His smile quirks. “When needed. And it’s notmybar.”
“Mhm. Then I guess we’re not your problem, are we?”
Todd sighs. I think he mumbles, “So crispy,” but it’s too quiet for me to be sure.
Trevor simply watches me, those dark eyes so calm it makes me squirm.
Groaning, I puff out a breath. “Sorry. I just—”
“Nothing to apologize for, Red. I can handle it.”
“My bad attitude?” I ask wryly.
His eyes run down my body so slowly and deliberately I can feel myself flushing in response. Finally, he meets my gaze, his answer a simple, “You.”
I suck in a small breath, the thought of Trevorhandlingme in any shape or form not something I can linger on right this instant. Not unless I want to pop an ill-timed boner.
Trevor holds up a hand, flagging down an approaching cab. When it stops beside the curb, he opens the back door like a gentleman, waving Todd and me in.
Who the hell is this guy? And why, ohwhy, do I desperately want to know more about him and his tattoos and hislife?
Todd slips into the cab first, looking dead asleep the moment his head touches the window. I sigh, grateful he buckled himself in first.
“Red.”
Trevor’s voice is soft. Far softer than it was in the bar where we both had to speak loudly to be heard. Out here, it’s quiet save the vehicles on the street and the low thump of music barely there beneath my heartbeat.
It takes me a second to meet Trevor’s gaze, knowing what I’ll find. An intensity I haven’t yet figured out.
Because surely I’m not enough to warrant that piercing focus in his dark, dark eyes.
He leans ever so slightly my way, his tattooed hand on the doorframe. Even still, he doesn’t invade my space.
I kind of wish he would.
“Yeah?” I manage.
His gaze dips for only a second before he blinks, his eyes returning to mine. “I like burnt marshmallows.”
Silence reigns for a beat, and then I’m barking a strained laugh. How he managed to decode any of Todd’s ramblings is a miracle. Whether or not he understood the intent of my friend’s words is another matter entirely.
“Noted,” I tell him, stooping to get inside the vehicle.
Trevor waits until I’m seated to offer one final parting blow. “Looking forward to Monday.Isaac.”
And then he’s shutting the door, his massive frame retreating. I give the cab driver our address, my pulse erratic as we pull away from the curb.
I try not to read into the confirmation that Trevor will be returning to the library next week. Nor the way his voice rumbled over my name, slowly and intentionally, as if he wanted me to feel his tongue curling over each and every letter.
Isaac.
No, I don’t hate Library Guy.
And I’m not sure what to do about that.
It’s just past nine in the morning when my phone wakes me from a fitful sleep. I groan, accepting the call from my mom, my voice hoarse when I answer.
“Hello?”
