1
Adam
My head is pounding. The old saying about ‘liquor, then beer, have no fear,’ must not be accurate because I only drank Shock Tops after the shots of whiskey with the guys at our ten-year high school class reunion, but I feel like death.
How many shots did we do, anyway? I lost count after six. I’m not normally much of a drinker, so over-indulging was not in my best interest––especially since I’m scheduled for a full shift at the library today.
That’s right, I’m a male librarian. We are a rather rare breed. Don’t ask me why. It’s an awesome job. I get to spend my days at work reading, smelling books, helping other readers, and doing research––many of the things I love most. If there’s a better job on the planet, I can’t imagine what it is.
Lately, I’ve been supplementing my income with a side gig business. A good friend of mine, Nick, and I opened a specialized karate dojo that serves a missing need in the community. We provide after-school care for elementary school-aged kids.
Our business is new, but it’s already flourishing. It turns out that working parents are desperate for a safe, dependable, and fun place for their kids to go after school. We bought a van that delivers the kids directly to the studio. While they are with us, we provide them a healthy snack, offer assistance with homework, and allow them to burn off excess energy with karate classes that build their discipline, focus, and confidence.
The parents and kids are loving our service, so word of mouth is spreading like wildfire. I don’t get to spend much time at the studio, due to my work schedule at the library, but I’m proud to be even a small part of such a successful, much-needed, and positive environment for local children.
I’m getting very little work done today, since the books swirl before my eyes when I try to focus on them. As I rest my head on my desk, I promise myself that I’m never drinking again. It’s not worth the aftermath of feeling like this. I gulp down an entire bottle of chilled water, hoping to make this wretched nausea go away.
I don’t remember much about last night, other than my friend, Fiona’s, husband, Beau getting in my face and sneering at me to ‘pull myself together’ just before Fiona called a car service to take me home. The ‘walk of shame’ this morning to retrieve my car before work was humiliating.
I’m not sure what kind of spectacle I made of myself to prompt that harsh message from Beau. It’s probably for the best that I don’t remember, since it’s likely that I made a complete ass of myself in front of my former classmates.
Beau is a famous race car driver, and he has never been overly comfortable with my close friendship with his wife. The idea of him being jealous of my relationship with her is completely preposterous. I doubt there has ever been a woman more in love with a man than Fiona is with her husband.
I used to have a bit of a crush on Fi, but I realized a long time ago that those feelings would never be reciprocated. I have moved on from pining after her and now simply cherish our close friendship––especially since it seems to bother perfect Beau so much.
When my phone buzzes with an incoming text, I smile at the sight of Fiona’s name on the screen. She is checking in to see how I’m feeling today.
After I assure her that I think I’m going to live, she texts back, “Don’t worry… Your turn for love will come, and I have the feeling it will be soon. You deserve to be happy.”
Ugh. What the hell did I say last night? Was I whining about being lonely? How pathetic.
I respond with a quick ‘thanks’ for her reassurance, simply wanting this mortifying chat to end.
The rest of my work shift drags by in super-slow motion. I just want to go home and lie down, but I muddle my way through the day, assisting patrons and cataloguing materials. Several bottles of water and countless aspirins later, I begin to feel somewhat human.
I haven’t been able to stomach food so far today, so my belly growls in anger. Normally, I don’t eat at the front desk, but it’s almost closing time and the library is practically empty, so I pick up the freshly washed, bright red apple on my desk and take a big bite.
I’m tipped back in my chair crunching on the delicious bite of juicy apple when she walks in. I bolt upright and the apple falls from my hand, before rolling part of the way across the circulation desk as I openly gawk at her.
It’s not just that she’s stunningly beautiful with her long, shiny hair that is so dark it almost gleams black. She’s the woman of my dreams… literally. When I daydream about a sexy tryst, I picture her curvy hips, creamy skin, and full red lips.
She’s the exact woman my mind conjures as the perfect temptation, and she’s standing in my library. When she picks up my apple and takes a large bite out of it, I nearly fall out of my chair.
2
Evie
I almost can’t believe my luck. The man at the library’s circulation desk is beyond handsome. His glasses make him look brainy, but they aren’t nerdy. Instead, the wire frames give him a brilliant aura, and I can tell that he’s built beneath the orange polo shirt with the embroidered library logo and trim khakis he’s wearing. Double bonus.
Picking up his apple and taking a bite of it is a bold move that is completely out of character for me, but I force myself to do it because that is my goal today––to become anyone, but me.
I sense that my bravery was worth the risk when he gives me a stunned, half-lidded, and desirous gaze. No one has ever looked at me with the swirling storm of emotions he’s giving me now, as if I am a sexy temptress. It would make me proud, if it wasn’t so laughable.
Even though I’m the opposite of a tempting siren, I need to become one right now. This male librarian is the guy I’m seeking. I can feel it.
He’s giving me an expectant look. It’s time for me to speak, but my mind is completely blank. I blink at him, searching my brain for the sultry words I practiced on the way here, but I can’t conjure them. I hope I don’t look as dumb as I feel.
“May I help you find something?” he offers kindly. His voice is deep and a bit scratchy. He clears his throat before standing.
With my heels, I’m just over five-ten, yet he towers over me. My throat becomes parched when I realize he’s tall, too. Could this guy be any more perfect?
Lifting my chin, I force my gaze to remain steady on him when I answer, “I’m looking for books about sex.”
He swallows audibly as he gawks at me. If he’s having a tenth of the internal reaction to me as I am to him, we may spontaneously combust if he touches me… make that when he touches me. This is going to happen. It has to.
“Do you mean instructional books or fictional works?” he asks with his sparkling gaze glued to mine. I definitely have his full attention now.
“I’ll take a look at whatever you’ve got.” I try to make my voice sound like a sexy purr, but fear that it comes out sounding too gruff.
To add emphasis to my words, I slowly rake my gaze down his wide chest that narrows to a vee along flat abs. I purposely pause my perusal when I reach his crotch. When I see his cock twitch to life, I allow my lips to curve upwards before turning and sauntering away.