she swallows, shrugs, and shakes her head.
Those alarm bells are going off again, but I don’t understand why. “So you never told me where you’re from,” I say, wanting to know as much as I can about her from just talking to her. I can have her background checked, and I will, but I still want her to open up to me.
“I’m from Seattle,” she answers quietly.
“What brought you here?”
“I was just ready for a change.” She shrugs and steps back. Someone who isn’t used to reading people may not have noticed the wobble of her chin or the way her little fist clenched at her side, but I did. “I really need to go. Thanks for the ice cream.” She pulls her bag closer to her body, almost as if she’s trying to protect herself.
I don’t move; I know she’s running, but I just don’t know what from. I definitely don’t want her to run from me.
“Any time, sweet Sophie,” I tell her gently. “Send me a text when you get home.”
She nods and opens her door. When it’s shut, she rolls down the window. “Bye, Nico.”
I lift my chin and watch her take off. I’m still standing there watching when she pulls out of the parking lot.
“She doesn’t date.” Fuck. My head drops, and I know exactly who’s speaking. “I tried, and a few other guys have tried, so don’t waste your time.”
“Did you ever think maybe she just doesn’t want to date you?” I turn around to face the guy from the office.
“Did you not hear me? I said she didn’t want to date me or anyone else that’s asked her.”
“Yeah? All that means to me is she’s got taste,” I tell him with a shrug.
“Whatever,” he says, walking off.
I shake my head in revulsion. I have known guys like him my whole life; they think if a woman doesn’t want them, then there must be something wrong with her, when in reality, it’s them.