Page 2 of You Need to Beg
He strolled towards me with a calm strength. He seemed far too casual for the power his body possessed. He wore it loosely as though he couldn’t care less about the hold he had over people. Over me.
Perhaps, I was giving him too much. Maybe he didn’t know. Why would he? But…pressed my lips together as he approached. He certainly walked as though he knew. As though he expected me to swoon. As though if I had fallen to the ground at the sight of him, he would have stepped over me without breaking his stride. I hated that.
A scowl formed on my lips. It wasn't a scowl towards him, not really. All he had done was walk into a bookshop. No, the scowl was towards me.
Get it together; Ichastised as he drew closer, trying to keep my breath steady.
I had taught myself years ago not to seek out the attention or desires of men. It started when I was young and awkward. None of the boys at school would pick me. My gangly frame, my thick glasses, my skin, too dark to be considered as apretty girl. So I became a friend. A confidante who all the boys would get to ask thepretty girlsif they fancied them.
It had been crushing at first, but then, as with most things, I had brushed it off. Who cared if they liked me? Not me. I liked me, and that was enough. I would tell myself that over and over again until, eventually, I believed it.
As the years piled on, I recognised a change. Men would glance at me, seek me out, offer me drinks and pepper me with confusing small talk. It took me a while to realise what was happening. That somewhere down the line, I had become a contender in the game of attraction. But by that time, I had no interest in playing. I was content with my life on the edges—book in hand, wrapped in cardigans and perpetually clutching on warm drinks. I was happy in that corner.
That is until he had seen me.
I couldn't hide it from him. I couldn’t hide it from myself. Not like I did to the others. Iwantedhim to want me. I needed him too. The burning desire he had inspired had burrowed itself into my throat, scratching relentlessly.Feed me, it cried.Feed me!
I lowered my eyes on the counter as I shut the book in my hand.
Get it together.
I sucked a sharp breath and sprang my head up as he placed a veined hand on the counter. He looked back at me before frowning slightly.
Did he see it in my eyes? He didn’t seem disturbed, he seemed expectant? As though he were waiting for me to say something, to do something? I had said hello, hadn't I? Usually, when a customer came up to the counter directly like this, it was because they wanted something. Yet his expression suggested that he was waiting for me to say something. I mirrored his confusion before remembering the customer service skills that Emma had drilled into me.
“Can I help you with anything, sir?”
I don’t know why I added the sir. It felt wrong and formal. As though I were in an American tv show, playing the perfect salesperson. It didn’t quite work with my British accent. It made me feel young; I hadn’t called anyone sir since I had been back in school. I looked up at him expectantly, trailing his muscled arms up to his broad shirt and amused smile. He was no teacher.
“No I-eh,” he stopped himself and gave me that expression again, as though he was expecting me to say something else.What is his problem?I asked myself as he let out a slight chuckle. Hot anger licked against the back of my neck.Was he laughing at me?I stood up at that. My face, I hoped, was calm and collected. No one is going to laugh at me while I sat down and took it.
He shook his head, clearly noting my growing impatience. The smirk on his face didn't budge. I flared my nostrils and breathed out slowly.You need this job. You like this job. Don’t blow it over this guy. Don’t go off the-
“Yes, I would like your help with something,” he said. His voice was deep and powerful. It rumbled through my body like a clap of distant thunder. My head felt dizzy.
“Yes?” I asked, as Patty Simmons walked out of the store. It was a slow morning, and I knew she had been the only other customer left. We were alone.
“Could I hide behind there?” he said, pointing over at the counter.
“What?” I gasped incredulously.
“Could I hide behind there - the counter," He repeated as though his request was perfectly normal, andIwas the one being unreasonable? "I need to get away from my..." he said squinting at me, "-some people and I’m pretty they spotted me come in here, they'll be here any minute, and I can't deal with them right now." he said looking around, "your shop is tiny, the only place I can see to hide is behind the counter," he said.
I looked back at him baffled. What was going on? People didn't come into bookshops to make obscene requests. Who asks to be hidden? I could only think of criminals and spies.
“You need to be hidden?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“From the police,” I whispered cautiously. I glanced up at the security camera, hoping he would follow my gaze. I wanted to warn him that if he tried anything funny, he would be caught on camera. Well, technically, he wouldn't. The security camera was more for show. Emma had said that installing a real security system was a waste of money. She had a point; the shop was located in the quietest part of Richmond. Robbery was not a common occurrence, especially not for books.
"The camera would act as a deterrent anyway," Emma had theorised. For the most part, she was right. We never had an issue with reconciling our stock and sales. As long as I kept an eye on Mr Andrews, who had a bad habit of slipping war history books into his pockets, it was all fine.
My eyes wandered over to the man. He didn't look like a criminal, but then again, what does a criminal look like? I glanced at his pockets in search of any suspicious bulges. The only one I found was near his crotch area. Though quite sizeable, I didn’t think it was a weapon of any sorts. My eyes flung back to his face. I warmed with shame as he looked back at me quizzingly. His eyes wafted between laughter and confusion as he shook his head.
“No, not the police,” he said, “I assure you that I’m not a criminal, or an addict or anything else similarly…sordid. I’m just a man who is avoiding certainresponsibilities,” he said vaguely.
I creased my brows as he looked back nervously. To his credit, it wasn’t a desperate nervousness that you might expect from a suspect. It was more of a playful nervousness of someone who was playing hide and seek.
