Page 54 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

I’ve tried to give him his distance this week, to not seem too clingy because we’d smoked together, and to let him see that I’m not all up in his space with something to prove all the time. It’s almost as if he wants me to be around. Otherwise, why would he show up at the library while I’m here?

“Is there room at the cool kid’s table for me?” he asks. I make a show of looking at each empty chair in question.

“I’m not sure. Are you a cool kid? We’re a pretty tight-knit group here. I’m not sure if we have room for more. You take up a lot of space,” I say in my driest, sarcastic manner available. A smile is working to stretch my lips and while he is still behind me and can’t see it, I can sense the gaiety flowing from him. It’s infectious when Riggs is like this, and I’m finding myself enjoying the banter.

“Are you calling me fat?” he scoffs, and his hands smack against his abs. It wouldn’t even make sense to joke about him being fat. I’m sure if I lift that shirt, I’ll see nothing but washboard abs.Shit. My mouth goes dry, and I pick up the remnants of my watered down iced coffee and take a sip. Good thing he can’t read thoughts.

“Hardly, I’ve just noticed you seem to take up a lot of room in class when you’re all sprawled out—room I’m not sure my buddies and I can afford.”

Riggs moves to the opposite side of the table. His arms are now full of textbooks and his ratty book bag is hanging half-open from his chest. I raise a questioning brow at the image of him looking so flustered. It’s unusual. His books and locker are always so put together that it’s aggravating. I wonder what has him so out of sorts. Maybe he’s trying to be funny and pitiful so I’ll let him sit at the table with me. Too bad he’s a big strong guy and can hold all the shit in his hands. No problem, right?

I snicker, jiggling the leftover ice in my cup.

“Your buddies are real quiet and don’t seem to object.” I spare another glance around the table as I let out a sharp giggle, mocking him.

“They said you can join us but you have to pull up another chair.” He shakes his head, his body vibrating with laughter. I keep my face stone cold, refusing to give in and crack another smile. His eyes narrow at me.

“Please,” he begs, bobbing his body like a frustrated child not getting his way. “My books are really, really heavy, Charley,” he whines, sticking his bottom lip out, and I lose it as laughter bursts out in a snorting sound that has me slapping my hand over my mouth in shock.

Riggs’ eyes widen in astonishment, and he throws his head back, guffawing.

“What the fuck kind of noise was that?” he asks through his laughter. It should embarrass me, but strangely enough, I’m not embarrassed. Riggs makes me…comfortable? I try not to question it.

“Holy hell, I have no clue where that came from,” I exclaim.

Riggs places his books on the table and drops his bag down to the floor next to his chair.

We don’t even notice the librarian until she has ascended on our table. She is young for a librarian, and doesn’t seem much older than us, if I’m frank. Maybe fresh out of school. The University must pay their people well because all the professors and staff dress well.

The librarian is sporting a champagne colored pantsuit with a black silk shirt that ruffles in the front, disguising the buttons. Shiny black stilettos that come to a point complete her outfit. A sleek pony steals her hair from her face, and her makeup is on point. A far cry from any librarian I’m used to seeing.

“I’m only going to remind you one time to keep your voices down,” she warns, one fist propped on her hip. She’s a petite woman, much shorter than me, even with her heels on, but her statement packs a punch.

Riggs eyes her up, then down, and I notice his gaze doesn’t linger anywhere. Is he not impressed with how she looks?

I get the impression that Riggs doesn’t care much for authority. He’s not the outward class clown, not even in high school, but he has always had a dislike for teachers from what I can tell. He’s polite, but his distaste is clear in his eyes whenever he looks at them. I expect it has something to do with his disdain for rich folks.

“Dude, we are the only students here,” I point out, and she deadpans. I roll my eyes. “Okay, you’re right, our bad. We’ll keep it down.”

She swings her tiny body around without another word and marches off toward the front desk where she’s been all afternoon. I haven’t seen her check a single book in or out or put anything from the stacks back on the shelves. She’s been on her phone the whole time, probably scoping out her Tinder date for tomorrow night. Of course, she would come over when the hunk walks in.

“Duuuuude,” Riggs drawls, mocking me. I glower at him, pursing my lips. “You called the librarian Dude?” The timbre of his voice is edging a little on the judgmental Riggs of the past month. I cross my arms over my chest and shrug, drawing another round of laughter from him as he disregards her reprimand. “That’s fucking hilarious.”

I relax into my seat, hating how on edge I am with him and always waiting for him to pop off. “So, what brings you to the library to torment me, Mr. Sutton?”

His lips fall into a tiny frown, and I almost regret my statement. “Am I tormenting you by being here?”

I’m stunned for a fraction of time. He said that like him tormenting me was disappointing to him. “Well, I mean…” What do I mean? I want to be real with him, tell him that the things he said, while noble, hurt, even if I deserved them. But I also don’t want to piss him off.

What kind of friendship would I be entering though if I’m not comfortable enough to speak my mind? I’m not one to walk on eggshells around a person.

“It’s just that we haven’t had the most pleasant interactions.”

His frown deepens, and he looks down at his fingers flattened on the table before him. They’re long and slender, a guitarist’s dream, but sexy, rugged, manly.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he looks up to meet my gaze. His blue eyes are sincere. “You didn’t deserve for me to treat you like that—”

I put my hand up to stop him.

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