“Right.” Because Carley knows I’ll get over it. Especially when my best friend is involved. I know she’s got my best interest at heart.
“I’ll bake cookies while you’re at work. They’ll be ready when you get home.”
“Which kind?” I mean… I’m not an idiot. Carley makes the best cookies and since she refused to stop and get any last night….
“Your favorite.”
“Oatmeal chocolate chip with coconut?” I didn’t need to tell her—she knows my favorite—but it feels good to say those five little words anyway.
“Exactly.”
“Fine.” I sigh, then give her a weak smile. “I’ll look forward to those.”
“I know you will, Em.”
She’s right. She knows me better than anyone. Heck, she may know me better than I know myself.
“Em?”
I turn my head on my way to my bedroom. “Yeah?”
“You’ll never see that guy again.”
Famous last words.
* * *
“Can I help you?”I ask, not even bothering to look up from myHydrology & Hydraulicstextbook.
“Yeah. I need to reserve a study room.”
I sigh and shut the book, making sure to place my bookmark in the crease first. Pushing myself up from my slumped position at the study-room reserve desk at the college library, I grab the sign-up notebook. I’ve only been working for an hour or so, but there’s not much to the job except signing people in who want a study room, getting their student ID, making sure they only stay the time allotted, and handing them back their ID when they leave. Easy peasy. “Name?”
“Eli Baxter.”
“What time?”
“Now.”
Ugh.This guy…. lucky for him, it’s Saturday afternoon and there’s nobody here right now. According to my boss, Albert, “Saturday’s are d-e-a-d, dead.”
“Your lucky day.” I hold my hand out. “ID?” See? I’m like an old pro already.
I feel the card slide into my palm as I pick up a pencil. When I start to write down his information, I glance at the photo on the card. And choke.
“Hey…,” the guy says, sounding concerned, “You okay?”
“Yep.” I lower my head and do my best to swallow down the lump that’s just formed in my throat.
“‘You’ll never see him again,’ she said,” I mutter softly to myself.
I’m going to kill Carley.
After writing quickly, I turn away from the guy, the one from the bar the night before, and grab a study room key. I can’t let him see my face. Not that he’d recognize me. I mean, I’ve got my glasses on, for one. For another, my hair is a rat’s nest on top of my head, not all big and curly like last night. Plus there’s no makeup on my face whatsoever, so it’s doubtful he’d recognize me. No matter, I do my best to keep from actually looking at him. Without facing him, I’m able to hand him the key. “Room 3B. You’ve got two hours.”
“Thanks.”
I can tell he hasn’t left yet. I mean, I sense him. And smell him. He smells the same as last night––maybe better. I glance back and see he’s just standing there. “Yeah? Is there anything else you need?” I do my best to provide good customer service without revealing my face. I bend down like I’m getting something from below the desk. Since I’m new, it’s probably not a bad idea to check out what’s hidden below the counter. Just doing my due diligence. Getting to know my new workplace. Etcetera.
