Page 32 of Wicked Me
10
Paige
SINCE LAST NIGHT, THEworld’s missing bee population somersaulted in my gut. I had been waiting for this day most of my life, and now that it was finally here, it didn’t seem like it was really happening. My body felt separated from my mind somehow, as if I were living inside a happy dream.
By the time I arrived at the Library of Congress, the pinks and oranges stitched into the sky by the rising sun had faded into a clear blue. Only a few cars specked the otherwise empty parking lot by the rear staff entrance.
While I waited for someone to let me inside the locked library, I sat on the steps and checked my phone. A message from Kay read:
How’s Riley? I’m hoping to live vicariously through you, hint, hint. Good luck today, sugar plum!
Not much to tell in the Riley department. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since Saturday when I’d arrived. His political consulting duties must really be crazy if they dragged him away for that long, but if I was being totally honest with myself, I didn’t mind.
I started to text Kay back and tell her about Sam, but I wasn’t sure what to say. That he’d hung out with me all weekend, mostly shirtless? That he’d made breakfast for me? That I’d fantasized about him with Slave last night?
While my explosive orgasm had pulsed through my body in blissful waves, something had crashed across the hall. Maybe Samhadn’tbeen downstairs reading, and that possibility had stormed hot, naughty dreams through my head the rest of the night. Could he have heard me?
The way he sometimes looked at me, steady and intense and with open admiration, like when he stood in my doorway last night while I sorted my books... Well, no one had ever looked at me that way before. Not with a need so penetrating, the force of it squeezed my thighs together with an equivalent yearning. And that grin that lit up his entire face capitalized the P in Pantydropper.
He wanted me, and I wanted him right back, but I couldn’t get myself mixed up in that kind of distraction. My internship letter had stated that there would be an opportunity for the best interns to be offered actual paid positions at the end of the six weeks. Apaidposition at the Library of Congress. Hell, I’d paythemif it meant I could be employed there.
When Dad had learned about this possibility, he’d looked at me for a split second—the first time in what felt like years—and said, “Don’t blow it.” Thanks, Dad, for believing in me with such enthusiasm. But those words had struck a chord. Since graduating high school a whole year early and with top honors hadn’t made him forget the past or made him proud, maybe this could.
Besides, my past experiments with men left me feeling more alone than when I wasactuallyalone. So no, I refused to wilt underneath Sam’s beautiful blue eyes or drool over his immaculately carved chest even if he served a platter of chocolate chunk cookies for breakfast. I wasn’t about to throw my career chances away for a fling with Riley’s bad boy younger brother.
Lifelong dream came first. Redeeming myself in the eyes of my parents came second. Libido came third or fourth, depending on my battery supply, and a complicated relationship was so far down my list, I couldn’t even see it.
A beat-up Cadillac pulled into the parking lot and into a spot near the back. Another car followed.
My palms grew too slick to hold my phone, so I dropped it into my purse without replying to Kay and stood.
A curvy young redhead climbed out of the Cadillac and stepped carefully through the parking lot in sensible flats. She smoothed her navy skirt, her hair, the strap of her giant tie-dyed parachute of a purse. Another intern? She looked just as nervous as I felt.
I thrust a hand toward her in an attempt to be friendly as she neared the steps. “You must be intern.Anintern. Me too. I’m Paige.” My face flushed, and the bees inside me took a dive toward my knees. Just call me Paige Awkward Sullivan.
But she took my hand anyway and shook it with a firm grip and a small smile. “Paige? Really?” she asked, glancing at the nametag pinned to my top.
“My parents were psychic,” I said with a shrug.
“Nicole.” She dropped her hand, and we both wiped our sweaty palms on our skirts. “Is your last name Frostbourne? Do you have knives hidden up the inside of your legs?”
