Page 63 of Just This Once

Glad no one else had volunteered yet, I responded to the chat, saying I’d take care of him.

And instead of going to Hope’s apartment, I drove to campus.

Fifteen minutes later, I was pulling open the front door of the college library and glancing around for Dugger.

Waverly—or Library Girl, as the guys liked to call her—was behind the front checkout counter, and when she saw me, she popped out to hurry my way.

Lifting my hands in question as she approached, I asked, “What the fuck is going on?”

“Well, I guess he throws books at people now,” she muttered with a disgusted roll of her eyes.

I squinted in confusion. “Huh?”

She sighed and shook her head. “He’s on the second floor. Come on. I’ll tell you on the way.”

When she started off in her typical no-nonsense manner, I lifted my brows after her.

I’d always liked Waverly Frank. She could give people the driest, go-fuck-yourself stare ever, I swear. It wasn’t even a scowl; she just plastered this bored expression across her features as if she couldn’t believe the idiot in front of her was wasting her time bybreathingin her presence.

Other than that, there wasn’t much to her. She was a couple of inches above average height, stick thin with absolutely no curves, and her hair was a straight, dull brown that she typically left draped dismally down her back. She didn’t wear anything provocative or even girly but stuck with plain colors. And even though she was only a sophomore in college, I could already picture her becoming the cliché spinster librarian who went home to a houseful of cats each night.

When she glanced back to send me an annoyed arch of the brows, silently demanding that I hurry, I cleared my throat and picked up my pace.

I reached her side a second later, but she waited until we were on the grand, carpeted stairwell that spiraled to the second level before she started to talk.

“So I’m at the desk, minding my own business, sending out courtesy overdue calls, when these two guys come storming up to the counter, all ticked off and claiming that someone tossed not just one book over a range of shelves at them, butthree. And do you want to know who theonlyperson present on the second floor was when I went up there to check things out?”

“Santa Claus?” I muttered dryly.

She narrowed her eyes. “The worst part was he had the actual gall tolieright to my face about it and say he hadn’t done it.”

I shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t.”

Her mouth dropped. “I can see the stairs to the second floor from my desk. That’s the only access, too. And no one went upor down them for at least ten minutes before or after those guys did.”

“So maybethey’relying,” I countered.

She arched her eyebrows at me as if she couldn't believe I would dare defend one of my closest friends on earth.

“Ormaybe,” she bit out from between gritted teeth. “Your buddy’s spiraling. Because he definitely hasn’t been himself lately.”

I glanced at her in surprise, almost wanting to ask how she knew what hisusualbehavior was. But I figured she wouldn’t appreciate the suggestive question—and I really didn’t feel like losing any body parts to an angry student librarian tonight.

So instead, I said, “How so?”

“Well, first of all, he’s here, like,allthe time now,” she explained as we reached the top of the stairs. “I mean, he used to come in enough as it was, irritating me to no end, but I swear the library’s become his second home lately. Some nights, it’s nearly impossible for me to get him to justgowhen we close.” Pausing with a slight frown, she added, “He looks sad. Or sick. Or something. I don’t know. He’s just beendifferentfor the last eight months.”

Eight months. That would’ve been right around the time Keene had learned that his dead mother was still hanging around, haunting this place.

I hadn’t thought it had affected him too severely, but I also hadn’t been paying close attention to him either.

Not the way Library Girl had, apparently.

But shit, of course, it’d done a number on him. He hadn’t seen his mother for ten years, and suddenly he could communicate with her again. That would sure as hell affect me.

Feeling like a shitty friend, I huffed out a weary breath as Waverly paused at an opening between a row of books and stopped there, setting her hands on her hips.

I watched her side profile as she lifted her brows and cleared her throat.

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