Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
AARON
I should not be thinking about the way Juliette’s tits looked while she was bouncing on top of me while I’m reading a copy of Cricket Newton’s Misfit Adventure to a group of kindergarteners, but here we are.
This is less than ideal.
Folded onto a teeny, tiny chair, I’m completely surrounded by cherubic expressions and big, curious doe eyes. Ponytails and juice-stained faces, all of them waiting for me to begin the story.
Fuck.
I glance over my shoulder and spot Juliette by the circulation counter, leaning and grinning at something an older woman is saying, a romance novel clutched in her hands that she probably plans on checking out.
Jeans. Sensible flats. Ice Wolves sweatshirt with a prim collar peeking out the crewneck.
Her hair is pulled into two buns at the top of her head—space buns, I heard her tell the librarian—and small pearl earrings are nestled in her lobes.
Now if only I could stop imagining her naked…
“You’re big,” one of the kids tells me.
“Why is your nose crooked?” another asks.
“It looks broken,” the little girl next to him announces.
“It was broken,” I correct her. “Three times.”
They gasp.
“Three times?” a boy echoes, eyes wide. “Did you get in a fight?”
“I play hockey,” I inform them proudly. “Occupational hazard.”
“What’s occupational?” the little girl asks, scratching her nose then sticking her finger in it.
I shift on the microscopic chair, and it creaks in protest, the thin aluminum legs in danger of giving out under my weight. My knees are practically in my armpits.
The kids don’t seem to give a shit, continuing to interrupt the story. They’re more interested in me than Cricket Newton.
“What happened to your ears?” someone asks in a tiny voice from the back row, and my eyes find the petite blonde with pigtails.
Involuntarily, I reach up to touch my left ear. I had no idea there was anything wrong with them. “Probably got whacked in the head with a stick too many times.”
More gasps.
Do they know nothing about hockey?
Where did Juliette find these kids?
None of them are fans of mine. None of them have a clue who I am!
She moves from the circulation desk and pulls her phone out of her back pocket, snapping several pictures.
Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, fucking Garrett Storm strolls into the room and saunters over to her. I do my best to ignore them both when a girl raises her hand.
“Yes?”
“Are you married?”
The room goes quiet.
Juliette’s head snaps up.
“Nope,” I answer evenly.
“Do you have kids?”
“Nope.”
The little girl scrunches up her nose. “Why not?”
I blink at her. “Because I like sleep. And relaxing vacations that don’t require me playing lifeguard.”
A few of them giggle. One kid leans both elbows against my knees, getting comfortable in my personal space.
I open the book again before this turns into a full-blown interrogation.
“Alright guys, focus. This story is about a bear who refuses to hibernate.”
Another scrawny arm shoots into the air.
I sigh. “Yes?”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
I feel Storm’s gaze on my face and watch his brows lift.
“That is not relevant to this event,” I say calmly. “Or the story.”
The kid with the noodle arms frowns, raising her arm but not waiting to be called on. “My mom says you can’t trust a man who’s never been married by the time he’s forty.”
The librarian coughs to hide a laugh.
“I am not forty, and your mom has no idea what she’s talking about.”
I flip the page of the book and keep reading about Cricket Newton and her misadventures, all of which these children continue giving zero fucks about.
A small voice cuts in again. “How old are you?”
“Older than you.”
“Are you thirty?” One of them gasps like thirty is ancient.
“Maybe.”
“Do you live with your mom?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” I say patiently. “I’m a grown man.”
“Do you snore?” a boy asks.
My gaze rises, and I meet Juliette’s eyes when I say, “I don’t know.”
Another hand goes up. “Are you rich?”
I almost choke. “Define rich.”
“Like… can you buy a dinosaur?”
“No.”
“Then you’re not rich.”
Fair enough.
“Are you nice?” someone else asks.
“Yes, he’s nice.” Juliette finally interrupts, walking to the small chair I’m struggling to stay perched on, resting her hands on my shoulders before remembering she probably shouldn’t be touching me.
“Young ladies and tiny gentlemen, let’s let Mr. Bishop finish his story, shall we?
He drove all this way to spend time with you. ”
She steps back, smoothing the front of her sweatshirt, but this over-eager crowd is still not convinced they’d rather hear the story than pester me.
“He looks grumpy.”
“I am not grumpy.”
From across the room, Storm lets out a bellowing cackle. “You are a little grumpy.”
The kid ignores him.
I shut the book with more force than necessary. “Alright. Story time is over before this turns into a therapy session.”
They groan.
A tiny set of arms wraps around my waist from the side without warning. I freeze, then awkwardly pat the kid’s back.
“Thank you for reading,” she says.
“Yeah,” I reply, even though I only got through five pages. “You’re welcome.”
Juliette clears her throat and claps as if she’s done this a million times. “Alright, kids. Let’s thank Mr. Bishop one more time.”
They clap again, chaotic and enthusiastic.
As they’re herded toward the craft tables, Storm wanders over to my tiny chair, sticking his hand out in an attempt to help me out of it.
I take it begrudgingly, coming to my feet. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs. “Came to see two of my favorite people.”
That has Juliette bursting into laughter. “Stop flirting, for the love of God. We are at a work function.”
He stabs me in the chest with his meaty finger. “No, he’s at a work function. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in.”
He grins and I want to smack it off his face.
“In the neighborhood,” I repeat flatly. “You live twenty minutes in the opposite direction.”
He spreads his hands. “I take the scenic route.”
Juliette rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Do you always show up uninvited?”
“Only when I hear there’s a six-foot-four enforcer reading to preschoolers,” Storm says. “Didn’t want to miss that.” He glances down at the chair that’s now toppled over on the ground. “You seriously fit on that?”
“No, I didn’t fit on that.”
Juliette smiles at us both, her gaze lingering on me. Sparkling. Happy. Probably still basking from being fucked three times the other night; in fact, I’m surprised she’s able to walk straight.
Storm clocks her expression—of course he fucking does.
He watches the way her smile shifts when she looks at him—polite, controlled—and then the way it softens when her eyes slide back to me. The difference is slight, but it’s there. Storm’s grin doesn’t falter, yet something looks more calculating.
His beady eyes miss nothing.
Shit.
“So,” he says a bit too casually, rocking back on his heels. “You two carpool here?”
Juliette’s posture stiffens. “It’s a team outreach event.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Well, that was her answer,” I cut in, putting myself squarely between him and whatever he thinks he’s sniffing out.
Fucker, chill.
“Right.” He studies me like I’ve confirmed something for him. “I’m just making conversation. Relaxi taxi.”
“I am relaxed.”
Juliette clears her throat and shifts the paperback she’s holding against her chest. “We coordinate these things through the department calendar I was telling you about when we were looking at the gala event space.” Her tone is bright. “When you’re ready to schedule community events, let me know!”
His lips curve smugly. “Do you go everywhere with everyone on the team, or only with Bishop here?”
And there it is…
She hesitates. He’s boxed her into a corner and we all know it. She doesn’t trail every guy on the roster to every appearance. Nobody does. It would be impossible. Logistically, realistically.
She knows it.
I know it.
Storm knows it.
“I go where I’m assigned, if I’m assigned,” she says smoothly. “Today, it was Aaron.”
“Like a chaperone.”
She smiles patiently. “Yes, I am technically a chaperone.”
Storm tilts his head, eyeballing us suspiciously. “Lucky guy.”
I might agree that we’re lucky to have a work sanctioned moment together, but Juliette and I have barely had three seconds to ourselves since walking through the library doors—which is a damn shame since I haven’t seen her since she left my place.
I clear my throat. “If you’re volunteering for the next interrogation by preschool-aged children, Storm, I’ll happily put your name down.”
I signed up for this shit weeks ago; it’s merely a happy coincidence that Juliette came along and made it this much more…
Pleasant?
Nope. Not the right word for it…
“Volunteer?” He snorts. “Hard pass.”
Her brows go up. “Really? You seem like the first person who would offer up their time. You were giving me fun vibes during that tour of the event space…”
Storm shrugs. “I would rather read sci-fi or horror.”
I chuckle. “What about picture books—are those your speed? What’d they do up in Canada? Shove a hockey stick in your hand and call it a day, eh?”
He laughs. “Something like that.”
“Then stop grilling Juliette. She’s doing her job.” I clap him on the shoulder and squeeze until he winces. “You’re exhausting.”
“I’m the perfect wing man.” He shakes me off.
“You’re bored,” I reply.
Juliette is amused now, biting her bottom lip to hold in her laugh. “How did you find out we were going to be here?”
“Yeah, you weirdo. Are you following me?” Or her?
“Naw. Stopped by the office and the social media girl was in the hallway and said something about the foundation sponsoring it. I thought we were supposed to be here. Show up, take some pics, be a hero,” Storm insists, flexing his bicep. “No one told me it was kids.”
“You came to a library and weren’t expecting books?” I ask, at the same time as a group of kids run past us screaming about glitter and glue, and Storm flinches as if one of them has sacked him in the nuts.
“There’s no way you could’ve handled five minutes in that chair,” I boast.
“I could handle it,” he argues.
“You one hundred percent could not.”
Juliette grins at him. “We’ll sign you up next time.”
“No fuckin way, dude—I’d rather sign autographs.”
She grins wider. “We can arrange that, too.”
We start toward the door, then he turns to me. “For the record, you did look grumpy in that chair.”
“I was not grumpy.”
“You were a little grumpy,” Juliette chimes in. “Especially when that little cutie asked what was wrong with your ears.”
Storm beams as if he’s won something. “See?”
“Jesus Christ, there is nothing wrong with my ears!”
He snorts. “Says you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Shhh,” Juliette hisses under her breath, glancing around. “People can hear you.”
Storm laughs and barrels ahead, pushing through the library doors. The afternoon sunlight hits all three of us at once, the real world rushing back in—cars in the lot, parents wrangling their toddlers back into booster seats, the hum of a normal afternoon.
“Well, gentlemen. It was wonderful seeing you both.” Juliette smiles at us like we’re mildly embarrassing but manageable idiots. “Drive safe. Have fun at practice.”
There’s a half-second where it feels like one of us might linger.
We don’t.
Not with Storm up our assholes.
He goes one way. Juliette another. I unlock my truck and climb in, shutting the door with more force than necessary.
Silence fills the cab.
I sit idly for exactly three seconds.
Then I pull my phone out of the console cupholder and hit her name.
It rings once.
Twice.
She answers on the third with a breathy sigh. “Hi.”
“He is so dumb,” I say. “Like, a total dipshit.”
Juliette laughs. “Let’s give him some credit—he definitely knew something was off. Which means, if he can sense it, other people will be able to sense it.”
I lean back against my seat, tapping my fingers on the armrest. “Does it bother you?”
“Maybe a little,” she says honestly. “Does it bother you?”
Fuck no.
I glance out the window at nothing in particular: an SUV pulls past; a woman loads a stroller into a minivan. “It bothers me that it bothers you.”
Silence stretches. “Is that so?”
I shrug, though she can’t see me. “Possibly.”
“Hmm. Do you suppose Garrett was jealous?”
Yeah.
Dude was definitely jealous.
“I don’t think Storm has the emotional depth for jealousy,” I say dryly. “He likes stirring the pot.”
“He was trying so hard to flirt with me while you were with the kids,” she counters.
“Flirting is his whole personality.”
She laughs. “No, this was different.”
I drum my fingers lightly on the steering wheel. “You’re giving him way too much credit.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, well…” she says slowly. “If he was jealous, that would imply that he’s… that he…”
She can’t say it, so I’ll say it for her: “That he’s attracted to you? He can take a number and get in line.”
It’s also entirely possible that Storm is into Juliette because I’m into Juliette.
Men are simple creatures. See another man holding something shiny? Suddenly, we need it, even if we didn’t know it existed five minutes ago.
Hence, his appearance here.
The library.
Of all the places for him to randomly show up, it had to be between a children’s reading nook and a rack of donated romance novels. Like, give me a fucking break.
From my spot near the entrance, I watch Juliette’s car back out of the parking spot and ease into the street. Her brake lights glow red for a second before she turns the corner and disappears.
“You heading home?” I ask.
She hums softly through the phone. “Yup. Well, no. I’m going to my friend’s place.” A pause. “Have a good time at practice.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I’ll try.”
Not likely.
Not with Declan Kennedy breathing down my neck, sniffing around for… something. He’s paranoid. Protective. And a lot fearful I’m going to spill his dirty little secret to his precious sister.
I mean—I will.
Eventually.