Page 11 of Stranger to Love

Mia spat out another laugh. “Well, sounds like you’re having a great week.”

“Much better than yours.”

She groaned. “Ugh, just fuck off. I hope you fail and have to come back to work full time.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” I chuckled.

Mia started a frantic rant about the newbies—something about them confusing spirits and nearly undercharging, and her needing fifty arms just to get through the night. But my concentration was pulled from the phone call as I saw Blondie not far away, talking quietly with a librarian. She turned, as if she could feel my gaze on her, and her eyes darted around nervously for a moment before she looked back at the librarian and finished her conversation.

And, to my utter surprise, she began walking directly toward me.

“Babes,” I said quietly, cutting Mia off mid-rant.

“Yeah?”

“Got to go.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Blondie is walking over to me.”

Mia chuckled. “You better call me back, you whore.”

“I love you too.” I chuckled and put the phone down.

With utter confidence, I sat back in my chair, raising an eyebrow as Ms. Davies reached me and sat down in the chair right next to me.

“Hi, Blondie,” I smiled.

She creased her eyebrows at me. “Blondie?”

I smirked. “I didn’t get your name on Saturday.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You know it’s Ms. Davies to you.”

My smirk deepened involuntarily. “Kinky.”

“Bloody fuck,” she muttered under her breath, looking around quickly, hoping nobody heard me. No one had; this section was completely deserted, save for us.

I simply smiled happily, utterly enjoying her surprising presence. I pursed my lips, a silent question: So, what do you want?

She looked like she genuinely wanted to knock me out, which only entertained me further. She was the one who came over there, and quite frankly, she was the one who had pursued me Saturday night, so her current high frustration levels seemed entirely misplaced to me.

She let out a sharp, frustrated exhale. “Obviously, if I had known you were a student, I would never have…” She cleared her throat, the professional mask slipping. “It is a serious conflict of interest and—”

I cut her off, reaching out and gently steadying her flailing hands where they rested on the desk. Her eyes widened at the sudden contact, but she didn't pull away. “Chill out. I’m not going to say anything, and honestly, it’s not that deep.”

I squeezed her hands once before letting go. The gesture seemed to work; her shoulders visibly relaxed, and she leaned against the desk, looking like she’d finally managed to articulate the anxiety that had been stressing her for days.

She sighed. “Thank you.”

I smiled. “You’re welcome.” Then I teased, "So, does this mean you're going to stop looking so terrified around me now?”

She rolled her eyes, a flash of her old confidence returning. “I’ve not been terrified.”

I just hummed, flicking through my textbook pages, making my disbelief obvious. She pressed her lips together, clearly contemplating her next move. She glanced around us again, either double-checking that the section was empty or just buying time to formulate a professional response.

And because I’m an arsehole, and was currently losing my usual pool of available women, I couldn't resist. Without looking at her, pretending to be absorbed in my textbook, I said, “You look really good today, by the way.”