1
My eyes dart around the quiet library and the wall of windows that look out onto the darkened campus. The only lights outside are the twinkling streetlamp near the lawn and the glow on the concrete path. Not much else is open this time of night.
A few students shuffle past, backpacks slung over their shoulders, off to enjoy the warm September night.
I look back at my book, after making sure no one is watching me enjoy my guilty pleasure. With a secret smile, I turn the page, and I'm once again lost in the fantasy.
The alien captain of the command ship Zargon reaches down to the virginal heroine sprawled across the broken ground.
"Come with me if you want to live," he says in a low, sexy voice. His three-fingered hand is strange and alien to her, but for a reason she can’t quite explain, she trusts him.
She takes his hand, admiring the rippling muscles of his chest. When he effortlessly pulls her to her feet, she barely comes up to his taut blue nipples.
I bite my lip, imagining the sound of lasers zipping past and the commander’s giant… biceps.
"You better not let Mrs. Henderson catch you reading that," says student body president Madeline Weber as she peers over the hardback tome I'm hiding my romance novel behind. Maddy’s golden-blond hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and her aqua blue eyes twinkle with mirth.
"I'm on a fifteen-minute break," I explain.
"I don't think that will make any difference to Mrs. Henderson. You know how she feels about that kind of book."
Madeline giggles, winks, and then hurries off down the stacks, clutching her textbooks to her chest. She slides into a table beside Sophia Russo. They're both wearing blue-and-gold T-shirts emblazoned with the gymnastics team logo and the timber wolf school mascot.
Madeline is right. If Mrs. Henderson, the head librarian, catches me reading a romance novel, even on my break, she’ll give me hell for it. I put a bookmark in the paperback and slip it into my purse.
My science fiction romance fantasy will have to wait for after work.
I stand from the couch in the reading area and check my vintage Mickey Mouse watch. I only have a few minutes left on my break.
I skipped dinner today, and my stomach is grumbling. Not eating was probably a mistake. Losing that ten extra pounds isn't going to make any difference now. The damage is already done.
I don't know why I'm blaming myself for the breakup. Ashton chose to hook up with every girl who would let him.
I drag my hand over my face and groan as I walk through the hall to the water fountain. I bend to take a long drink, my emotions spilling out like the water from the faucet. Cool liquid slides down my throat. Standing, I wipe the tears from my cheeks.
The scene of last night replays through my mind. The reality of my love life is the polar opposite of the fantasy in my book.
Last night, after checking dinner in the oven, I walked back into the living room and caught a glimpse of what Ashton was doing on his phone. He had that big cheesy grin he wore when he was getting away with something. I asked him what he was doing, and he quickly turned off his phone. But I’d seen it. He’d been on one of those hookup apps, chatting with some girl. I demanded he show me his phone. We argued for hours until he finally admitted everything. Then I kicked him out.
It was one of the most devastating moments of my life. Until last night, I thought he was the one and we would be together forever. But I should have known.
Who would want to be with someone like me? Dumpy Doris Gray with frizzy red hair, skin so pale it turns purple in the sun, and a swath of freckles across my face that look like constellations in a clear night sky. Plus, there's that ten extra pounds.
I push the thick glasses up my nose, cross my arms tightly over my handmade denim shirt dress, and head back to my post behind the checkout desk. I watch a group of girls wearing tiny shorts and tank tops leave the library. They make me feel ancient.
I dress like I’m living in a 1980s sitcom. My freshman year of college, my grandma downsized and gave me a bunch of secondhand funky old dress patterns and all her vintage fabric before moving to a condo in Florida.
I thought my fashion sense was ironic at the time. After a while, it became a bad habit I couldn’t break. I have a Peter Pan collar monstrosity in pink gingham sitting on my cutting table at home. While my style was out of fashion forty years ago, in reality, I’m not much older than the students at the college where I work.
At twenty-seven years old, I have a master’s degree in library science. I’m the assistant librarian at one of the most prestigious colleges in the state. Yet, despite all my accomplishments, Ashton's betrayal cuts like a knife, bleeding out all my self-confidence until there's nothing left. Maybe I should have gotten a makeover and lost the ten pounds like he suggested last Christmas.
We met three years ago while we were both finishing our master’s, me in library science and him in business. Our worlds couldn’t be further apart.
He believes he’s God's gift to women because he’s working in an upscale firm as an investment broker, quickly climbing the ranks and earning fat commissions.
While I’m here, slowly turning into one of the cardigan-wearing old ladies who shush students for talking too loudly.
The truth is, I love the library. I love everything about it. The stacks of books, the world of knowledge they hold between their covers.
Sometimes when I’m shelving books, I dream of jumping inside the pages and living other lives. I run my fingers across the spines, imagining I can instantly download all the knowledge of humanity directly into my brain.
Even if my job doesn’t pay as well as Ashton's or have the kind of prestige that accompanies Wall Street–level wealth, I wouldn't trade it for the world.
I tear myself from my ruminations as the front door swings open. Bobby McKenzie, the teenage custodian, shuffles into the library. The tan jumpsuit she wears is baggy on her rail-thin frame, even with her impressive height. The bangs of her brown pompadour haircut hang over one hazel eye. She gives me a rough glare, and I nod at her. She hurries to the custodial closet without returning my smile and pulls out her maintenance trolley. She then starts down the aisles to begin the nightly process of emptying the trash cans and mopping the floors.
The library closes in thirty minutes. After that, I’ll finish the admin and go home to an empty apartment.
Bethany Mills, the school nurse, bustles through the door and smiles warmly at me. Bethany is wearing a white dress with a red cross on the chest pocket. Her white-blond hair is up in a 1940s-style French twist. She’s really pulling off the retro nurse look.
Bethany is one of those girls that looks great with generous curves. Unlike me. If I gain an extra ounce, I just look frumpy. I wouldn't be caught dead in a skirt that short, especially with my pale, freckly skin and chubby thighs. While my shade of pale is all speckled and blotchy, Bethany’s looks like cream. I’d be totally jealous if we weren’t such good friends.
Bethany leans over the counter, revealing the rise of her bosom under the low neckline of her dress. Her red lips curve in a sly smile.
"Do you have it?" she asks.
"Yes. I saved you a copy."
“Have you finished it yet?"
"No. Madeline Weber reminded me that Mrs. Henderson would probably fire me if she caught me reading it.”