Page 52 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“What does impress you?” Mike, in one graceful, fluid movement, vaults over the circulation desk, grabs a key hanging on the wall, and unlocks the back room.
“Not potential felonies! Mike!” I hiss.
He pokes his head out and winks—winks!—at me.
He returns momentarily with a stack of DVDs.
“Now we’re going to add potential misdemeanors to the docket?”
“You can watch them in jail.”
“Mike!”
“Tell me you weren’t already googling my name andTwelfth Nightafter your conversation with Dr. Weismann, and I’ll put them back.”
I’m about to object, but I can’t.
“‘Nay, do not pause.’”
I snort. “You did not just quoteRichard IIIat me.”
Mike grins. “I figure I’m saving you at least ten hours of research. If you really weren’t about to waste the rest of your Sunday night trying to find these, I will admit that I am a loathsome toad and put them back because you have absolutely no interest in what my directorial debut looked like.”
“Absolutely none.”
“Then you won’t mind letting me search your browser history.”
I instantly press my phone tight to my chest, and Mike laughs gleefully. I’m turning to go, but Mike grabs my hand.
“Wait, Bea. Don’t be like that! Here.” He drops my hand and stretches out his arms in a friendly gesture of truce.
I’m only human, and this man knows his Shakespeare. I step closer, if only to prove to myself that I can. The brief moment when our hands touch means nothing, and my mind does not jump to lines fromRomeo and Julietabout holy palmers’ anything. Yet, my knees feel weak as Mike unexpectedly wraps his arms around me.
Before the instinct to burrow my face into his chest takes over, he pulls out his phone and snaps a picture. “Look at how pink you turn when you have to eat crow.”
I don’t push Mike away. Instead, I burrow closer, and I can feel his shock and surprise by the way his posture has gone all stiff. Good.
“‘I must tell you friendly in your ear, sell when you can, you are not for all markets.’”ThenI push him away.
“As You Like It.” Mike’s tone becomes dry. “Bea, I think quoting Shakespeare is my love language.” He grabs the stack of DVDs.
“No! I’m not stealing campus materials.”
“Would you relax?” He produces his student ID and scans it at the kiosk by the door. And then, as he pointedly stares at me, he scans all six DVDs.
“These should be digitized,” I say. “Why aren’t they?”
Mike shrugs. “Old habits. Lack of funds. Not all of us are Del Mar heiresses.”
“Right, some of us are La Jolla heirs.”
He hands me the stack of DVDs. “Anytime you want to trade your parents’ mansion for my beach shack that is one El Niño from washing away into the Pacific, you let me know.” He pushes open the library double doors. His phone pings, and he swears.
“Campus police?” I ask. “Letting you know that you have a hearing regarding unlawful use of library materials?”
“No.” Mike shoves the phone into his pocket. “Can I get a ride? My Lyft just canceled.”
“You have a truck.”
