Talk Wordy To Me (His Curvy Librarian Book 1), Frankie Love [knowledgeable books to read .txt] 📗

let Cassidy go, but when a light turned on upstairs in her parents’ farmhouse, she stole one last kiss and disappeared through the front door.

And I went home, lay down on the sheets that still smelled intoxicatingly like her, and wondered what the hell just happened.

I haven’t been able to keep my mind off her for more than about five minutes at a stretch since then. And that’s why I’m pulling up to the library a little before noon, hoping to catch her in time for her lunch break.

The moment I walk in the library, however, a blonde about her age and wearing a library name tag intercepts me at the circulation desk.

“You’re Chuck McArthur, aren’t you?” She asks. I give her nametag a quick glance—Brooklyn, Teen Services Librarian—and before I can answer, she’s given me a once-over too and noticed the bouquet I’m carrying. “Oh my gosh, are those for Cassidy? I heard Charles finally wore you two down.”

“I was–”

I’m trying to tell her that I’d love to see Cassidy if she’s available, but again, Brooklyn doesn’t let me get a word in edgewise. Instead, she alerts the entire building that I’m here in a rather unlibrarianly shout.

“Cassidy, you have a visitor at circulation!” she calls out, then turns back to me with a wink. “She’ll be over in a minute, I’m sure.”

I laugh. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she says, giving me a grin that makes me wonder just how much of our date Cassidy told her about this morning. Not that I mind the idea. It means she’s been thinking about me too.

Brooklyn skips away, and sure enough, Cassidy emerges out of the stacks a couple minutes later, her arms loaded down with multiple copies of The Secret Life of Bees. When she sees me, her eyes light up.

“Chuck, what are you doing here?”

“Would it be sappy to tell you that I missed you?” I ask, taking the pile of books from her before they spill out of her arms and helping her stack them on the circulation desk.

“A little,” she says. “But I’m okay with sappy.”

“What’s all this?” I ask, pointing to all the Sue Monk Kidd on the counter.

“Next month’s book club pick,” she says. “I’m going to make honey cocoa truffles to go with the theme.” Her eyes fall on the bouquet and she’s more bashful about it than Brooklyn, but she asks, “What’s that?”

“These are for you,” I say, holding the bouquet out for her, wrapped in butcher paper and tied with twine. “They’re from my grandmother’s garden,” I explain. “Gramps still tends it every day.”

“And he let you cut them?” she asks, holding the bouquet like something precious.

“Let me?” I laugh. “When I told him how well our date went, he got the shears himself.”

“Well, tell him thank you—for the roses and for the blind date—if you see him before I do,” she says, bringing the roses up to her nose and inhaling their perfume. As she does it, her chest rises in the white cotton button-up blouse she’s wearing, and a tendril of hair from her messy bun falls down over her eyes.

I’ve never seen anything more beautiful… or sexier.

Visions from our date last night flash through my mind and I’ve got a sudden urge to sweep everything off the circulation desk and lay her down on it.

“Go out with me again,” I say.

She looks up at me, those emerald-green eyes dancing with mischief. “Whatever happened to ‘dating’s not a priority’?” She nibbles her lower lip, then lowers her voice to a whisper. “Are you saying you want more than a one-night stand with the naughty librarian?”

“Cookie, I just want to have fun, but if you were a library book, I’d just keep checking you out til I hit my renewal limit,” I say.

“A library pun,” she says, her lips curling into a smile.

“Too soon?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, I’d say it was long overdue.”

“Well, all I have to say is that it would be a Crime and Punishment if you don’t go out with me again,” I say. I know we’ve flown past corny several puns ago, but she’s laughing, and in the end I get what I want: she says yes.

“When?”

“Tonight,” I tell her. And the truth is that even though we just met, I don’t think I can survive much longer than that without her.

“Okay,” she says. “Pick me up at six.”

I give her a kiss—and steal a quick pinch of that supple ass in an irresistible pencil skirt—and as I’m walking out of the library, I notice Brooklyn and another twenty-something librarian standing in the stacks, spying on the whole thing and grinning their heads off.

The next few weeks are a blur of delicious food, nerdily literary conversations, and so damn much nakedness.

I can barely keep my hands off Cassidy, and I can also hardly concentrate on my work when she’s not around. I even read the senior book club’s selection with her because Cookie’s got to read it for work and I can’t tear myself away from her long enough to let her curl up with it alone.

I’d much rather she curl up with me.

So we sit in my hot tub together and take turns reading aloud. We pretty much never make it longer than a chapter or two without pouncing on each other, but miraculously, we make it to the end in time for the next book club meeting.

Other highlights from an entire month of being wildly, unreasonably obsessed with each other: watching Cassidy’s full, bare breasts bounce in front of my eyes as she rides me frantically in the back seat of my car, like we’re horny teenagers who can’t get enough of each other.

Hell, actually feeling like horny teenagers who can’t get enough of each other.

The sight of her body, plump and curvy, in the moonlight when we go skinny dipping in Golden Creek late one evening.

The way she gets all bashful and shy every time I drop her off at home