Make Me Bad - R.S. Grey Page 0,15
They belong to the city.” I frown. “At least I think they do. Now, what can I do for you?”
His eyes assess me coolly for a moment. Ah yes, they’re amber, and so intimidating my palms are sweating. He takes me in from top to toes, and I swear if I dug deep enough, I’d find a hint of appreciation behind his gaze, but I can’t be certain. He’s so much more in control of his features than I am. If I ever found myself across from him at a poker table, I’d lose my entire life savings.
“I’m here to volunteer my services.”
My eyes widen and my cheeks burn red hot. It sounds like a sexy euphemism: his services. I immediately imagine him kissing his way across my body, burning a path down my skin. This jersey dress would be so simple to rip right in two. Then my brain kicks in and I realize the true meaning of his words. Of course he catches my reaction and seems mildly amused by it.
I clear my throat and finger the top book on the stack on my desk. “Why? Er—” I clear my throat. “Why are you wanting to volunteer here?”
“Court-ordered community service. It’s mandatory thanks to that fight I got into a few weeks ago. You remember?”
“Ah, right.” I glance back up at him. Do I remember? I have every second of that night permanently ingrained in my memory. His words, his appearance. I remember the swollen eye and red, busted lip. His lips are fine now—in tiptop shape, in fact. I’m staring at them as I say dumbly, “Your eye has healed up nicely.”
His fingers reach up to touch the corner of his eye and I’m forced to look there, at the bright amber hue and black lashes.
I’m aware that one of us should speak soon. We can’t just continue to stare at each other like this, so I give myself a mental kick and paste on a weak smile. “Shame you didn’t scar—could have given you some major street cred.”
Then I plop myself down in my desk chair and click my mouse three times, trying to wake up my computer. I want to show him that I’m a busy gal. I have work things to attend to: emails, and conference calls, and mergers, and financial documents. Oh right, I’m a children’s librarian. A child screams a few feet away and I’m reminded that I’m about as intimidating as a church mouse. The things on my agenda for today include things like Princess Story Time and Toddler Play Hour.
I still make a real show of typing a bunch of meaningless gibberish on my keyboard, just in case, but then my computer doesn’t feel like playing along. It locks me out because I’ve entered the wrong login password too many times. A loud, angry noise blares like an alarm and I frown at the stupid thing.
“Computer on the fritz?” he asks, and when I glance up, I see he’s wearing the barest hint of a smirk. My stomach flips upside down like an amusement park ride. This won’t work. He can’t stay here, lingering, giving me hope where there is none.
“It’s fine. Anyway, sorry to disappoint you, but the only place we need volunteers is down here, in the children’s department. I don’t think you’re quite cut out for it. Baby talk, screaming toddlers, poopy pants…” I scrunch my nose so he gets the idea.
He looks out into the distance as if surveying the landscape for all the possibilities I just outlined. He doesn’t look as deterred as I would have thought.
“Really…lots of poop,” I add, trying—for some insane reason—to convince him to leave. I think it’s because of how I feel in this moment: so totally out of control. I know I’m making a fool of myself and yet I can’t stop doing it. I want him to take a step back. Better yet, I want him to take ten steps back. I’d come to terms with the fact that I probably wouldn’t see him again any time soon. I reasoned with myself that it was for the best. What could possibly come from spending time around Ben Rosenberg other than one-sided feelings and a whole hell of a lot of heartache?
Then I realize I have one more solid reason why it’s not a good idea for him to volunteer here, with me.
“Besides, I’m supposed to stay away from you. Bad news, apparently. Are you, Ben?”
“What?”
“Bad news?”
He looks like