When I was a kid, I imagined being a librarian would consist of days filled with books. Shelving books. Helping people find the book they’re looking for. Checking out books.

The truth is that, while do those things on occasion, being a librarian consists of a lot of paperwork. Meetings. Applying grants. Getting your grant proposals rejected. Re-applying for grants.

Margo put me in charge of revitalizing the Teen Reading Center and so far, I’m doing a pretty dismal job of it. The budget I’ve been given is laughable. I’ve spent more on a single pay of shoes. The fact that I’m expected to turn a dusty, old corner of the library into a place where kids want to hang out with what basically amounts to pocket change is as frustrating as it is disheartening. I’ve been staring at my computer screen for over an hour, trying to come up with some ideas but everything costs money. Money I don’t have. I’ve forgotten what being poor feels like. I’m ashamed to say I don’t miss the feeling.

At all.

Giving up with a sigh, I close down my computer and gather my stuff. Slinging my purse strap over my shoulder, I shut off my lights and lock my door. Waving to the other librarians, I make my way to the elevator. Staff offices are on the second floor, sandwiched between the main floor of the library and third-floor reference.

As usual, thinking about the third-floor makes me think about Conner. Thinking about Conner sends a rush of warmth skating down my spine where it spreads through my belly. Settles between my thighs.

Shifting uncomfortably, I chew on my lower lip. Suddenly, lack of funding isn’t the only thing I’m frustrated about.

It’s Thursday and I haven’t so much as heard a peep from Conner since that Sunday afternoon at his parents’ house. After he kissed me, it was like he flipped some sort of internal switch and that was it. Whatever had been happening between us was over.

Declan and Patrick showed up and we all ate dinner together. We laughed and joked. He told his mother about the day I chipped my tooth and even though I shouldn’t be, I’m surprised and strangely touched that he remembers every detail. Seems almost proud when he tells her about the way I knocked him off the plate and won the game.

After dinner, his mom stood up and started to gather dishes and like he always did, Conner’s dad took them from her and said, nope, that’s my job. I looked at Conner when he said it to find him watching me, his expression telling me he’s remembering the same thing I am. The day he showed up at my apartment and I made him pancakes. The day he fucked me in front of the window and asked me if he could stay.

The day I told him no.

Then he blinks, and the memory is gone. He gives me one of his cocky grins. Then he stands up and helps his dad clear the table.

When I left, he and his dad were cleaning the kitchen, elbow deep in dishes, rinsing them off while his dad loaded them into the dishwasher. I gave Mr. Gilroy a hug and thanked him for having me over. He laughed at me and told me to stop thanking him.

“Goodbye, Conner,” I say, feeling awkward and a little ridiculous considering what we’ve been doing together when no one else is looking. But that’s over now. Conner and I are friends.

Just friends.

And friends say goodbye to each other when one of them leaves.

“See you around.” He shoots me a quick smile over his shoulder while he passes a dinner plate over to his dad, so he can load it into the dishwasher.

That was it.

That was the last thing he said to me.

See you around.

So yeah, I’m a little bit surprised when the elevator doors slide open and I find him leaning at the information desk, talking to Margo.

Holy shit, does he have to be so hot? Do I have to feel like I’m on the verge of a catastrophic event, every time I look at him?

The elevator doors start to close, and I scramble to get off of it before they shut in my face. Recovering, I smooth my hands down the front of my dress and take a deep breath before starting toward him.

Friends.

Just friends.

Like I said it out loud, Conner turns, mid-sentence, to look at me. As soon as he sees me, he straightens himself and says his goodbyes to Margo before leaving her behind the desk to meet me in the middle.

People are looking at us, but I’ve come to accept that people are going to always do that. We’re too different. He’s too beautiful. He seems oblivious to it, the way people look at him. I don’t think he’s oblivious at all. I think he’s just used to it.

Has learned to ignore it.

Pretend it doesn’t bother him.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt it out, my impulsivity staining my cheeks.

My blunt question quirks at the corner of his mouth. “Hello to you too.”

“I’m sorry.” His greeting stains my cheeks, admonishes me for being rude, whether he meant to or not. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just—”

“Wondering what I’m doing here?” he says, giving me another grin. “I got that.”

Shut up now, Henley. Just stop talking.

When I don’t say anything else, Conner shrugs. “I thought maybe you’d want to try seeing your dad again.”

Oh.

“But it’s Thursday.” Jesus, thank you Captain Obvious. I take a deep breath and start over. “I mean, don’t you have a shift at the bar?”

“I’m on hiatus,” he says, his tone telling me that it’s more than that. That he’s been benched and doesn’t want to talk about it.

“I can’t go like this.” I look down at my dress. My heels. The pearls Jeremy gave me for my twenty-first birthday. “I—”

“I’ll follow you home,” he says, his tone easy and reasonable. “You can change and then we can go.” I wait for him to give me an out. To tell me I don’t have to go if I don’t want to.

He doesn’t.

He knows what I’m doing. He knows me better than anyone. I’m afraid. I’m stalling and he’s doing what he’s always done for me.

He’s waiting for me to catch up.

Finally, I nod. “Okay. Let’s go see my dad.”