“Great.” Bree headed down the short hallway to the children’s section. Three children under five ran past her, their mother hustling behind. Bree grinned at them. Yes, libraries should be quiet places, but the children’s department should be fun.
Her desk was up front with everyone else’s, but her section was in the back where the noise from happy children wouldn’t “bother” the other patrons. Since when did the sound of children’s laughter become a nuisance in the world? Tragic.
She stopped in the doorway and ran her hand through her hair. This room was tragic. While she’d been discussing Brent’s future accomplishments, a gaggle of toddlers had torn through here like a Texas tornado.
She stacked the books on top of the chin-high bookshelves; she’d get to putting them away as soon as she could walk without tripping over a block. She righted the tic-tac-toe board and placed the Xs and Os in the squares. The stacking blocks were next, and she made a pyramid. Finally, the magnetic squares that stuck together were rounded up. She mindlessly pulled them apart and let them snap back together. The click triggered a memory of the guy at the expo. The big one with all the muscles. He was polite. Better than when he’d practically accosted her for conversation in the middle of her cycling breakdown.
And since she was up close at the expo and he wasn’t wearing sunglasses, she’d noticed his eyes were light blue. Asweetheart blue,she’d call the color if pressed. But only if pressed, because she wasn’t talking about him, them, or their strange encounters of the second kind to anyone.
She’d never experienced anything like the sensations that coursed through her when their eyes met. Her gaze had been like one of these magnets, drawn back to him and clicking in place. Breaking away from him had been difficult. He made her nervous and excited and her thoughts became clumsy.
Which was so unlike her! She was usually the calm one. No drama. No fits. No passion.
Passion?Where did that come from?
She shook her head. “If I want passion, I’ll hit the romance section.” Better to stick with books and book boyfriends than to make a fool of herself with some hunk in a tight shirt.
Chapter Six
Owen strode into the Dairy Queen. Normally, he stuck to his training diet, but there were times in a man’s life when he needed a giant burger and greasy fries. Tonight was one of those nights, and since he had a 50-mile bike route planned for the next day, he wasn’t too worried about the extra calories.
Most of the guys put on weight in the off-season because they continued to pound the calories and did half the work. He had a hard time keeping weight on because of his love of cycling and his faster-than-average metabolism.
To say he’d been a late bloomer would be an understatement. His body didn’t mature fully until 22. Thankfully, he had a college coach who realized little Owen Mattox had finally grown up.
The fast-food place was chock-full of families and tourists. The children had sunburns blushed across their noses and cheeks and smiles. Lots of smiles. The parents had drawn faces and dull eyes, exhausted from making sure their children were happy. Good people.
He headed for the counter, hoping a table would open up soon so he wouldn’t have to go back to his house and eat out of a paper bag. Nothing made a guy feel lonelier than eating fast food in his living room. Besides, he’d been home alone all day; he needed an outing.
He ordered and then stood off to the side of the counter with his plastic number to await his order. No one looked ready to hop up and vacate a table. The tile floor was clean and the walls had a fresh coat of paint. The smell of grilled meat wafted from the kitchens, making his stomach growl.
A flip of black hair caught his eye, and he focused on the woman. A smile crept across his face. It washer, Bree from the expo. Like he could forget that name. Thoughts of her had popped up like mirages all weekend long. She’d looked good, real good, at the expo, with her hair down and that hiking outfit.
“Forty-eight,” called a teenaged girl with a streak of blue in her hair and a henna tattoo on her wrist and hand. At least, he hoped it was henna. He’d felt the pressure to fit in with his college teammates and subjected himself to a tat on his bicep. Never. Again. He could handle being slammed in the chest by a 350-pound linebacker, but poke him with a needle and he jumped like a cartoon character.
“That’s me.” He swapped her his plastic number for the food tray. “Thanks.”
She gaped at his chest.
He turned quickly, uncomfortable under her gawking, and headed straight for Bree. She was a life raft in a sea of strangers.
“Hey.” He didn’t give Bree or her friend time to tell him he couldn’t sit there, didn’t hesitate. Just slid into the booth like he was invited. The tactic had served him well in every cafeteria situation he’d ever been in. Act like they want you, like they should like you, and people usually do. Except this time he was a little aggressive with his approach and ended up bumping Bree into the wall.
“Hey!” She rubbed her shoulder.
“Sorry.” He pushed her shake over with his forearm and a smile. She stared back at him like he’d entered another dimension where he was the only football player on the planet.
“Hell-o?” said the woman sitting across from them. “Are you lost?” she asked in a patronizing voice.
He laughed. “I’m a friend of Bree’s.”
“Bree?” she squeaked. The look she gave her friend said,You didn’t tell me about this guy, and therefore we are no longer friends.
Bree shook herself. “I don’t even know what to say right now.”
“How about ‘Hello, Handsome’?” Owen joked. Lifting his one eyebrow—a feat that took three years of tutoring from his college roommate to accomplish—he unleashed the smolder.
Crickets.