I grab the next book from the pile and extract information from the copyright page for our database. My phone ison the table next to me, dark for the moment, but I’m tempted to go scroll through my conversation with Wes. He texted me a few hours ago, but I want more. More texts, more touching, more of him in all the ways.
Every time I close my eyes—like right now, with the new book clutched in my hands—I flash back to Friday night. Memories flood my mind. The way he saved me from Jones and pressed me against the wall in the fight club bathroom, then kissed me when I told him to. When he touched me in the kitchen of his apartment, his mouth on my breast and his fingers inside me. When he whispered my name like it was a prayer.
My eyes fly open as the librarian enters the small office, humming to herself. I swallow and take a deep breath.
“Hey, Callie. How’s it going with the new books?” Rebecca, the middle-aged librarian working this afternoon, picks up her water bottle from the desk in the corner and takes a long swig.
She knows I’ve been thinking about going back to school to get my master’s degree, but I haven’t exactly told her I’m planning on moving across the country. It’ll hurt to quit this job, but I will do it so I can truly start over.
“I’m almost done.” I throw a smile at Rebecca and hope she doesn’t notice my flushed cheeks or hear my racing heart from thinking about Wes.
“Good, because it’s almost five o’clock. You can finish whatever is left tomorrow. I’m gonna go lock the door, but you’re not closing tonight. Get out of here.” She grins and disappears with the keys.
My phone lights up on the table, and I eagerly pick it up.
Wesley
what are you wearing
I crack up and press my lips together.
Me
a long skirt, t-shirt, and long cardigan
Wesley
fuck yeah
what’s your hair look like?
Me
it’s…in a braid
Wesley
stop talking dirty to me
This time I laugh out loud. I was afraid it’d be awkward interacting with Wes once we went our separate ways after the night in Boston. But it hasn’t. It’s so much better. He’s texted me multiple times a day to check in or say hi or make some comment about how hot I am.
So many things happened that night.
What does it say about me that I’m spending just as much—maybe more—time thinking about what it felt like to kiss and sleep with Wes as the fact that I discovered he’s a serial killer? That I actually witnessed him and Noah in action?
And that it made me feel more for him, not less?
We had so much sex. I was sore all over for days. Shane wasn’t interested in me or my body, was cheating on me, and I certainly didn’t want him to touch me. Even before that, it was rare and unsatisfactory.
But that night with Wes was the best I’ve ever had.
I bring my hand to my neck and close my eyes.
This thing with Wes is the best distraction. Overall, this isn’t a pleasant period in my life. Between my father dying and me divorcing Shane, it was always going to be a shittime. But having the attention of a six-foot-three, dark, tattooed, muscled man who adores his old rescue cat and bakes amazing apple pies? I love it.
So he’s a serial killer. No one’s perfect.
I stand and pick up my phone as it lights up. Nope. No one’s perfect, but I should not officially date a criminal. Good thing I’m not dating Wes. We’re just doing… whatever this is.
