Page 79 of Overtime
Her voice alone has the power to dial back my bad mood scale at least one point.
“Hi. I can’t go to the library.”
“Oh, okay.” Is that disappointment in her voice? “We can reschedule?—”
“No,” I cut in, turning my car back on. “I can’t go to the library, but we can go somewhere else.”
After a short stretch of silence, she hums. “That’s not a bad idea. The weather’s too nice to be cooped up in the same place I’m in every day.”
I don’t add anything to that because I’m not in the library every day, but that seems to be her favorite spot to write her hockey romance. Actually, this may be the perfect excuse to ask if she needs any more tutoring. And I have the perfect place in mind for it.
Well, well. Maybe Archie didn’t screw up after all.
“I’ll wait for you in my car.”
“Okay!” With that, she hangs up, and I wait.
The seconds feel like days until she comes out of the library. Her coat is draped over her arm, and her hair is in a loose braid over her shoulder. I hope I get the chance to undo it. I want to run my fingers through her hair, tangle it around my fists again, find the spot between her neck and shoulder and lick it.
“Buenas tardes,” she says, all sunny, as she climbs to the passenger seat and shuts the door. “Did I say it okay?”
“Yourr’s need work,” I tease to distract her from the fact that I’m breathing funny.
She buckles up. “Yeah, not sure I’m ever going to get that one right.”
I set the car in motion as her scent invades the cab, not helping my situation at all. She loves her strawberry shampoo and soap, but that’s not all. There’s something else underneath that is sweeter, warmer. That’s the stuff that’s making my blood thrum.
“So, are you sick and tired of the library, or…?”
With my attention on traffic, I say, “Definitely notor. The library’s my favorite place now.”
She chokes, and I hide a smile with my left hand. I knew she was thinking about yesterday when our session focused on studying each other’s mouth. No matter how hard she pretends like it was no big deal, I know it affected her. It was in the way she moaned in my ear, how her eyes hooded, in the unmistakable flush in her skin.
I want to see all that again.
Clearing my throat, I pick up on her question again. “No, according to Archibald, my quasi ex was waiting for me in there.”
“I take it that it didn’t end well?”
“No. She marched into the locker room while we were changing and slapped me in front of everyone. Got me in trouble with Coach.”
We’re at a red light, so I turn. Strawberry’s jaw hangs and her eyes are wide. “Whoa. Um, that’s intense.”
I run my hand over my freshly cut hair. “Yeah. It was like a damn telenovela.”
“I can see why you’d want to avoid another episode,” she says in a mumble, her eyes on the road. The light changes, and I can’t pay attention to her anymore. “Erm, so, where are we going?”
I know she’s uncomfortable now, but I’m not in the business of lying, even if it would make me sound like a better person than I am. All my friends know I’m a little shit, so why should it be different with Strawberry? We’re just friends, after all.
Friends who shared such an amazing kiss that I can’t stop thinking about it.
“We’re going on a little adventure” is all I can manage to say.
Several times through the course of the drive, she tries to get it out of me. At first, she guesses a local café, then the public library. Her next guess is either of our apartments, but when I drive by them, she seems fresh out of options.
It’s when I hit the country roads that she asks, “You’re not taking me somewhere rural to kill me and hide my body, are you?”
“Do I look like someone who’d go through all that effort?”
