Page 88 of Rock Bottom Girl

“I’d never wear those shoes,” she quipped. “I’d spend more time falling down than walking.”

“Be honest. You didn’t see those two together and wonder?”

“Isn’t that natural?” she dodged the question.

I slid my arm around her shoulders and guided her toward my SUV.

“How the hell should I know?”

“Haven’t you ever run into an ex-sex partner and wondered what it would be like if you were still with them?”

“Nope.”

“God, this is why I never showed my face in town after graduation,” Marley complained. “It’s like holding up a mirror to every single mistake I ever made.”

“Like breaking up with Travis?”

“You sound mad,” she said, looking up at me with a frown.

“Mad? Ha. I’m not mad.” I was totally mad. Illogically mad.

“Annoyed? Irked? Filled with rage?”

“Are you supposed to make a guy feel like second fiddle on a first date?” I asked.

She opened her mouth and then closed it. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch.”

She winced. “Okay. That’s fair. If this were a real date, I’d definitely owe you an apology.”

“Why don’t you demonstrate one for me right now so I’ll know the real thing when it comes along?” We were in front of the library, a squat, yellow brick building that also housed the police department. My car was just a few spots down, but I pulled her to a stop.

“Fine. Jake?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for making you feel like second fiddle. It wasn’t my intention, and I was just kind of shocked to see him tonight. I wasn’t mentally prepared to face the past when I was having such a good time with you, and I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” I said.

“Do you forgive that easily?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Let’s find out.” I dipped my fingers into the V of her shirt and yanked her up against me. I’d been thinking about it since I woke up with her this morning. Feeling the weight and heat, the press of her body.

Before she could complain or take a swing at me, I crushed my mouth to hers.

I told myself I was just doing a little PDA duty, putting on an act. Maybe making her forget all about Travis Hostetter and his alligator shirts.

But then her tongue danced around mine. Her hands gripped my shoulders. Her hips rocked into me. Blindly, I stumbled over to one of the library’s pillars at the foot of its stairs. I pressed her against the brick and tasted her. She made my blood sing with those sexy little moans.

I went hard in the blink of an eye and shamelessly thrust against her. My dick demanded to be let loose, and I had trouble remembering where we were. My hands were everywhere. Skimming her sides, teasing the undersides of her breasts. I wanted them bare and crushed against me. I wanted to rut inside her and hear her say my name, breathless and needy.

Loud throat-clearing yanked me back to reality. I stopped kissing Marley but couldn’t bear to step away from her and give her some space.

“The library isnotfor necking,” Mrs. Ritter, the head librarian, said crisply. She was dressed in schoolmarm brown. Brown clogs. Brown dress. Brown cardigan. Disapproving look on her face. When I was a teenager, I’d been a little obsessed with wondering whether letting her hair out of her tight bun and taking off her nerd glasses would transform her into the sexy librarian. I never got my answer, but I liked to think at home Mrs. Ritter would let her hair down and do naked Pilates or something.

“Sorry, Mrs. Ritter,” I said sheepishly.