Mr. Pederson pressed his lips together.
“Twice. So I think we can take a break from Lewis and Clark for a little bit,” he snapped, immediately regretting it. Getting cranky with a board member was not going to help his situation. He needed to guide them gently. Or throw the baby out with the bathwater and get a whole new board. Ha. I wish. In any case, Mr. Pederson was one of the board members who hadn’t complained about the Pride display, so Eli reminded himself that everyone could learn, eventually. “But I look forward to talking about that Franklin biography with you. And I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
“Hmmph.” Mr. Pederson fumbled his ticket into his pocket, arthritic fingers clutching the paper stub. “Guess you will.”
Eli raised an eyebrow at Kalea as soon as Mr. Pederson was out of earshot in an old game they’d played since working the candy counter together in high school when Kalea’s parents had run the movie theater.
“Oh, please. Small popcorn, extra butter, and a Good ‘n’ Plenty.” Kalea’s memory for her customers’ favorite snacks was legendary. She glanced at where Mr. Pederson leaned against the glass counter, flirting with the high school girl pumping butter on his popcorn—yes, a small—and tilted her head toward Eli. “He skips the pop these days. Says he can’t make it through the movie any more without needing ‘the facilities.’”
“God. Let’s never get old.”
“Deal. You know Doc Lambert used the b-word on me during my exam last week.”
Eli pulled his eyebrows together, trying to figure out what on earth Kalea meant, since it simply wasn’t possible the gruff but gentle optometrist had called one of his patients a bitch. “What—?”
“Bifocals.” The final S was hissed out like a snake. “I’m only twenty-eight years old, for God’s sake.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
A flipped middle finger was Kalea’s only reply as she punched buttons that caused strips of tickets to spit out from the metal counter. She made change for the group of teens who tumbled in the doors like a pile of puppies, before her face brightened at the sight of her next customer. Eli leaned from his spot in the doorway to the little ticket booth to catch a glimpse.
“Hey, Mayor Wagner,” he said with a smile. Clear Lake’s mayor was his grandmas’ age, with a sharper tongue than any of them, and he loved her.
“Are you getting into trouble again with the library board, Mr. Devine?” the mayor asked with a smile, her perfectly coiffed silver hair coiled in a bun on top of her head.
A flash of memory—Joe Baxter in the moonlight, silver shining on the lake water sprinkling his skin, telling Eli he didn’t seem like the type to take trouble quietly—blew through him. And maybe something about the lake and the moonlight was indeed magic, because instead of apologizing, Eli spread his feet and faced the mayor confidently. “The board’s job is to provide financial oversight and create policy, but my job is to supervise staff and volunteers and create programming. I plan on continuing to do that with all my passion and skill. Ma’am.”
“I thought your job was the serve the needs of your constituents,” the mayor said mildly, keeping a shrewd eye on him as she waited for Eli’s reply.
“Yes, ma’am, it is. But if we want to have any constituents in the future, we need to make sure our town thrives. And you know as well as I do that demonstrating our acknowledgment of our history, making amends, and displaying our inclusiveness going forward are the keys to growth.”
He was hitting the mayor where it counted, because he knew Mayor Wagner had campaigned to hire the high school’s first African-American teacher just two years before. She’d argued the town needed to make sure all Clear Lake children saw representation throughout their education and had won the day with overwhelming support.
Now, Mayor Wagner narrowed her eyes at him, as if calculating how she could use Eli’s new outspokenness to her advantage.
“Well, maybe you need more allies on the town council, Mr. Devine,” the mayor said, her tone arch. Then she lobbed her last cannonball at them before heading into the lobby, with an extra sharp glance for Kalea. “A local business owner with a strong interest in promoting inclusive programming at the library could do worse than consider a run for town council, where she would be in a position to influence library board appointments.”
Dead silence fell in the mayor’s wake. Eli could hear his heartbeat in his ears.
Hell, he could hear Kalea’s heartbeat.
“Holy shit,” she breathed next to him.
“Yeah.”
“Did the mayor just suggest I run for town council so I can influence appointments to the library board to make sure you keep putting up Pride and Black Lives Matter displays?”
Eli wasn’t sure he hadn’t accidentally flipped into some parallel universe, himself. “I think maybe she did.”
He turned to face Kalea head-on, blood pumping in his veins. “And I think you should do it. Not just for me. But because this town needs new ideas. Young people. Anyone who isn’t old and white and living in the fifties. And I’ll be your first campaign volunteer.”
Kalea wrinkled her nose. “Can you do that?”
“I’ll double-check, but I think I only can’t volunteer in situations where I’d have a direct impact on library budget and hiring decisions. None of which a candidate for office can influence.” The grin dawning on his face felt like it might break his cheeks. “So, yeah, I’m pretty sure I can. If you’re up for it, that is.”
She shared a sparkling smile with him. “You know, I think I am.”
Congratulatory hugs and some popcorn with butter sealed the deal. Joy fizzed in Eli like champagne bubbles in his blood. There were no guarantees, of course. But just the idea of doing something made him feel good, something even more direct and actionable than the inclusive programming he’d initiated at the library. Made him feel powerful and full of daring. It was the same feeling that had flooded him when he’d stood in front of his first Pride Month display at the library and prepared to unlock the front doors. Only with a whole lot less nerves this time.
As the next showtimes arrived, he watched another group of teens head toward the candy counter after buying tickets, boys and girls clumping up in small groups and then spreading out into a diffuse crowd again, like a flock of birds circling and then landing at the Concessions counter.
“Remind me to send Cassie to check on the back doors five minutes after they go in,” Kalea said to him over her shoulder.
“I’ll do it. I’d love to go all terrifying authority figure on a couple of kids tonight.” Eli knew exactly which long and twisting hallways led to the emergency doors at the back of the theater, the ones kids were always propping open so their friends could sneak in.
He knew where the doors were because he and Kalea had snuck half the senior class into the movies years ago, back when they’d been goofy teens, and not responsible adults.
Clearly it was time for them to teepee the principal’s house or something equally ridiculous, if only in the name of reclaiming their youth.
“Hey, did I tell you?” she asked in between ticket sales. “The Film Studies department at St. Francis wants to do, like, an art show of their senior project here. Hang things on the lobby walls and stuff.”
Eli sat up straight on the polished wooden bench that ran along the wall outside her ticket booth. The town was proud of its association with the small liberal arts college on their outskirts. He sometimes thought the tiny tinge of cosmopolitan awareness that made Clear Lake livable for him and a handful of other young people, most of whom were fleeing rural Illinois for the big cities in droves, was due almost exclusively to the college’s presence.
Something about experimental theater and nineteen-year-olds with funky clothes and passionate political opinions brought out the best in even their little town.
“Sounds interesting. What are they doing?” he asked.
“The history of superhero films in American cinema,” Kalea said ex
citedly. “I’m going to run all kinds of stuff to complement the films they’re showing on campus.”
“Cool. I just got the new Black Panther graphic novels in at the library, by the way. What kind of stuff do they want to put up in here?”
The lobby walls were lined with large gold frames holding Coming Soon posters that advertised movies coming to the theater next week through next year. The second-run theater didn’t get the blockbusters for months after they were released—foreign films showed up a lot faster—but most people in town didn’t make the ninety-minute trek to the nearest first-run theater unless their number one Hollywood crush had a new film out.
“Put the Black Panther on hold for me?” she asked, and he nodded. “One of their panels is about diversity, or the lack thereof, in superhero flicks. They’re recreating movie posters with other actors in the title role. You know, Idris Elba as Batman. Naveen Andrews as Superman. Diego Luna as Sherlock Holmes.”
“One, Sherlock Holmes is not a superhero—”
Kalea’s gasp was so loud the candy counter girl boosted herself up onto the counter to check out her boss.
“Off the glass!” Kalea rapped out and the teen dropped back out of sight. She turned a baleful eye on Eli, who started shaking his head preemptively. “Bite your tongue, heathen. Sherlock is totally superhero material.”
“Superheroes need superpowers. Being a sociopathic genius is not a superpower.”
“Fights crime. Saves the day. Performs astonishing feats mere humans cannot hope to match.” Kalea didn’t need time to think of her response. She probably had it tattooed on her inner forearm, ready for oratorical emergencies.
“Two—” he talked over his friend’s sputtering protests, changing the subject because there was no way he was going to win a superhero trivia argument with the queen of comic book stories, “two, you just want to listen to Diego Luna pontificate about clues.”
“Um, yeah. His accent is dreamy. He’s hot.”
“Dude. No way. Too skinny. I could break that guy in half.” He couldn’t help contrasting Joe—the sheriff’s, damn it—thick wrists and powerful forearms to the mental picture he had of the undeniably pretty, but slimly built, movie star. Eli had always had a thing for bigger, bulky guys. Way too much time spent in high school watching the football team practice after school, probably.
Tight pants were one of his many weaknesses.
“I’d be happy to break him in half, if that’s on the menu.” Kalea wiggled her eyebrows.
“Meh. I’ll hold out for the ones built like boxers. Or linebackers. Or Idris Elba.” It was probably a good thing their types of men didn’t overlap much in a Venn diagram. Made splitting up their celebrity crush “fuck, marry, kill” lists so much easier.
“Dude.”
Sometimes they sounded like two frat boys. They’d started calling each other dude in high school, when listening to boys drop the d-word at the beginning or end of every sentence had just cried out for mockery. Only they’d found themselves caught in a net of their own making, still calling each other dude more than fifteen years later.
Kalea kept talking. “Not to cast aspersions on Mr. Elba because, hello, that man is fine, but can we focus here? On the mackety macking with Sheriff McSmexy?”
Eli tucked his hands between his butt and the varnished wood of the bench so he wouldn’t give in to the temptation to hide his face in them again.
“We totally made out. Like teenagers at a drive-in movie.”
“And?” Kalea drew the word out, inflection rising.
He closed his eyes for a moment, the flush of heat that swept over him making pit stops to dance a jig in his stomach. The ghost of that big hand on his ass, the squeeze of hard fingers into his flesh, was seared into his skin.
“And it was crazy hot.” He opened his eyes and stared right at Kalea. “I mean, like, melt-your-panties hot, girl.”
The theater door swung open on the far side of the ticket booth and Mr. Melt Your Panties walked in.
Something about Eli’s dropped jaw and bug-eyes must have made it clear to Kalea exactly who had just strolled through the door, easy as you please.
“Get. Out.” Her friend pulled her eyebrows together and executed the world’s worst stage whisper. “It’s like he can hear us talking about him.”
“Hey, Sheriff.”
The raised eyebrow told her that he’d noticed Eli wasn’t calling him Joe any more.
“Hey, library man.”
“You two have pet names for each other already? Isn’t that just too cute for words.” Kalea’s drawl was more than suggestive.
Holy shit. The sheriff had a pet name for him. The voices in his head were bickering at that one.
Him? What about you, dude?
Shut up. Sheriff isn’t a pet name. It’s his title, for crying out loud.
This had to end. Right now.
He crossed his arms, one leg over the other, hell, he’d start crossing his fingers and toes if that would make it clear to everyone in town including their new officer of the law that Eli wasn’t interested in him. Or available for anything, late-night naked swimming and tongue-sucking included. Especially since he’d just decided to haul himself into the public eye even more by campaigning for Kalea.
“They aren’t pet names. They’re titles.”
His protest sounded weak, even to Eli.
“Sure they are.” Kalea took the bill the Joe slid through the opening in the curved glass front of the spaceship-shaped booth and raised an eyebrow. “Sheriff? I’m guessing car chases are more your thing than chick flicks?”
Joe grinned. The husky, low rumble of his voice sent shivers up Eli’s spine when Joe glanced at him and their eyes met. “I’d watch a chick flick in a heartbeat if you wanna watch it with me.”
“No, thank you.” His voice was prim and he wondered when he’d become so stuffy. “I’m just visiting with Kalea for a minute. I’ll be heading out soon.”
Also, he was a big, fat liar.
Kalea’s gasp was audible to Cassie at the candy counter. Their Sunday night hangout usually lasted until midnight, and Eli knew damn well that his friend was about to bust his fib wide open.
But Joe had already moved on. “Car chases it is, then.”
Kalea shot Eli a dirty look as she punched a button and the machinery whirred, spitting out a yellow ticket stub while she made change. She passed everything through the slot to the sheriff, who nodded at her. “Here you go. Enjoy the show.”
Joe stopped before taking more than a couple of steps away from the ticket booth, angling himself toward Eli.
“I actually need to talk to you about something.” He wasn’t grinning now, his brows pulled together a little.
Eli sat up straighter, tensing his shoulders. This didn’t feel like flirting. It reminded him of the first night they’d met when Joe had asked about Millie. “What’s up?”
The sheriff looked around the lobby, as if suddenly realizing where they were. He flashed Eli a small smile. “Not an emergency. I’ll stop by the library some time. Have a good evening, if you’re heading home.”
He flushed and nodded. “You too. Enjoy your movie.”
“Will do.”
He walked away. And Kalea spun on her chair and leaned her torso so far out the side door to the booth she almost fell over.
“You liar. Go watch a movie with him! Have you lost your tiny little mind?”
Eli hissed back at her, trying to keep his voice low as Joe stopped at the concessions counter, looking over the offerings. He was only thirty feet away, for crying out loud. “Zzzt. He can probably hear you. Shut. Up.”
“Seriously, what’s wrong with you? How many times have we whined about the lack of hot single men in this town? Go get him!”
“No way.” He looked, but the man had the grace to act, at least, like he couldn’t hear their fiercely whispered conversation. “Did you miss the part ten minutes ago where Mr. Pederson was grilling me about my ‘agenda?’�
� His air quotes could’ve poked someone’s eyes out. “Imagine what people would be saying if I started dating the county sheriff.”
“I don’t care if Father Nick wants a front row seat to the consummation of this affair. Where are you going to find another guy like that? Because, dayum”—Kalea gripped the door frame and leaned even further out of the booth—“that man’s ass is fine.”
“Seriously, he is everywhere I turn lately. How does he do that?”
He hadn’t been friends with Kalea Hutchinson for twenty-five years without being able to spot every last one of her guilty tells and the flush that crept over his friend’s face at Eli’s idle words was a dead giveaway.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing!” Kalea squeaked and clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes round as buttons. She dropped her hand. “I might have told him you come by on Sunday nights for takeout and gossip.”
“What?!” He muted his shriek, so Cassie wouldn’t hop up on the glass counter again to stare at the two friends old enough to know better having a hissy fit in the lobby. He was sure the Joe’s ears were burning though.
“I don’t know how it happened. One moment we were talking about Superman versus Ironman, the next I was telling him everything about you.” Kalea’s eyes grew even bigger. “It’s like his superpower or something.”
“Like Sherlock?”
“Ha, ha. You’re a funny boy.” A delicate laugh pealed out from the other end of the lobby, and they both turned to watch Cassie cracking up at something Joe had said. When Joe reached his hand in his back pocket for his wallet, the motion pulled the fabric of his jeans tight over his butt.
“Yeah, it’s official. You’re crazy if you don’t want a piece of that.”
“I don’t.” Eli crossed his fingers surreptitiously against the lie. Then he stuck his tongue out and marveled at how little it took to turn them into teenagers again. “Why don’t you go watch the movie with him, huh? I’ll cover the booth.”
“Watch yourself. I just might.” Kalea settled back into her seat as Joe left the candy counter, popcorn, and fountain drink in hand. They watched him pause, scan the signs with bright plastic letters spelling out the various movie names, and then head down the hallway to the theater with the action flick. “Maybe he’s bi.”
Rogue Hearts (The Rogue Series Book 4) Page 24
