Chapter Four
My backpack shifted to the left, sending me into the metal wall. The third floor might be quieter, but it was a pain in the ass to get to. Even with the elevator. The library wasn’t exactly crutch friendly with tight corners and narrow halls.
I tightened the strap and maneuvered my way out of the elevator just as the doors opened. The elevator was in the middle of the building. I could go right toward the dusty stacks or left toward the buzzing overhead lights. Neither direction was a win, so I went left. If all else failed, I’d end up circling the entire floor.
The third floor was like any other part of the library, only dustier. The semicircular help desk didn’t even have a chair behind it, but the dust on the oak counter was thick enough to practice my autograph. Bookshelves towered to the ceiling filled with tomes that may not have been opened in decades, standing like dominoes waiting for a push. Why would anyone bother coming up here?
Glancing around, I realized I had no clue where the microfiche section was. Hell, I didn’t even know what a microfiche was. This wasn’t starting out well. I turned right, away from the useless help desk, and headed into the stacks. The dust tickled my nose as I passed the elevator. Should’ve made a right. Story of my life these days. Always heading in the wrong direction.
I emerged from the stack maze and spied hair at a table in the corner. It was as bright as a Miller Lite fresh from the tap. The hair moved, and Mallory met my stare. I stumbled back, putting my left leg down to keep myself from falling. The pain shot around the knee and tightened, squeezing my breath from my lungs.
Holy shit, she was beautiful. Her hazel eyes were huge, and it looked as if someone had painted her skin in silk, adding the splatter of freckles as an afterthought. Mallory stood, but she didn’t get any taller. She had to be almost a foot shorter than my six-two, although her hair added a couple of inches on its own. The exact opposite of Trish in every way. Trish’s eyes were steel gray, her chestnut hair cropped at her shoulders, and she was taller than Mallory. Maybe that’s why I thought Mallory was gorgeous. She wasn’t Trish.
“Here,” she said, her voice noticeably kinder than our previous chat, “let me help with that.”
She reached for my backpack and slid her fingers under the strap. I shivered at her touch.
This wasn’t good. Not at all. Either I was desperate for any chick’s touch, or this woman was more dangerous than I imagined. I was going with desperate. Trish’s fingers skimming over my chest popped into my head. I shook it off. It wasn’t the time, and I didn’t want to remember that shit anymore.
I followed Mallory to the table. She pulled out two chairs, one for me and one for my leg. I sat down, grateful to be off the crutches and awed at her consideration. It must have shown on my face.
Mallory blushed, and I just about lost control. I’d been attracted to other women before, but having Trish stopped me from thinking past the “she’s hot” stage. That wasn’t an issue anymore, and my body seemed to know it. Physical attraction didn’t mean shit. I’d had it with Trish, and look how that turned out. I covertly adjusted myself, focusing my thoughts on her kindness instead of her sexiness.
“What?” She sat across the table, arranging the books in front of her. Mallory raised her eyebrows, calling me out with that one simple gesture.
I shrugged, and her eyebrows disappeared farther into her curls. Biting my tongue, I decided to answer somewhat honestly. “Today’s been kinda rough. For the most part, people haven’t been all that…considerate about the crutches. I mean, it was really nice of you to take the backpack and pull out two chairs and…well, thanks.”
Mallory rested her chin on her freckled fist. “I’m surprised that the famous Aaron Betts was ignored. Somehow, I figured your girlfriend would be at your beck and call. I half expected her to show up with you here.”
I snorted at the idea of Trish in the library. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Mallory glanced at a paper in front of her. Without looking at me, she said in her less than pleasant voice, “We’ve wasted too much time already. Let’s get started.”
Thirty minutes and a thousand fried brain cells later, Mallory shook her head in frustration. I couldn’t remember anything she tried to teach me. I had no clue who the Rosenbergs were or what the big deal was about the McCarthy hearings. All I heard was blah-blah-blah, and all I thought about was the American League Championship Series playing on TV.
“You aren’t even trying,” Mallory said as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.
I slammed the book and pushed it away. “I just don’t see the point in learning this crap.”
“Then why take the class?”
I refused to look at her. What would she think if I told her I only took the class because Trish was in it? Dumb reason to take any class, but it also filled a requirement, so I thought what the hell. Trish was on me all summer about spending time together. Of course, she dumped me two weeks into the semester. Then I blew out my knee and missed the cutoff date to drop the class.
“Okay, fine. Don’t tell me.” Mallory drummed her fingers on the table, and I glanced up. She sucked on the inside of her lip as she stared over my head. Her gaze dropped to meet mine. “Who was the last NL player to win the Triple Crown?”
I answered without thinking. “Joe Medwick, why?”
“What year?” she asked, leaning onto the table.
“1937. Why?”
“What team did he play for?” Her eyes never left mine.
“St. Louis.” My curiosity hit a high note. “How do you even know all this? I thought you didn’t like baseball.”
“You do realize that all of that is h-i-s-t-o-r-y, right?” Mallory cocked her head to the left, ignoring my question. “Cy Young was inducted into the Hall in 1937, too.”
“Yeah, I know.” I pulled my bad leg off the chair and stood, grabbing my crutches for balance. I hobbled across the room and back. Pacing helped me think, and this was the best I could do. “What’s your point?”
“A lot happened in 1937. FDR signed an act of neutrality. Pan Am flew the first commercial flight across the Pacific Ocean.” Mallory stood and paced beside me with her hands clasped behind her back. “My point is maybe we can get you to think about baseball events and relate them to more national events. This might be the best way for you to remember the when, but the context will still be an issue.”
I stopped, and Mallory spun around to face me. She tapped her chin with her finger, lost in thought.
“We may have to work more than three days a week, though,” she added, raising her head to meet my gaze. Her light hazel eyes were wide with challenge.
I wasn’t really interested in learning every single event in U.S. history, but spending a couple more hours a week with Mallory Fine would be a distraction from all the other shit screwing with my life. And I could use a distraction.
“Yeah, okay. I’m in.” I smiled, wanting to lift her up to eye level.
Mallory hurried back toward the table. “I need to come up with a new game plan.” Her head shot up and she grinned at her pun. “Let’s meet here tomorrow, say six?”
“Six sounds…” A nagging voice in my head reminded me that the NLCS started tomorrow night. It sounded a lot like our second baseman Chuck Mathis. “Wait, can we make it five? Or maybe meet at the student lounge.”
“The student lounge?” Mallory tilted her head to the left again.
“Yeah, the Phillies are taking on the Cardinals—”
“I don’t watch baseball,” she said quickly. She gathered her papers and shoved them into her canvas messenger bag. It surprised me she wasn’t putting them in order and making sure they were wrinkle free. “We can meet here at five, but I might be a little late. I have a study session at four with a group of freshmen flunking Comp. It’s downstairs in the conference room, though. Maybe we can just meet there.” Mallory glanced around the table, shoved my book back toward my seat, and hurried away. Halfway between me and the Ja-Jj shelf, she spun on her heel. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Aaron.”
I nodded as she turned her back to me again, disappearing around the help desk. The elevator dinged a moment later. I reached down and set my bag on an empty chair. The excitement on Mallory’s face clouded my vision as I shoved my textbook into my backpack. She knew who Joe Medwick was and when Cy Young went into the Hall. Obviously, she’d loved baseball at one point. I wondered what made her go cold against the game.
Yep, Mallory Fine was definitely the kind of distraction I needed to forget about my knee for a few hours and not think about how fucked up my life had become. She was a mystery. And one I wanted to unravel a layer at a time.