Page 23

Ten
Henley
What am I doing?
Holy shit.
What am I doing?
Yesterday was one thing.
It was fun to think that someone looking up at my apartment would be able to see us. What we were doing. The way Conner was fucking me. Like he owned me. How out of control I was. How much I liked it.
It was fun because somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t real. The windows are covered with a Mylar tint, like a two-way mirror. No one could see us.
This is different.
This is a public place.
There is a very real possibility that someone will see us.
I want to spend the night.
Yes or no.
I push the thought out of my mind because I don’t want to think about it. How close I came to saying yes. How hurt he looked when I didn’t.
He doesn’t look hurt anymore.
In fact, he seems to have forgotten all about it. He looked up from his book (my book) and gave me that cocky grin of his, the one that stiffens the back of my neck, even as it weakens my knees. Makes me want to strangle him. Makes it hard to look at him and breathe at the same time.
It’s like it never happened.
Like I imagined the whole thing.
I’m here to see how quiet you can be while I make you come.
And then the elevator doors slide open and he breezes past me, my worn copy of Gatsby tucked into the back pocket of his battered jeans, without so much as a backward glance.
Like he didn’t care if I followed him.
Like it didn’t matter to him, either way.
I tell myself that I’m going back downstairs. That he’s crazy if he thinks I’m going to follow him. That I have too much to lose to play his games.
Then the doors start to close and somehow, I’m on the other side of them, following him.
He seems to know exactly where he’s going, weaving himself deeper and deeper into the stacks. Turning corners and slipping between shelves, so fast and sure, I lose sight of him. It makes me wonder how many times he’s done this. Led girls through the stacks so he can—
Strong, callused fingers close over my wrist, jerking me out of the aisle and into a dark, narrow space between the stacks. He pulls me deeper into the dark, turning me to push me against one of the shelves.
“I don’t think this is—”
“Don’t worry, Daisy. I work fast.” He breathes it into my ear, his hands closing over the lapels of my jacket to jerk it off my shoulders. His fingers fly down the delicate row of buttons holding my shirt closed, quick and sure. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
Jerking my shirt from the waistband of my skirt, he turns me again. The smell of old books fills my nose. The musty scent of timeworn paper pressed against my cheek. “Con—”
“Shhh…” He’s behind me, the length of him hot and rigid against the curve of my ass. His lips press against a spot behind my ear before he whispers in it. “People are trying to study.”