More Than Words – By Crystal Perkins #3
Once I came to my senses and opened the library for her, I knew I had to do something.
I assured everyone we were just having a budget meeting and closed the library for some privacy.
No one questioned why we didn’t just go up to her office or mine.
They’re still a little scared of me, so they assumed I insisted.
Good thing they don’t know I’m at her mercy and not the other way around.
Or that she can have any budget she wants for the library.
She could literally have every penny I have to my name if it makes her happy.
Unfortunately, I had meetings I couldn’t get out of scheduled for the rest of the afternoon.
The next best thing I could do was send her the flowers I know are her favorite with a handwritten note.
Luckily, there’s a florist downstairs and I could hold off one of the meetings for a few minutes to sprint down there.
I probably should’ve gotten a confidentiality vow from the florist, but there wasn’t time.
She promised to deliver the flowers hours ago, and I’ve heard nothing from Bel.
Not a DM, email, nothing. I know she may not want leave a trail, but a “thank you” would’ve helped my anxiety a little bit.
Once my last call ends, I grab my jacket and laptop, say a quick goodbye to Tarsha, and walk quickly down the stairs.
I want to run, but I refrain from being that desperate.
Barely, but I manage it. The library is, of course, bustling with people.
I know Bel leaves it open an hour after work.
She frequently works more than forty hours, and gets paid very well.
Not well enough, by the looks of things.
There are no fewer than fifty of my employees in here, in small groups and alone.
I need to give her a raise, but now is probably not the time to bring it up.
I’m surprised to see her coming down the stairs with her purse in her hand. Dammit. I was hoping to talk to her alone. This is going to be tricky, but I’ve been thinking on my feet for years.
“Bel, I didn’t know you were leaving early. I was hoping to speak with you,” I say, standing at the bottom of the stairs. She’s two steps up, so we’re at eye level.
“I stay later tomorrow because of book club, so I usually leave a little early the day before. I promise I work all the hours I’m paid for.”
Her tone is defensive, and it gets my hackles up as well. “I don’t believe I have ever said you don’t do your job. I am not questioning it now. I just didn’t know.”
“My hours are on the shared calendar.”
“There are still a lot of people here,” I remind her.
“The library is always open. No one would steal the books, and if they did, well, they needed the book more than the library did. I can replace it.”
“That sounds like an unnecessary expense when you could just close.”
Am I aware that it’s gotten so quiet you can hear a pin drop? Do I care? Stupidly, no, I don’t.
“If it’s a problem, I will pay for any missing books from my own salary. I’ll take inventory tomorrow,” she glares at me, her green eyes blazing with a different kind of heat than they had earlier this afternoon.
I apparently feel like digging my own grave, as I go all in on my idiocy. “What about the decor, the lights, anything else?”
“Is there not security in this building, Mr. Greer? And cameras? Who do you think is going to walk out with a fucking lamp on camera?”
We have a staring contest for the next minute or so. I don’t want to back down in front of my employees, but a small piece of my brain realizes I’m about to pass the point of no return.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s been a long day.”
“At least you didn’t say it was a bad one,” she hisses as she walks down one step, leans over, and whispers so only I can hear.
“Never.”
“Goodnight, then.”
“Wait, did you read the note?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh, okay. I, um, yeah. Okay.”
It’s not, but what can I do? I’m not going to embarrass her further. I just hope she reads it at some point and gives me another chance.
Bel
I needed some comfort food after work, so I stopped for a French Dip from Phillippe’s.
I know some people like Cole’s better, but Phillippe’s is it for me.
That juicy deliciousness makes me feel slightly better, but there’s still an ache in my chest. What could’ve been a dream day turned into a nightmare.
I’ll admit I could’ve been nicer when he came into the library after work. But when he questioned my management of the place I created, I lost it. Oscar Greer brings out sides of me that have been long hidden, and I alternately like and hate him for it.
Once I’m changed into some comfy clothes and have some Housewives bickering on my TV, I pull the note from the flowers from my tote bag.
I probably should’ve read it earlier, but the library was super busy, and I didn’t want an audience for whatever I was about to find.
Better to do this alone. Now, I open the small envelope and pull out the card.
Dear Bel,
I’m sorry about earlier. Well, not all of earlier but the part where I said something stupid.
I can’t erase my past, and I guess I really don’t want to.
Everything we do in life makes us who we are, shapes us.
The good, the bad, and the debauched made me who I am.
I like to think I’m a pretty good guy. I’d like to show you that if you’ll give me another chance and let me try.
Please let me try. I’ll do that thing with my tongue again.
Oscar
He’s ridiculous. And, I’m totally blushing right now thinking about his tongue.
His words are great, and they make sense, but I need more than words.
He gave me his phone number after our initial meeting, telling me to let him know if I needed anything, so I text him now.
I thank him, and tell him exactly what I’m thinking.
I’m going to give whatever we have going another chance, but I need more than sex.
Unless that’s all he wants. I leave it all up to him to show me.
He doesn’t text me back, but I have a new Instagram follower a bit later.
It’s not his hockey username—yes, I checked it out—but I know it’s him.
Who else would be “hckynerd101” with a private profile I have to request to follow back?
I’m not that exciting, but it will be interesting to see if he comments on anything.
By the time I’m ready for bed, my follow back request has been approved, but there’s not even a like on any of my posts. I guess he’s realized I’m not really that exciting either.
Oscar
It’s been hell ignoring the library today, but I have a plan, and it has to be after work.
When Bel texted me that she needed actions as well as words, I knew checking out her social media would be a good idea.
Her posts are funny, and I also found several to be unintentionally sexy.
Reels of her talking about books with a messy bun and glasses while wearing a book-themed tee?
It’s become my new kink. I didn’t comment or like anything, but I did get myself off, and I don’t feel even a little bit weird about it.
It was what she shared in a story that was about to expire that has me slipping into the empty library after work, though.
I know she’s staying later for a book club, but they shouldn’t be here for another hour.
Plenty of time for this. I turn the cameras off again, and strip.
She’s got fluffy throw blankets all over, so I didn’t need to bring one.
I stretch out on one of the couches facing the staircase, and cover my junk with the blanket, settling it low enough to show off my obliques. One foot on the floor and an arm behind my head, and I am ready for her to come down the stairs.
Only, I somehow forgot that things rarely go exactly as planned. I’m only alone for about a minute and it’s not Bel who finds me. I hear the voices but don’t register them in time.
“Oscar Greer, what are you doing?” Maggie Griffin yells.
“Really, Oz?” Tegan Hall asks.
“Do you think that blanket will accidentally slide lower?” Jane Corrigan snickers.
“Dear God, please stop,” her granddaughter-in-law, Reina Corrigan pleads.
Bel comes running down the stairs. “What in the world? Oscar?”
“Hey, Bel. Um, this is a little awkward,” I admit, finally jumping up and wrapping the blanket around me. I probably should’ve done it sooner, but I wanted her to see me first.
“You think?” she asks, pulling me over to one of the corners of the room as everyone else doesn’t even pretend not to stare.
“I thought your book club started at seven. I wanted to surprise you like you said you wanted on your Instagram story. You said you’d want a guy to greet you on a couch like the guy in the photo. I was recreating it.”
“Oh, wow. If we were alone that would be super sexy. But we had to move book club earlier since half the group has to fly back to Vegas tonight.”
“Ahh, got it. But it wasn’t even a little sexy? I thought about oiling up my abs, but thought it would be overkill.”
She glances down and bites her bottom lip. “It really would’ve. Your abs need no extra embellishment.”
“Good to know.”
I want to say more, but Tegan walks over. Somehow, I think my Vegas friends and Bel’s book club are overlapping. It’s weird, but kind of cool, too.“Sorry to break this—whatever this is—up, but we have a hot hockey player to discuss, and no, it’s not you,” she tells me with a smirk.
“Oh, you’re talking about a hockey romance? Who is it? Helena Hunting? Sawyer Bennett? Mira Lyn Kelly? Kelly Jamieson?”
They both look at me like I’ve grown two heads. That ain’t happening with the crowd here, but I smile just the same.
“Ladies, Oliver Greer knows hockey romance! Should we let him join us tonight?” Tegan yells out the question, and they all start insisting I participate.
Bel rolls her eyes. “It’s Played by Naima Simone.”