by Grey, R. S.
She finally reaches for a book and holds it out to me without looking. It’s not even remotely within my reach. I have to stand up and bend over to grab it. When I do, I resist the urge to smack her with it just as her gaze lands on something other than her phone. It’s a first. There’s either a celebrity or a zombie in her line of sight, and I pray it’s the latter. At least then I’d be rid of her.
“Jeez. Who’s the hunk?”
I glance up to see Ben walking into the library. His presence is like a solid punch to the gut. Oof. His suit is black. Oof. His face is sharp and mean-looking and worthy of being carved into stone. Oof.
He spots me right away and his expression eases a bit until he notices the nice bruise on my forehead. His brows tug together again, and I blanch. I should have worn a hat. I tried on a dozen: fedora, beanie, scarf tied around my forehead. In the end, I settled on acceptance. This is me, world, bruise and all.
Katy jumps to her feet and pushes in front of me so she looks like the person on duty behind the desk. Her phone is forgotten on her chair. I’m shocked. I could have sworn it was surgically attached to her hand.
When he steps within earshot, she leans forward, exposing cleavage. “Hi! I’m Katy! How can I help you? Do you need a library card? Schedule of events? We have an adult book club that I know you’d love. A man like you enjoys a good thriller—I can tell.”
Ben frowns at her and doesn’t reply. Then his gaze shifts to me as I step around the desk toward him.
“Katy, go down into the storage room and lock yourself inside.”
“What?”
“I said, go down to the storage room and push the boxes to the side, the ones we need to break down and recycle.”
“But I was going to…”
Her sentence drifts off as she realizes no one is paying attention to her. My head is tilted back so I can look at Ben. He steps toward me and, without a word, holds up his hand. I wince, afraid he’s about to touch my bruise, but he stops short, his fingers a few inches from my forehead, then he lets his hand drop.
Katy stomps off while muttering about a hostile work environment.
“That’s quite the bruise you’ve got there,” he says, sliding one of his hands into his pocket and holding up a grocery bag in the other. “I brought you some stuff.”
I peer inside, a little confused by the contents.
“That’s an ice pack I saw at the grocery store last night,” he explains. “It seems like it might be a little better than the ones the doctor gave you.”
“Oh.”
“And, this…” he says, producing a faded navy baseball hat. “Is my favorite hat. In case you wanted a hat. I don’t know, you don’t need it. The bruise doesn’t detract from—” He shrugs. “Anyway, I thought you might like it.”
I take it from him and stare at it like it’s a foreign object from Mars.
“I know it looks old, but I washed it recently. Well, last month—”
He reaches over to take it back and I yank it away from his grasp, cradling it against my chest. If he wants it, he’s going to have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers.
His head tips to the side and my eyes narrow teasingly.
His mouth tugs into a smile and I poke him in the chest.
He grabs my hand and holds it for a second, as if to keep it away from him, but it feels more like he’s ensuring I can’t pull it back.
We’re not speaking, but we’re communicating loud and clear.
“What kind of law do you practice again?” I ask, perusing his suit.
He squeezes my hand and then lets it drop. “Corporate.”
“Pity. You look like you should be putting criminals behind bars. Very intimidating today, like you’ll bite.”
He half-smiles and his dimple softens the effect, just barely.
“Anyway, thank you for this stuff. That was really thoughtful, but it’s not necessary. I’m good as new and wondering when I’m going to check off another item on my list.”
His attention catches on my bruise again. “Don’t you think we should take the week off?”
A week off means a week without him, and the prospect sounds as if someone’s suggesting I go a week without air. I envision myself on the ground, writhing in pain.
“I’m fine, really. Look.” I put his hat on and adjust it so I can see. It’s a little big, which is good because that means it doesn’t touch my bruise. “All better.”
He flicks the brim playfully.
Over his shoulder, my gaze catches on one of the library’s patrons, grumpy Mrs. Taylor. She usually stays up on the ground level harassing Eli, but he’s out for the day, dealing with some adoption things, which means she has her sights set on me. Lovely. She walks straight to the desk, which I’m standing right by, and rings the bell three times in quick succession.
“I’m right here, Mrs. Taylor.”
“Yes, well, you weren’t officially at your post. Are you done smiling at your young man there? Because my tax dollars aren’t paying for you to cavort around the library with handsome gentlemen.”
“Cavort,” Ben repeats under his breath, highly amused.
I sigh and turn to face her fully, giving her my undivided attention.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Taylor?”
“Yes, well, first of all, is that tattered baseball hat part of your uniform? It’s very unbecoming.” I stare at her blankly so she’s forced to move on. “Right, more importantly, I’ve lodged a complaint about this in the past, but it seems no one cared to remedy the situation.” She holds up an issue of National Geographic. “There are women in here with bare breasts.”
A chuckle escapes Ben before he can stifle it.
I, however, keep my expression solemn and serious. Mrs. Taylor is a tiny elderly terrorist. This will end sooner if I give in to her demands. “Yes, Mrs. Taylor. I’m aware of that.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “So then you knowingly allow this crude material to be circulated in a public library?” She leans forward and hisses. “There are children in here.” Then she straightens back to her full height—a solid two feet, five inches—and flips open the magazine to the offending page. “Now, all I’m asking is that you go in and cover up the pornographic images. I have scrapbooking supplies and a hot glue gun in my car if needed.”
While I try hard the rest of the day to scrub this entire conversation from my memory, Ben, of course, can’t let it go. To him, it’s deeply amusing.
Later that night, while I’m in bed, icing my head, he sends me a text.
Ben: Cav·ort: apply oneself enthusiastically to sexual or disreputable pursuits.
Ben: Seems we didn’t take the week off after all. See you Saturday.
13
Madison
Ben is scheduled to volunteer with me this morning and before he even arrives, I know it will be one of the highlights of my life. Today, we’re doing a Jane Austen themed story time. If you think I didn’t intentionally plan that, you really don’t know me at all. I rented costumes from the local theater company and ensured Ben was prepared to go the extra mile.
Madison: Today will interesting. Fair warning—there are costumes.
Ben: No problem. Those animal masks were fun. The kids loved them.
Ha ha ha. He thinks I don’t have a full Mr. Darcy lookalike costume for him. How cute. When he arrives, I usher him into the storage room and present the idea.
“We both have to do it,” I say, sounding really annoyed by the fact that I have to wear a gorgeous blue silk dress with a full petticoat and prance around like a princess. Ugh, the worst, am I right?
He laughs and shakes his head. “No.”
Just one simple word, clipped out with a sharp tone.
No.
“But the kids will love it!”
“Yeah, no.”
I sigh then look down and fidget with my hands, seeming innocent. “Well, I really didn’t want to have to do this, but…seeing as I’m in control of your community serv
ice hours, I’d hate to have to contact the judge and tell him you aren’t cooperating.”
I’m completely talking out of my ass. Judge? Cooperating? What does that even mean? I don’t have a direct line to the courthouse. I just want to leverage what small amount of control I have over Ben and force him into this costume for my own amusement. Sure, some would say that’s an abuse of power. I say what’s the point of having power if you don’t abuse it a little?
Ten minutes later, Ben steps out of the storage room, and I swear to God, I have a heart attack. I’ve seen every period film in existence, every one of Jane Austen’s movie adaptions: the Kiera Knightly version of Pride and Prejudice, the Colin Firth version of Pride and Prejudice, the Gwyneth Paltrow version of Emma (a personal favorite), etc., etc. So, when I say Ben looks like the hottest version of Mr. Darcy I’ve ever seen, believe me, he does. Tall. Dark. Handsome. Pissed. I’m positive I’m having real heart palpitations.
“Oh dear,” I lament, shaking my head. “It’s too good. The moms won’t leave you alone.”
He gives me a broody look, and OH MY GOD, is he doing it on purpose?! He is Mr. Darcy!
“Where’s your dress?” he asks, clearly annoyed.
He’s fidgeting with his tailored black jacket. It’s a little too small, which means his biceps are in danger of busting through the seams. I have to lean against a wall to support myself.
“In there. I’ll change. Just…stay out here in case I need your help with it.”
I’ve read enough historical fiction novels to know how to slip into one of these oversized dresses. The thing is, the women in the novels usually have a lady’s maid to assist them in tightening the corset. I only have myself, and I can’t quite reach the laces.
I’m wearing a thin cotton chemise underneath, so it’s not as if I should be nervous for Ben to come in and help me. Still, I hesitate for a good long while, attempting to do it myself but failing.
He knocks on the door. “What are you doing in there? Did a box of books just tumble to the floor?”
Yes, I just bumped into a shelf while jumping around, trying to reach the corset loops. Books are scattered everywhere. I can’t do this on my own.
I groan and fling the door open.
“Come in—quick.”
His eyes are wide. I glance down in embarrassment. Please tell me my boobs are put away. Thankfully, I’m mostly covered up. The top of my chest and shoulders are bare in the traditional style of dresses like this, but I’m not so indecent that he has to look at me like that.
Women go to clubs in less clothing than this.
I spin around and explain what I need him to do.
“Just lace it up and tighten the corset,” I say, like we do this sort of thing together every day.
He steps forward, brows furrowed, and then pushes my long hair over my shoulder.
“This dress is ridiculous. There’s so much material you won’t be able to walk.”
I blush. Not quite the reaction I was hoping for. Usually in my historical novels, when the handsome duke stumbles upon the fair lady in her evening gown, he’s so beside himself, he feels an all-consuming urge to seduce her that instant. We should be tumbling against the shelves, knockings things off, ferociously kissing like we’re two animals in heat.
In reality, Ben grumbles under his breath as he tightens the laces. I can feel the heat of his touch through the chemise. He cinches the garment too much. I can hardly breathe.
“Are you almost done?” I ask. My voice sounds like it came out of a mouse.
“Not if you don’t stand still.”
His hands grip my waist and he squeezes.
Apparently, I’m fidgeting. Hot. Bothered.
He ties the laces together at the bottom and steps back.
I turn around and hold out my arms. “What do you think?”
He clears his throat, glances away, and when he looks back, his gaze is narrowed. “I think it’s a little much for a toddler story time.”
I glance down and laughter erupts out of me. “Oh jeez.”
My breasts have been pushed up and forced together to form a tantalizing amount of cleavage. Even I’m slightly turned on by the sight. I look like a serving wench. I yank the chemise higher, covering my décolletage and transforming the look into something a bit more modest.
“How about now?” I ask, peering up at him from beneath my lashes.
He grunts and rolls his neck. He’s truly annoyed with me. “It’s fine.”
I smile then and reach out to poke him in the chest. “Relax, will you? This is supposed to be fun.”
“Fun? Try torture.”
I bristle at his remark. Fine. If he wants to turn this day into something sour, I won’t stop him. I am, however, in a kickass gown, and I intend to enjoy every minute of it. I roll my eyes then make a move to walk around him and leave the storage room.
His hand juts out to stop me. His fingers wrap around my arm.
“You look…” He clears his throat and looks away. “The dress is fine.”
THE DRESS IS FINE?!
“Wow, you have such a way with words.”
He smirks then, finally letting go of his annoyance.
“The dress is very…blue.”
I throw my hands up and walk out. He trails after me, calling down the hall.
“I’ve got it now—it’s poofy! How’s that? Better?”
As retribution, I force him into a more prominent role during story time. He has to read a children’s version of Sense and Sensibility aloud in the front of the kids while I stand to the side. Every mom in attendance sends me a silent thank you. I’ve never seen them quite so riveted to a children’s book before. It is a cute book, but that’s definitely not what they care about. When he’s done, a few of them linger, asking Ben about the book and where they can get it. Then the questions turn a tad more personal.
“…is that your costume…”
“…oh, it’s just a rental?”
“…how long do you have it for…”
I titter as I clean up, appreciating every minute of his torture.
He gets the last laugh, though, because I was very excited to go out to lunch with him just like we did last Saturday. Unfortunately, he already made plans with his dad. Through a Herculean effort, I make it seem like that’s totally fine. Cool.
I have other stuff to do too!
* * *
I don’t, of course. I never do. But, it’s Saturday afternoon, and I have a plan. It’s not a good plan, and it entails a little bit of lying, but I’ll be sure to atone for it later in life just in case the big man upstairs has any issues with my methods. Oh, I know what I’ll do: if I see a turtle trying to cross the street, I’ll stop and help it, no questions asked. Sins begone.
The first part of my evil genius plan is confirming that Eli and Kevin are both free for the night. Eli says they have plans to stay in and binge the TV show YOU on Netflix, but I spoil the ending for him so he’s forced to do my bidding.
Eli: Are you kidding me?!
Whatever, I’ll save two turtles now.
Madison: This will be fun, I swear!
Then, I send Ben a text. I start out by making a little small talk, nothing too intense.
Madison: How was lunch with your dad?
Ben: Good. I told him about the costumes and showed him the picture you forced me to take…
Madison: Ha! What’d he say?
Ben: He said he wants to meet the woman who convinced me to wear that.
My heart flutters and I press my phone to my chest before I realize what I’m doing and jerk it away. Keep it together, Hart!
Madison: Sounds like a fun afternoon. Listen…I need a favor. Please tell me you don’t have any plans tonight.
Ben: I was going to watch the Astros game at Andy’s with some friends.
Madison: Oh…all right. It’s just that Eli and Kevin invited me to go bowling with them, but they want to play as teams and I can’t find a plus-one this l
ast minute.
LIE. LIE. LIE. I could have an entire month and still wouldn’t be able to find a guy to accompany me to the bowling alley. I’d be better off looking there. Hey, you, crusty old man with a smoker’s cough—be my partner?
Ben: That sounds fun, but Andy will be annoyed if I cancel.
Madison: Invite him! Tell him to bring that girl he likes. Arianna?
Do I sound desperate?
I wish I could erase that exclamation mark.
Ben: Okay. What time are you guys headed to the bowling alley?
Madison: 8ish.
Though the bowling alley is public enough that I could run into Colten, I know he’s working tonight. Plus, I don’t think he and his friends go bowling all that often. It’s the perfect place to hide in plain sight.
Now begins part two of my master plan. I have to come up with some way to transform myself into someone irresistible, someone Ben will trip over himself to talk to, someone he can’t help but fall for. It should be easy, and I have a few hours. How long can a total makeover really take?
I ask Eli when he and Kevin arrive to pick me up at 5:00 PM.
“I thought we were going bowling,” Eli says, confused.
“We are, just later. Right now, I’d like to do something I’ve only ever seen in movies, something I’ve desperately wanted to do since I grew boobs.”
I give him the short version and when I’m done, he frowns.
