and I’m almost certain he’s a whole hell of a lot of trouble.
Thank God I had the forethought not to do something stupid like give him my name. Or check the name that was associated with that library card number.
The last thing I need is to put a name to that sexy face and make him the kind of memory that sticks around.
I’m certain he’s the exact type of man I need to stay far fucking away from.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Kevin about the sexy stranger in the library because surely, he’d get a good laugh at my scrambling while Sergio and Catarina were shouting their orgasms into the otherwise quiet of the reception area, but Professor Shank starts in on his lecture, and the classroom grows quiet.
I quickly grab my laptop, fire it up, and start typing notes as fast as I can. Professor Shank always speaks from the moment class starts until the moment it ends, and I don’t think she takes a breath at all in the time in between. I have to type a hundred and fifty words per minute just to keep up with her.
I glance away from her high-waisted pants and the back of her bob to look over at Kevin. He’s using the hunt and peck method on his keyboard, his tongue peeking out between his lips as he hits one letter at a time. It’s fucking painful to watch, and I roll my eyes before knocking his elbow with my arm.
“You’ll never get anything down like that, for God’s sake. I’ll just give you my notes.”
He smiles then, removing his hands from the keyboard and settling into his chair to better listen without argument.
This is the way it always goes, and a small part of me wonders if he’s pretending to be terrible at typing on purpose. That’s exactly the kind of thing a man would do; I’m certain of it.
I’d tilt my head in contemplation if I had the time.
Instead, I speed-type my way through the next ninety minutes of class and promise Kevin my notes when I get home.
He thanks me, stoops low to give me a kiss on the cheek, and then bounds up the stairs of the lecture hall four at a time to make it to his shift at the law library.
I grab my stuff at a much slower pace and head for the door, as I have much different obligations.
I’ve got a novel to read and a Starbucks booth to warm. Sounds luxurious, I know. But there’s a little more to it than I’m letting on.
When I first moved here to start law school, I did it on a wing and a prayer. I had a bit of money saved up, but not much, and my parents removed any chance of paying for more education when I took time off to travel the country.
But NYU Law was an option I couldn’t turn down, despite knowing it was going to take some sort of a miracle to keep myself from becoming homeless.
Rent in this city is ridiculously inflated—especially if you’ve ever lived anywhere else—and as a result, I live in a tenth-floor walkup.
But it’s a place I can rest my head at night, an amenity I pay for with something I, quite frankly, stumbled into.
I’ve always loved books, especially books about love. They make my days bright and my nights warm, and reading them has taught me almost as much about the world as traveling.
Every night, I’m able to immerse myself in a new city, a new time, a new world.
When I got really busy working three jobs to stay afloat, I started listening to audiobooks. They were a way to get my fix without having to stop moving.
After listening to close to a hundred of them, studying the way they sounded and comparing it to the way I read in my head, I realized I might be able to do it too.
It took me a month and a half to save up enough money to rent booth time to make a demo, but it turned out to be one of the best investments of my life.
I was hired a week later as a narrator for my first novel, and because I want to keep my law school life and narration life separate, I’ve been working under the pseudonym Elizabeth Aster—my late grandmother’s name—ever since. It’s how I’m paying for law school and my apartment and, give or take, enough food to