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Shouldn’t be here. This is a bad fucking idea.
But I can’t forget it. My arms wrapped around her middle, the soft scent of her floral perfume, hints of roses and something else I couldn’t place. Her blue eyes staring up at me, wide, shining, innocent.
You’re sick. You’re a sick, sick man. This is my best friend’s little sister. She is ten years younger than me, for fuck’s sake.
I pace back to the front of the library, the book under my arm, and stop near the romance section, my gaze tracing the spines of the books.
“There you are, Hannah,” the librarian at the counter says.
“Sorry, Irma, I had to use the bathroom,” Hannah replies, her voice sweet and soft.
Normal. Her voice is normal. Her voice is almost childlike. But I can’t convince myself of that, because it’s not. It’s a tempting voice from a twenty-eight-year-old woman.
“Again?” Irma asks.
“Yeah, let’s just say habaneros and I do not get along.”
The corners of my lips twitch, and I stroke my beard, staying behind the shelf and out of line of sight.
“It’s such a pity that happened yesterday,” Irma says, and she doesn’t sound upset enough in my humble opinion. “You vomited all over Richard Walton, you know. People are not going to forget that any time soon. Goodness, I’m surprised you decided to come into work today. I wouldn’t dare show my face after that.”
Hannah clears her throat. “I didn’t vomit on him.”
“Well, what on earth would you call it? He was covered in pieces of pepper. I heard The Heatstroke Hit Piece is going to interview him about the ordeal. I’m surprised they haven’t been in contact.”
“My official comment is that I have no comment,” Hannah says. “And what I’d call it, Irma, is nearly choking to death on a mouthful of peppers. Or ‘the incident.’” She lets out a sigh that makes me grit my teeth. “I just want to put the whole darn thing behind me. I want to put this town behind me, now that we’re talking about it.”
“You’re still going to do it then, dear?” Irma asks.
“Yeah. I’ve saved up enough money. I just have to book the tickets. Work up the courage to tell my family.”
My fists ball up and release. She’s leaving?
“We’re going to miss you,” Irma says. “But maybe it’s for the best. Give the town some time to cool off after what happened yesterday. People were shocked, especially when Carter Savage accosted poor Mr. Walton.”
“He was trying to help,” Hannah says.
“I’ve never seen him behave that way. Like an animal. I heard he was getting up to all sorts of strange things out on that ranch, but?—”
“He’s running a self-defense camp,” Hannah cuts in. “He’s an ex-Navy SEAL so he was probably just worried about the safety standards or something.”
I wish that was why. Fuck, I’m not entirely sure why I blew my lid like that. I don’t want to believe it’s because of Hannah.
The conversation between the women dies down as another person enters the library and returns their books. I grab a book off the shelf in front of me, then head over to the counter where Hannah’s working.
She is beautiful. Beyond compare.
Her dark hair falls loose around her shoulders today, and she’s wearing those black cat’s eye glasses on the tip of her button nose as she peers down at the computer screen. It’s summer, and Hannah’s camisole is tight across her chest, showing off perky tits and an expanse of tan cleavage that reminds me how bad of a choice this was to come here today.
Irma gives me a sideways glance but continues helping the man at her side of the counter.
I place the books down.
Hannah gives a benign smile and tears her gaze away from the screen. “Hi—oh,” she says, and her smile disappears the minute our eyes meet.
“Returning.” I tap the book on horticulture. “Checking out.” I tap the book I grabbed off the shelf. I haven’t even read its title. It’s just an excuse to check on her.
But you already did. You don’t need to be here.
