“What are you doing here?” I hiss, searching for a window in the stacks so that I can see him.
Bennett’s head darts into view and since I’m on my step stool, we stand eye to eye. It reminds me so much of Midnight Yell. “I came to walk you back to the dorm. Like I said I would.”
I check the time on my phone before putting it back in the pocket of my skirt. “I still have forty-five minutes left in my shift.”
His lip twitches as he tries to disguise a smile. “I guess it’s a good thing I like books.”
“Whatever. I have work to do. Go entertain yourself.” I step down and slide the stool over before mounting it again with my list at the ready. “Or maybe you can find a warm body to do that for you.” Okay, that was unnecessary, but I never claimed to be mature.
“Oh, we’re going to play this.” The lights start up again as Bennett walks down his aisle and turns the corner onto mine.
The numbers on my paper blur together like a lost language as he approaches, but my finger never stops running over spines. I cannot let him make me feel this way. He takes up so much space in my brain and heart.
“You’re still mad.” His voice is suddenly behind me, and I’m pretty sure that if I turned around, he would be right about at boob height.
I pull a random book down calledDeadly Outlaws of Oregonand open it to a random page as I pretend to be on some official library mission.
Strong, elegant fingers reach around my shoulder to pluck the book away from me before placing the title on the cart.
“Hey! I’m going to have to reshelve that,” I tell him.
“I’ll help you,” he promises. “I’ll even reach up there so that you don’t have to get back on your little booster stool.”
I turn around, huffing a bit as I do. “There is nothing little about my stool.”
“Uh-huh.” He’s very close, and even though I don’t fall, he holds his arms out just in case. “It’s a very big stool,” he tells me. “Do you think the smaller stools go around sayingit’s not the size of the boat; it’s the motion in the oceanbecause of how big your stool is?”
“Are you comparing my stool to a dick?”
He lights up with a delighted grin. “Clover Rowan Walsh, how vulgar of you to assume such a thing.”
I roll my eyes and bite down on my lips so I don’t smile. “I need to get back to work.” Holding on to this anger feels so much easier than the alternative.
He glances at my sheet and then back to me. “I don’t think those books are going anywhere. And we need to talk, Clover.”
I suck in a deep breath and he steps closer so that there’s no space between us. His hands move to my waist. Every other light has turned off and it’s only us in this small puddle of light.
“You’re mad at me,” he says, his chest pressed against my thighs and abdomen and his face tilted up to me, the sharp edge of the knot in his throat bobbing.
The silly furrow in my brow gives me away. He reaches up and uses his thumb to smooth the wrinkle like he can erase every worry. I wish it were that simple. I want it to be that simple.
He narrows his eyes and doesn’t speak again until he’s certain he has my attention. “Let me be abundantly clear. I am not sleeping with anyone, and I haven’t since we got married. Even then, there hadn’t been anyone since I left campus in May.”
A small bit of relief loosens the tense ache in my chest. “Fine,” I say. “But you can do whatever or whomever you want.”
“But that’s not actually true, is it?” He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t utter another word. Not until I respond.
I swallow hard and then shake my head once.
He traces my collarbone and then his touch tickles along the side of my neck until his fingers are pushing through my hair, cradling the base of my head. “We’re shit at communicating. But I need you to hear me when I tell you that I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else.”
I want to ask him if he will still mean that after this semester, when this unholy union ends in divorce, but I’m not nearly brave enough.
He rocks forward and rests his head against my abdomen so that I am acutely aware of how heavily I’m breathing.
How can I expect myself not to touch him? When he’s right here, clinging to me.
My fingers card through his thick brown hair, and he practically inhales me, his arms squeezing tight around my middle as I drag my nails over the nape of his neck. His grip loosens and then one hand is ghosting over my hips until he reaches the hem of my skirt.
