Page 25 of I Hear You

But working on campus would mean no two-mile walk to work, and working in the library would mean being surrounded by books all day. I also know working a campus job comes with perks like getting on the good side of professors and getting first dibs on the used books. Since I picked up my course books so close to classes starting, most of them have torn pages and penises drawn on them. Apparently, being in college doesn’t equal maturity. There were also more than a few mystery stains that I had to take sanitizer wipes to.

Taylor’s behind the check-out desk in the center of the library with Adam. I can see them from where I’m hiding out and they seem–close. I know she said Jesse has nothing to worry about, and it’s none of my business, but I can’t help but get an icky feeling.

Whatever is or isn’t going on over there fizzles out as Taylor leaves the desk to shelve books and I turn my attention back to studying. I’m working on a writing assignment where we have to re-write an already published article. There were a dozen sources to choose from and I chose an article by Christiane Amanpour, where she wrote about women in war. Go big or go home, right? If I wasn’t majoring in English, Journalism would definitely be my second choice. Traveling the world and reporting on things that matter would be the thrill of a lifetime. But I’m not brave enough.

I’ve made it about half way through the assignment when I’m startled by what sounds like books falling to the ground an aisle over. I look up but can’t see who’s responsible for the noise. Henry comes peeking around the corner with an embarrassed smile on his lips, putting an end to my curiosity. My heart beat instantly doubles and my palms go so sweaty I have to drop the pen in my hand and rub them on my jeans.

“Hey,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Hi,” I squeak back.

“Sorry about that. I, um, didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Henry hasn’t moved from being half hidden behind the row of books. A war inside me is raging where one side wants him to stay where he is and the other wants to be straddling him.

“No worries,” I tell him. “Not like I own the place.”

Chuckling, he moves toward me and declares one side of the war victor, but I steel myself and don’t make any attempts to straddle him. At least not yet.

He’s wearing a pair of joggers again, and dammit if my eyes didn’t fall straight down to his dick. I don’t make it a habit of checking out guys' junk, but from what I can see through the tight material, he has a lot of something in there. He sits casually in the big leather armchair next to me, leaning into one corner and facing me. I do the same, leaning into the opposite corner of my chair so I’m turned more toward him. He clears his throat, and I didn’t know a sound most people find repulsive could turn me on.

“So, how are your classes? I hope you didn’t have any problems missing that class.”

“No problems,” I say. It indeed was a small problem. I’ve been having to study more the past two weeks just to make up for it. “Classes are great. Some are a little harder than I expected.”

“What is it you’re working on? Can I see?” He asks, nodding his head toward my notebook.

A warm sensation brushes across my cheeks as embarrassment settles in. Shaking my head and pulling myself out of the internal monologue I was in, I drop my eyes to my notebook. I wasn’t actually working on my assignment in the notebook. It’s just my latest word dump and poem attempts. Suddenly embarrassed, I pull the notebook closer to me. I haven’t shared my poetry with anyone I know, except Ender. That was different because we shared everything.Almost everything. I never told Ender how bad things got with my mom. It’s not like he would have judged me or even been able to do anything to help. I just didn’t want him to see me as weak. Shame can wreak havoc on relationships.

Sure, Ender would have worried about me sleeping at a different place every other night, and he would have been fuming if he knew I spent a few nights sleeping outside. Henry must sense my hesitation because he offers me an out.

“If it’s private, then I get it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

The sheepish look he has on his face is pretty adorable and makes my heart warm. I trust him, I realize. I hardly know him, but I’ve always been pretty good at reading people and something is telling me I can trust him.

“No. I mean, yes, it’s kind of private, but it’s also kind of embarrassing. It’s just a lot of brain dump and some pieces of poems.”

“If you don’t want to share, it’s okay. But I doubt it’s embarrassing, especially if it’s your thoughts.”

I hesitate again, chewing on my lip. I do it when I get nervous or anxious and don’t even realize it, but when I look back at Henry, I can see him staring at my lips. His eyelids are heavy and his lips are parted. When I release my lip from my teeth's grip with a pop, he exhales and sticks his own tongue out, slowly running it across his top lip. My eyes never leave his lips, and it feels like it takes hours for his tongue to make it across them. Instinctively, my legs press tight together.

Without any more thought, I hand the notebook over to him. My arousal apparently fueling an unexpected moment of courage.

“Go ahead, you can read it. But only this page, please.”

If anything, it gives me an opportunity to stare at him while he’s distracted, and he won’t be able to notice the drool about to come out of my mouth. His hair is styled today, I’ve only ever seen it natural. It’s not very long but untamed by product, it can look a little wild. Today he looks polished, put together. When it’s messy, it’s cute, but like this, it’s sexy and makes him look a little older. I don’t know how old he even is, I realize, but he must be about my age because he mentioned he’s only in his first year here. He has the same stubble across his chin and jaw I’ve seen him with before.

While he looks over my notebook, his lips are pursed together and his jaw is slightly clenched. He parts his lips just the tiniest bit occasionally and sucks in air through his teeth. There’s something incredibly sexy about it, and I want him to do it again.

“How old are you?” I ask him.

He only briefly looks up at me before turning his attention back to my notebook.

“Forty-seven,” he jokes. “How old are you?”

“Not forty-seven.”

His eyes meet mine and he holds my gaze this time.

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