by Tara Sivec
She gives me a wink, and I don’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of what she’s telling me or throw up in my mouth a little bit.
Mrs. Potter is a seventy-eight-year-old widow who is like a grandmother to me. A grandmother with no filter. I should be used to the things that come out of her mouth by now, but sometimes, she still has the power to shock me. With just one son who moved away years ago when he started his own family, and after her husband of fifty years passed away from a heart attack, Mrs. Potter grew restless being home alone all day every day. She started working at the library a few months after her husband died, the same year I was hired here, nine years ago; as soon as I turned sixteen and my father let me get a part-time job.
Mrs. Potter became a fixture here who everyone in this town enjoys seeing and talking to when they come in. Thank God she didn’t need the money to work here and agreed to stay on as a volunteer. It was bad enough when I was forced with the task of letting the rest of my employees go, as well as using every penny of the small salary I make to purchase books and keep our special programs going. It’s these special programs that help spread the love of reading. Like arts and crafts and story time for children, or our monthly luncheon and book club for the local retirement center. There’s no way I would have been able to continue having hope for this place without Mrs. Potter.
Our small town library is fully funded by the county, and the money we get is based on the economy of the oil industry. We took a major hit last year when the price of oil plummeted, and our budget was cut by 40 percent. There are various state and federal grants we could get to help us, but so far, none I’ve applied for has been approved. They look at our numbers and our small town, and they see that there is a huge, brand-new, fancy branch in the next town over that already gets a lot of grant money, and they don’t see the point in giving anything to us. It’s not fair that they would overlook us just because we’re small and old. I have to get my butt in gear and fast. This library is Mrs. Potter’s entire world now that she’s alone, just like it’s been mine since I was a teenager, working my butt off year after year to make my way up to running this place after my predecessor retired. I refuse to let her down and have this taken from Mrs. Potter as well.
“I’m sorry to say I am not becoming a lady of the night, as you so nicely put it,” I tell her with a small laugh. “Mrs. Potter, have you heard of the Naughty Princess Club?”
Even though Mrs. Potter still uses the Dewey decimal system and refuses to touch the computers, she doesn’t need to know how to search the internet to find out about the home party stripping business we started. Word traveled fast in this small town when Cindy’s fellow PTA members found out what she had been doing on the side to make ends meet, and Mrs. Potter, while a lovely and sweet older woman, is one of the biggest gossips around.
Mrs. Potter’s eyes light up as soon as I mention the business name, and she leans across the counter and lowers her voice, even though the library has been empty for hours.
“Child, I heard about that thing weeks ago. It’s been all the talk at my Monday night knitting club. Half the old farts clutched their pearls and needed smelling salts when they found out about it, and the other half wanted to know if the club was hiring,” she says in a low voice, leaning closer to me. “I’m thinking about sending them my resume. Maybe even have my son take a video with his fancy phone. I can’t exactly swing on a pole, but I’ve been known to bust a few moves with my cane. My grandson even taught me the word yolo last week, even though I don’t have the foggiest idea what it means. But it sure is fun to say!” she whispers excitedly.
“Did you know that word was popularized by the 2011 song “The Motto” by Drake, the rapper? It’s an acronym for ‘you only live once,’ and it implies that one should enjoy life, even if that entails taking risks, as if there would not be another chance for it,” I ramble.
Yes, I ramble random useless facts when I’m nervous. And right now, I’m not only nervous about telling Mrs. Potter, a woman I respect and admire, about the Naughty Princess Club, I’m also worried about what I would do if she did, in fact, decide to send us her resume. And a video. I’m not sure I’d ever be able to look her in the eyes again if I had to see something like that.
“Anyway,” I continue with a nervous laugh. “I’m one of the owners of the Naughty Princess Club. I started it with the two friends I’ve told you about, Cindy and Ariel.”
“YOLO!” Mrs. Potter shouts, throwing her fists up in the air just as the bell chimes above the front door, indicating a patron has just walked in.
I bring my finger up to my lips to shush her. My hand pauses in midair when I see who has come into the library this late in the evening. Butterflies flap around in my stomach, and the hand that still hangs suspended in front of my face starts to shake.
Mrs. Potter drops her arms and looks back over her shoulder, a wide smile spreading across her face.
“Well, well, well, did someone order a Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome?” she mutters.
Both of us blatantly stare at the man as the door closes behind him. With his head down and his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, he stalks over to the small biography section to the right of the front door. Then he grabs a book from the shelf without even looking to see what he’s chosen, flops down into a chair at one of the reading tables in front of the shelf, and opens the book to a random page somewhere in the middle.
The chair he sits in creaks from the weight of his tall, muscled body as he kicks his legs out in front of him under the table and crosses his ankles, bringing the book up in front of him and obscuring most of his face from sight. After a few minutes, he glances up from the pages and his dark brown eyes meet mine from across the room. A shiver races down my spine even though he only looks at me for no more than ten seconds before dropping his head back down. Those ten seconds feel like an eternity and almost as if he were staring directly into my soul, uncovering all of my secret fantasies and desires. All of them starring him.
The man I met a few months ago and only know as Beast, the bouncer at Charming’s.
“Um, I know him. Kind of. What is he doing here?” I whisper to Mrs. Potter as we both continue staring at Beast.
“I believe what he’s doing is called reading. I’ve heard it’s all the rage in this building we call a library,” she whispers back.
“Ha ha, very funny. I meant I’ve never seen him here before. He doesn’t strike me as the type of man who lounges around, reading for pleasure. His name is Beast. I figured he spent his spare time scaring small children and hunting with his bare hands.”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Potter shrugs, cocking her head to the side as she studies him. “He looks pretty good lounging around reading. Bet he could do all sorts of pleasurable things with those big, bare hands of his. And since he knows you, I bet he came in here just to see you.”
I nudge her with my elbow to make her stop staring at the man like she wants to eat him alive. But that just makes me a hypocrite, since now I can’t stop staring at his hands, her words filling my head with all sorts of dirty images. And I also can’t stop wondering if he really did come in here to see me. I mean, what are the odds that he suddenly shows up at my place of work not long after we met, when I’ve never seen him in here before?
I’ve only had two conversations with that man in the time I’ve known him, and nothing puzzles me more than the effect he has on me. And really, you can’t even call them conversations. He acted like an overgrown bully, trying to order me and my friends around, and for some strange reason, that made me act completely out of character and tell him off both times. He’s twice my size in height and weight and could squash my head like a nut with those biceps of his, but there’s just something about him that drives me crazy and makes me not want to cower or back down. I’m not exactly what you’d call outgoing when it comes to dealing with the opposite sex, but Beast brings out the worst in me. Or maybe it’s the best. I haven’t exactly decided. My first i
nteraction with him was when the three of us went to Charming’s to get a stripping lesson from one of the dancers. Beast stood in the doorway, refusing to let us inside. Something about how terse and rude he was lit a fire inside of me, and I walked right up to him and told him off, my boldness shocking my friends and myself in the process. My second interaction with him was the result of entirely too much alcohol, when once again the three of us went to Charming’s one evening to watch a few performances. Beast was being rude, and I called him on his behavior. Considering that standing up to him both of those times was the catalyst to finally finding my voice and learning how to put my foot down when people try to order me around, I’m leaning towards it being somewhere in the middle of the best and worst in me. You know, since finding my voice also resulted in my becoming homeless.
“I have to say, Isabelle, I’m a little shocked to discover you’re a Naughty Princess and you’ve been keeping it a secret from me, but I’m so proud of you. I knew you had a little wild in you, I could see it in your eyes. I’d be even more proud of you if you walked over there and got all naughty on that man’s lap. You’re a pro. Show this old woman how it’s done!”
I quickly reach over the counter and grab Mrs. Potter’s hand when she points at Beast, my face heating with embarrassment when she fails to keep her voice down, and he looks back up from his book.
His eyes meet mine over the top of the pages, and once again, butterflies start swarming around in my stomach.
“We’re in a library!” I whisper a little too loudly. “I’m not doing anything naughty to anyone in here, especially him! And besides, I haven’t exactly done any stripping yet, just administrative work so far. My friends and I collectively agreed that we would each need to dance at Charming’s once before we could book our own parties, and so far, Cindy is the only one who’s been brave enough to do it. I need a little more experience with men, and I need to learn how to dance sexy before I can do that.”
I immediately try to force my brain to stop flashing images of myself doing what she suggested, but it’s no use. In my head, I’m much more experienced than I really am, and I can clearly see myself strutting over there, ripping the book out of his hand and tossing it to the side, then climbing onto his lap and rubbing my body all over his. The hot fantasy that plays in a loop in my mind quickly turns disastrous when I think about just how awful that entire scene would go if I did have the courage to do it. I’d most likely trip over my own two feet instead of walking over there gracefully, and I’d fall on the floor at his feet instead of in his lap, where he would uncharacteristically throw his head back and laugh at my efforts.
“Mr. Potter and I watched a pornography once where a sweet, innocent librarian got her jollies against a bookshelf with one of the patrons. Hoo-wee, that man didn’t need Viagra for two weeks after that one!”
Any fantasies, good or bad, involving the man sitting at the table on the other side of the room disappear instantly with this overshare from Mrs. Potter, as she comes around behind the desk and grabs her coat and purse from one of the drawers.
“I think I’ll head out a few minutes early tonight so you can close up and get yourself some experience,” she tells me with a wink as I help her into her coat. “When I come back tomorrow, I’ll expect a full report. And now that I have an in with this Naughty Princess Club, bring me an application, will ya?”
I shake my head at Mrs. Potter as she slips the strap of her purse over her shoulder and hobbles across the room, pausing right next to Beast’s table.
“I’d say you’re about six-foot-two, two hundred and seventy-five pounds, give or take, am I right?” she asks him, her voice bellowing across the room as she looks him up and down.
I hold my breath, watching as he slowly lowers the book from in front of his face and looks up at the old woman in confusion, not saying a word as she continues with a nod.
“That’s what I thought. Use the A-B shelf in the children’s section. It’s the sturdiest.”
With that, she pats a perplexed Beast on the shoulder and continues on her way.
“YOLO!” she shouts at the top of her lungs as she pushes through the front door and disappears out into the night.
Beast’s eyes meet mine again, and my body gets hot all over when he looks me up and down, the same way Mrs. Potter just did to him, before pulling the book back up in front of his face.
I spend the next hour nervously pretending I have a ton of work to do, filing and refiling the same three pieces of paper and clacking away at the computer, typing nothing but gibberish. I do everything I can to not look over at him every five seconds, even though I fail miserably. Each time I glance over at his table in the corner, I find him looking at me over the top of his book.
Does he even know how to read? He’s a bouncer at a strip club and behaves like a wild animal. This is probably the first time he’s even held a book in his hands.
I immediately feel guilty judging him like this, but it’s his own fault. He’s invading my space and making me anxious, and with only three minutes left to go until closing time, he needs to leave. I shouldn’t go over there and talk to him, but it would be rude not to. But, I know if I go over there and talk to him, my penchant for word vomiting when I’m nervous will take over and I’ll most likely make a fool of myself, saying something ridiculous about how a recent study showed that 97 percent of women in their early twenties have had fantasies about having sex in a public place, like a library. Or, I’ll mortify myself even more by telling him he needs to leave because I live here now, and I need to make up my bed under the counter with a balled-up T-shirt for a pillow and a wool pea coat for a blanket and get some sleep.
Before I can decide which one of those two things would be worse, my feet are automatically moving me around the counter and in his direction. I try to silently scream at them to stop and turn back around, but they won’t listen. It’s like he has some sort of magnetic pull on me.
“I didn’t know you could read.”
I want to smack my hand over my mouth the minute I make it to his table and the words leave my mouth.
He slowly brings his head up, and instead of pressing my hand against my mouth, I press it against my stomach when his eyes meet mine.
Damn those eyes and the way they study me!
“I’m sorry. That was rude. Of course you can read. I mean, you probably had to read to get your driver’s license. And to fill out a job application at Charming’s,” I blurt like an idiot, wringing my hands together nervously. “Did you know approximately thirty-two million adults in America are considered to be illiterate and about fourteen percent of the entire adult population can’t read? On a global scale, illiteracy affects seven hundred and seventy-four million adults aged fifteen or older. Among developed nations, the U.S. ranks sixteenth for adult reading skills.”
For the love of God, Belle, stop talking!
“Beast can read. Beast like books,” he replies in a clipped voice, with a straight face.
It takes me a few seconds to realize he just made a joke, and I can’t help but smile sheepishly.
“I can read. I like books too,” I reply lamely.
He continues staring at me, and I can’t stand the silence, so I open my mouth again because his stupid eyes are making me do stupid things.
“I read everything, but I really love romances. Do you like romances? They’re so beautiful and hopeful and sweet.”
“Romance isn’t really my thing,” he finally says, his eyes still glued to mine.
“Well, what is your thing?”
“Peace and quiet,” he mutters.
So much for what Mrs. Potter said about him coming in here to see me. Clearly the man just wanted a quiet place to read a book. A few months ago, that thought would have probably discouraged me and made me feel silly, but now it just irritates me. Who does he think he is, being all rude like that when I’m just trying to make conversation?
“Well, too bad, buddy. You’re in my place of bu
siness,” I inform him, looking down at the watch on my wrist. “And we are now officially closed. The door’s that way.”
I point towards the door before turning on my heels and marching back to the reference desk.
A few seconds later, the scrape of Beast’s chair sliding against the hardwood floor as he pushes away from the table echoes around the room. He doesn’t look in my direction as he gets up and slides his book back on the shelf where he got it instead of just leaving it on the table for me to put away, making me realize maybe he isn’t such an animal, even if his conversation skills are lacking.
My heart stops beating a mile a minute when he finally walks out the door. I really, really have to get the experience I need, and fast. Not only to save this library, but to save me from making a fool of myself again in front of one of the hottest and most annoying men I’ve ever met.
Chapter 3: Match Made in Heaven
“OH, MY GOD, BELLE! WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!”
I jerk upright in my chair when a voice screams in my ear, my fuzzy, sleep-addled brain causing me to frantically pat my hands down the front of my body. I let out a thankful breath when I realize I am in fact, still fully clothed, and glare at Ariel.
“Christ, you’re so gullible,” she laughs.
Rolling my eyes, I glance across Cindy’s kitchen table and give her a sheepish smile.
“I fell asleep again, didn’t I?”
Cindy reaches over and pats the top of my hand.
“It’s okay, we weren’t doing anything important.”
“The hell we weren’t,” Ariel interjects, grabbing the laptop from in front of Cindy and sliding it over to our side of the table so I can see the screen. “Do you see all these bookings we’ve gotten over the last few weeks? And do you see that our dear friend Cindy looks like absolute shit from doing them all on her own?”
