Small Town Sexy Read online

  “Because you hid under some stranger’s plaid shirt in a golf cart. And all patrons of Oktoberfest saw was some random drunk person wearing a shirt on their head. That was you. And that’s totally something I would do.”

  She dissolves in laugher again.

  “Hey Cheyenne?” I ask.

  “Zoey?”

  “Can I ask you something serious for once?”

  She stops laughing for a second. “Yeah. I mean, sure. If you want to.”

  I hesitate for a second. “Can you... I mean... can you shut the fuck up and bring me some Cheetos please?”

  Cheyenne giggles. “Anything for my best bitch.”

  Chapter Four

  I’m awkward, sure. And I’m a nerd. But there are worse things to be.

  I fell in love with books in high school, when I was randomly selected to be the library aide. I worked with Mrs. Brown, the high school librarian, sorting bookmarks and ordering new books and scanning them in and out of the system, but my favorite thing to do was pack them onto carts and reshelve them, bring them back to their homes. Mrs. Brown was elderly, and it hurt her back to push the cart and reach the lower and higher shelves, so she always did the computer stuff with her face pinched up, trying to see the screen, while I pushed the cart up and down the aisle, putting the books back into the places where they belonged. It gave me a strange sense of peace. So that summer, I got a part-time job at the city library doing the exact same thing.

  So today, that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m actually in charge of the entire city library now. I’m not just head librarian—I’m the only librarian due to limited funds. I have two part-time employees—one little old man named Elmer, like the glue, and a high-school girl named Mariah who comes in whenever she can. But mostly, it’s just me. Sometimes, I have volunteers, I guess, but mainly I’m my own boss.

  So I push my little cart up and down the aisles and return the books to where they’re supposed to be. It’s a slow time at the library. Neither Elmer nor Mariah are here, although I do think there is a man here who comes in every week around this time to look at cat videos and other virally pleasant things. He says it helps him balance his happiness meter, whatever that means. I just like having patrons. It justifies keeping the library around.

  I hear the bell above the door at the front of the library jangle. We used to never have bells in the library at all, but then after I returned from shelving I’d have lines at the help desk, waiting for me. So I outfitted the doors, to let me know how many people are milling about, and then added a little bell at the help desk for especially impatient patrons. We’ve actually increased our numbers by 30% since I took over. I've negotiated higher internet speeds for the same price and convinced local stores to donate newer books in addition to the ones we have a very small budget to order.

  Cheyenne comes by often, usually to see me and check out whatever insane new thrillers the library has. She is obsessed with ringing the bell like twenty-five times, and then going into my office and kicking her feet up on my desk. Then she usually goes into my desk and eats all the chocolate I have stashed there for hard days and then surfing for inappropriate pictures on my computer and making them my screen savers that will make me laugh whenever I log in to do bookwork.

  “Well, well, well. I remember you, little librarian.”

  I spin around.

  And there he is.

  The cop.

  Officer Banks. Porter. He’s standing beside me, both thumbs stuck in his belt loops, a half grin pulling up one side of his face.

  And he’s even more attractive now, when I’m stone cold sober, than when I was drunk.

  I back up into the bookshelves, and I feel a blush creeping up from my chest. “Um. Can I help you?” I ask. I feel my face heating up. Oh my gosh. What did I do to him last time I saw him?

  “Actually, you can,” he says. “I think you owe me a little bit of a favor, don’t you?”

  I nod. “I guess you could say that.”

  He pulls out a handful of brochures. “The Community Night Out this weekend. New guy has to hand out pamphlets. Do you mind if I leave some here?”

  I take them from him and fan them out. “So what’s a Community Night Out?”

  He shrugs. “I’ve never been to one before, but I guess the cops interact with the community. We give them safety tips and get to know everyone. There’ll be free food and I guess we’ll have live music. Show everyone we’re the friendly, crime-fighting type.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, letting myself smile up at him. “You seem kind of bad to me.”

  I can’t believe I’m flirting with him like this. Cheyenne has always been a better flirt than me. I’m the girl she shares wild stories with. But here I am saying kind of naughty things to a sexy cop in the middle of a library.

  “You might be surprised.” He bites his bottom lip and looks me up and down. “Or maybe not.”

  Suddenly, I imagine him pushing me up against the stacks of books and shoving his tongue down my throat. I shake the image away. “I’d be glad to put some brochures out for you, Officer Banks.”

  “Please. It’s Porter. Are you going to come by? And be better behaved than at Oktoberfest?” He’s still smiling. Damn, he’s attractive. His jawline could have been cast onto a coin in ancient Rome, and I’m willing the build of the rest of his body could have been sculpted somewhere too, judging by the way his uniform fits.

  “Maybe if I get to drive the golf cart this time,” I say, looking at him from over my black-rimmed glasses. Cheyenne calls them my sexy-librarian glasses, because I don’t really need them to see. I just braid my hair and put them on because I think it looks hot, and I still maintain that fake glasses got me the job.

  “Only if you’re on official police business,” he says.

  I look him up and down slowly, returning his earlier stare, my body starting to tingle. “You want me on your official police business?”

  He bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry. My official police business?”

  I flip my braid over my shoulder. “I work in a library. I have a way with words.

  He looks down the aisle, making sure no one else is close. “Do you want to have your way with me too?”

  I study him. “I was right about you, Porter. You are bad.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Then maybe that makes us perfect for each other. Come see me tomorrow. Promise?”

  I think of Chet, advertising his single status on Facebook even though he never broke up with me.

  I’ve never dated a cop. It could be fun.

  “Fine,” I say. “I’ll stop by.”

  “Just don’t make me pull you out of a golf cart this time, Zoey.”

  I like the way he says my name, like he thinks it’s delicious without even trying it.

  “I make no promises, Porter.”

  He writes his number on the back of a brochure and leaves me there, speechless and excited and happy. I had promised myself at least six months after douche canoe Chet, but at least I can have a little fun with Porter. It’s not like he’ll be my boyfriend. I can tell just by looking at him: he’s a player. Which means he’s not relationship material.

  And a player is exactly what I need right now. Because the last thing I want after a loser like Chet is something serious. After all, once this cop sees how boring this little town is, I’m sure he’ll leave in no time.

  Porter will get Chet out of my system, and I’ll be able to forget both of them and move on with my life.

  I return to the help desk to arrange the brochures while Porter browses the fiction section and I try to watch. He brings a couple of books to the front a few minutes later.

  “Her Darkest Desires? Lady Risk?” I read the covers out loud.

  He smiles. “They reminded me of you. Maybe we should both read them. For…ideas.”

  My body tingles. Those books are bodice rippers. Hot. Sexy. Exactly the kinds of books that would have men like Porter Banks modeling on them.

  “If you want me, you’re going to have to up your reading level, sweetheart.” I wink.

  I’m lying. 100% of me wants to show him to my office right now. Also, Her Darkest Desire is one of my favorite books ever.

  He leans in, over the desk, his lips close to my ear. “I’ll need a good teacher.”

  Chapter Five

  “I really don’t feel good.” Cheyenne is clutching her stomach.

  I put my hands on my hips. “Really, Cheyenne?”

  She groans. “Fine. I admit it. It doesn’t help that this is super boring. There are clowns making balloon animals here. That’s actually terrifying. It’s like this fine line between fun and…murder.”

  “There’s other stuff,” I say defensively.

  “There’s some pony rides for the kids. And the live band you promised me hasn’t even shown up yet. And this juice cleanse I started yesterday is seriously hell on my digestive system, I swear to God.” Cheyenne puts both hands on her stomach. “I feel hung over and I had one glass of white wine last night.”

  “And that fits in with your juice cleanse how?”

  “It fits in shut up bitch, that’s how.”

  I love her. “Fine. Go home.”

  She hesitates, bouncing. She actually does look a little pale. “Are you sure? We’ve barely seen Porter.”

  I give her a quick hug. “Of course I’m sure. I’ll be fine. I’ll go get a balloon animal and some cotton candy.”

  She gives me a very serious look. “Don’t follow any clowns into the woods.”

  “I promise.”

  “Love you forever.”

  She scurries off to her car, leaving me alone among the throngs of people and children. She’s right; I’ve barely seen Porter. He was on stage with the Captain o
f the force, who is bordering on retirement. Since then, he’s been interacting with the community and being a professional and doing good cop things.

  I pet a pony and walk around the event, trying to feel glamorous in my black-and-white polka-dot sundress and fancy wide-brimmed sun-hat, but mostly I feel a little self-conscious and kind of lonely. I stop to get a fluffy pink cotton candy.

  “I’ll get that.”

  I turn around.

  “Porter!” I hug him hello. He looks even better than usual. His aviators are pushed up on his forehead, and he’s freshly shaven.

  I get the mad impulse to bite his neck, but I resist.

  “Hello, Zoey.”

  Why does my name sound so much better when he says it?

  The little woman making my cotton candy clears her throat, trying to get my attention. Porter pays her, and I take it. “Wanna walk around?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I say, smiling a little.

  “Are you a pincher or a biter?” he asks.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The cotton candy.” He pinches a bit off for himself and pops it in his mouth. “I’m a pincher. Biting makes the cotton candy sticky.” He pinches me off a piece. “Here. Open up.”

  I open my lips obediently. “What does this make me?” I close my lips around his fingers.

  He smiles. “Perfect.”

  “And that makes you right.”

  “I’ve been accused of worse,” he says, stealing another pinch of cotton candy.

  “So, Porter Banks, huh? How long have you been in town?” We stroll back to the goat pens, where children are feeding the tiny pygmy goats.

  He bends down and pays a quarter for oats out of a little machine, and dumps half of them into my hand. “About a month now. Have you heard of Banks Construction?”

  I nod.

  “That’s my brother Ryerson’s company. He got hired to build a subdivision on the south side of town. And when a job opened on the force, I moved here to be closer to him. He’s a good dude, but he’s a good dude who I like to keep an eye on. He’s the family troublemaker.”

  “And you’re the family peacemaker?”

  One side of his mouth quirks up. “Something like that. And what about you, Miss Zoey? What brought you to this lovely town?”

  I look up at him. “Would you believe it if I said I was a townie? I left to get my library degree, and my best friend needed me, so I came back.”

  He sighs. “In a way, so did I.”

  We walk for a minute in silence, and I sense there’s something deeper, more serious there, but I don’t say anything.

  “Say,” he begins, “do you wanna get out of here? Watch a movie with me?”

  “Can you leave already?” I ask. “Won’t your Captain get mad?”

  “I already finished my shift kissing babies at the booth,” he says.

  “Just babies?”

  He raises his eyebrows and turns toward me, looping his arms around my waist. “Did you want me to kiss someone else?”

  I look up at him, biting my bottom lip.

  “Because I can think of someone else who might want a kiss," he offers.

  “I think we’re both thinking of the same person,” I say, and smile.

  “Then let’s go.”

  “Okay,” I say, before I even consider it, before I even think that we barely know each other, that we’ve barely talked, before I even think what “get out of here” means.

  But I can’t stop staring at his lips. And his ass. And his abs. And thinking about what they all look like underneath the dark-blue cloth of his uniform.

  Chapter Six

  Porter lives in an apartment building not far from the event, so we walk up to the third floor, and he unlocks the door for me. I look at him before we walk inside, suddenly a little nervous. What am I doing here with someone so handsome?

  “Shall I carry you across the threshold?” he asks.

  “Would you?”

  He sweeps me up into his arms and kicks the door open with his heel. “Whatever you’d like.”

  My heart jumps into my throat, and his arms are around me, and even though I’m tall I feel light and small in his arms. How much time does this man spend in the gym? I wrap my arms around his neck and he steps inside of his home and kicks the door shut behind him. “Welcome home, sweetheart,” he says, and sets me unsteadily on my feet.

  “Well, this is moving fast, darling.” I put my hand on my chest. “All this on the first date.”

  “Can I take your hat?” he asks.

  I take it off, and my dirty blonde hair falls down my back.

  Porter stares at me, my hat dangling from his hand.

  “What?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I’m—I’m sorry. I should have said something earlier. But you…you’re just so beautiful.”

  My cheeks feel warm. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Suddenly I feel strange and a little out of place, and my heartbeat fills up my whole body. I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe he thinks I’m beautiful. But this is what I need. Something fun and crazy and light and freeing. Someone who’ll pick me up and swoop me over the threshold in his apartment and make me laugh and call me beautiful.

  “Wait one second, okay? You can sit, if you want.” He points to the beige couch, which has a surprisingly stylish throw tossed over the arm. His whole apartment is like that—a mix of style and man cave. It’s kind of funny, like maybe his mom visited at some point and tried to class up the joint.

  “Sure.”

  He disappears for a moment, presumably into his bedroom. He returns later, his uniform gone—replaced with dark wash jeans and a simple gray tee.

  And holy shit. He looks incredible. I’ve never seen a cop before who actually looked better out of uniform. I make myself blink, trying not to stare at how his arms look in the sleeves of the tee shirt. I am desperate to see what’s underneath.

  And the jeans….

  I feel like I should cross myself. The thoughts I am having are the furthest thing from pure.

  “Can I show you something?” he asks.

  I nod. He could show me anything. I’d look at his baseball card from middle school if he asked me. But I’m really hoping that’s not what he’s going for.

  He grabs a six-pack of beer from his fridge, and reaches a hand out for mine. “Come on.”

  He leads me out onto the fire escape outside the window in his kitchen, and we climb up onto the roof area, which is surrounded by a few feet of brick on all sides and overlooks the downtown of our little city. The sun is lighting up the edges of the horizon in blues and oranges and pinks.

  And Porter has made up a little nest for us of pillows and blankets, and somehow rigged up a television set.

  “Porter,” I say, “this is perfect!”

  And it is. The incoming night is bringing cooler air, and little goose bumps are rising on my arms. Cuddling into a fort of blankets and pillows with a super hot cop sounds just about perfect right now.

  “I promised a movie, right?” He digs under a pillow, and comes up with a remote. He settles into the pillows, and pats the one next to him. “Come on, Zoey. Let’s watch the sunset behind something fun.”

  He puts on some comedy, but I can’t pay attention to it. All I can think is that I’m leaning into him, and his shoulder is behind me, and that I can feel his breath in my hair. He smells good—like Old Spice and some kind of cologne and fresh, just out of the laundry clothes.

  “Is this okay?” he murmurs, and runs his fingers through my hair.

  “I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

  He laughs. “I mean, it’s almost like I planned this.”

  “Almost.” I deadpan. “It’s like you thought you might get me back here.”

  “I did think about taking you to the Gas ‘n Go for hot dogs as a back up.”

  I feign disappointment. “We could have had two-day old hot dogs at the Gas ‘n Go? And instead we have to do this?”

  “I had to save the big guns for date two.”

  I heave the biggest sigh imaginable. “At least we have something to look forward to.”

  “You’re incredible, Zoey.”

  I turn toward him and run my fingers along his jawline. His light blue eyes look into mine, and something in my lower stomach stirs deliciously. I pull him to me, and he kisses me, just lightly at first, his lips on mine. I can still taste the spun sugar of cotton candy on his lips.