Drat. It’s almost four already. Will I still make it? Will I still him? These questions make me grimace, but even so I still hurry up the steps, foregoing the long queue for the elevator in my haste. I know I’m being silly, but I can’t help it. I need to see him. My day just doesn’t feel complete if I don’t see him.

When I finally make it to the library I’m panting so hard I have to pause by the doorway – I place my hand against my chest as I try to catch my breath. Is my heart racing fast because I lack exercise…or something else?

You’re hopeless, Evan, my inner badass mocks. You need to get a life.

Mrs. Jenkins looks up from the counter and smiles curiously at me. “You okay?”

I quickly flash her a reassuring smile, explaining, “Just trying to catch my breath.” When she raises a brow, I add, “I took the stairs.”

“Ah.” She clucks her tongue. “You need to exercise more.”

“I know.” I give her a little wave before heading to my usual table at the furthest end of the room. This part of the library has been my private little nook for over half a year. Situated in one corner, my table-for-two faces the window and is surrounded by shelves, making it isolated from the rest of the library. I can spend hours here without anyone bothering me, and that’s exactly why I love it.

My usual routine starts with placing my tote bag on the chair next to me before taking out my stuff (books, notepad, pen, and highlighter) and arranging them neatly on the table.

Today, however, I skip all of these. I don’t even bother taking a seat or putting my bag down. Instead, I go straight to the window and peer---

Oh!

A silent sigh of relief escapes me as I catch a glimpse of him – a tall, dark, and handsome black-haired stranger who’s always impeccably dressed and never fails to display the most exquisite manners. I have no idea who he is, but since the French restaurant he frequents is still located within the university campus, I’ve wondered from time to time if it means he’s a graduate student or a professor. Either way, I have no plans to ever ask around about him, which is why I’ve taken to calling him---

Mr. Beautiful.

I promise I’m not being whimsical about this. I may have been watching him all this time from a second-floor window, but I know my secret nickname for him is fairly accurate. In the six months I’ve been watching him, I’ve been alternately amused and incredulous at how people react to him. Women literally stop dead and stare, while I’ve seen a good number of guys throw him malevolent-looking scowls every time he walks by.

You either love him or hate him, but you definitely can’t ignore Mr. Beautiful.

And he knows it.

It’s in the way he holds himself, with the rather arrogant tilt of his head, and the strong, powerful way he walks. If he’s coming your way, you either step aside or risk getting run over.

Certainly, it doesn’t hurt either that he’s obviously loaded. Sometimes, he arrives in a self-driven Maserati. Other times, I catch sight of him stepping out from the backseat of a chauffeur-driven Bentley. Either way, he never comes alone. He always has arm candy with him. Always. Today’s no different and---

After adjusting the eyeglasses perched on my nose, I squint hard at the woman seated across him, trying to see if she’s familiar. As a self-confessed introvert, I’ve become rather good at observing people and things in general and I never forget a face. So this woman Mr. Beautiful is currently wining and dining?

I shake my head in amazement. She’s a new one. Again! How is this possible? Mr. Beautiful either has an insanely large network of friends…or he’s a shareholder of Tinder, and he’s got insider privileges on new subscribers.

Returning to my seat, I belatedly start on my work, which requires me to translate technical manuals to Japanese. Once in a while, I’d glance out the window, craving for a little distraction in the form of Mr. Beautiful.

Oh.

His lips have curved, and he’s got this familiar-looking smile – it’s unapologetically cocky but irresistibly sexy at the same time, and the message it delivers is pretty straightforward. You might hate me, but it won’t stop you from fucking me.

Like I said: arrogant.

But somehow it works, and I’m not surprised when the woman seated in front of him crosses her legs and wets her lips in response. How can I when I’m affected, too, and the sight of that irritatingly dazzling smile is enough to make my breath catch?

I quickly look down on my notes---

Poor little girl, my inner badass mocks.

But it’s too late.

The reason why I love watching Mr. Beautiful date all those beautiful women is because I also love using it as the basis of my fantasies.

Like now.

Staring down at my notebook, I desperately try to get my back to my translation notes but it’s no use. Instead of Japanese characters I see an imaginary picture forming---

It’s Mr. Beautiful, seated on his usual al fresco table, but instead of the beautiful woman joining him I see---

Myself.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but the imaginary scenario persists.

---

Mr. Beautiful gazes at me under hooded lids. “How long have you known me, Evan?”

“S-six months,” I say stiffly.

“It’s been half a year then,” he muses. “Half a year, and yet you still can’t make yourself come to terms with reality?”

“I don’t know---”

“What I’m talking about?” Mr. Beautiful’s tone is amused. “Bullshit.”

I jerk in my seat.

“Was that too rude?”

“You know it is,” I hiss under my breath.

“What I know,” he murmurs, “is that everything I do turns you on.”

“E-excuse me?”

“You like it when I talk dirty to you---”

“No!”

“You like it when I look at you with lust---”

I start to get up, but Mr. Beautiful is suddenly gripping my hand and yanks me back to my seat. “Can’t bear hearing the truth?” he asks silkily.

I glare at him. “Say what you want, but I know how I feel---”

Mr. Beautiful laughs, and the sound is pure seduction, both deliciously forbidden and overwhelmingly tempting.

“No, darling. You don’t know how you feel…but I do. You want me to take the decision out of your hands. You want me to take charge.” His lips curve into a smirk. “And so that’s what I’ll do.”

His fingers tighten around my wrist.

“When I let go of your hand, you’ll stay in your seat like a good little girl. We’re going to finish our dinner, and then you’re going to let me escort you to my car. You’re going to let me take you to my place. You’ll half-heartedly try to resist me, but I’ll still be able to take you to my room because we both want the same thing. You want me taking off your clothes and fucking you hard---”

A tiny cry inevitably escapes me.

Mr. Beautiful inhales hard. “Ah, Evan.” The glitter of lust in his eyes becomes sharper. “If that’s a preview of the kind of sounds you’d make in bed---” He shakes his head, muttering, “I’ll damn well make sure every move I make will make you burn.”

My hands fly up to cover my mouth.

How can he say such things to me, a woman he barely knows---

I gulp hard.

And yet…why am I now wet and aching, like I can’t wait for him to do the things he---

---

“Evan?”

I crash back to earth, and for a few moments I find myself blinking at Mrs. Jenkins, unable to understand why I’m seeing the librarian when it’s supposed to be Mr. Beautiful in front of me, seducing me, and succeeding.

“What do you think? Can you stand in for me for a few minutes? I just need to dash to the English department and get some papers signed by Professor M.”

The sight of Mrs. Jenkins’ hopeful look makes me mentally shake my head, and I summon a smile, saying, “Sure.”

“Oh, thank you!”

As I gather my stuff, the librarian asks if I’ve already started with my internship, and I shake my head. “I’ll be starting this Monday.”

Her face falls. “So I guess I won’t see you around after today.”

The look of disappointment that crosses Mrs. Jenkins’ face is a touching surprise, and I assure her readily, “I may still need to drop by during weekends.” Which means while Mrs. Jenkins is guaranteed to see me around---

Today might be the last time I’ll see him, I realize, since Mr. Beautiful never drops by during weekends.

The thought creates a curious little pang in my heart, and before following the librarian to the counter I find myself glancing outside the window one last time---

He’s pulling the chair out for his date, and I watch her say something as she comes to her feet. Whatever it is, it’s caused him to throw his head back and laugh. A moment later, his arm curls around her waist---

Oh!

Why do you keep torturing yourself, my inner bad girl asks tiredly. Why don’t you just look away?

Good question, so much so that it doesn’t even need an answer. What it requires is but a simple action. All I have to do is look away and I won’t be hurt.

But as always I do the opposite, and as I watch Mr. Beautiful pull his date closer to him I feel the pang in my heart become more excruciating---

Mr. Beautiful covers the woman’s mouth with his.

---until a wound opens in my heart.

That should have been you, my inner bad girl says bluntly, if only you had the guts to ask him out.

Most of the women around the couple have stopped and stared, and I’m betting they feel the same way I do.

Jealous.

Frustrated.

But more than anything else---

Aroused.

The wound in my heart only starts to close when Mr. Beautiful finally lifts his head.

Lucky girl, I think with a sigh.

I may disapprove of Mr. Beautiful’s womanizing ways but it doesn’t make me blind to the fact that he’s a good kisser. He has to be, considering how the women in his life don’t seem to care that he’s dividing his, err, attention among a hundred lovers.

Mr. Beautiful’s familiar-looking sports car then drives into view, and I sigh again, realizing that he’s about to leave.

This is it, then.

Our very last time to see each other, I think wistfully.

Goodbye, Mr. Beautiful.

I’m about to turn away when I see Mr. Beautiful raise his head---

And his eyes unerringly find mine.