…She heard a loud crash followed by the security guard yelling, “I got it.” She worked alone, minus Oscar the guard, in St Huxley’s Library of Literature. After graduating with a Library Sciences degree, Eve found a job at the tree-filled, student-void university in the mountains of central Pennsylvania. It was peaceful, but lonely.
She was in the middle of modernizing the bar-coding system when she heard a lighter crash come from a bit closer. Again, “I’m on it,” echoed through the empty building.
Wind whipped through the halls as the October leaves shook off the swinging elm branches. She put a mustard cardigan on over her Dr Dog Farewell Tour T-shirt to keep warm. As she turned her eyes to the door, she locked eyes with a man wearing a well-warn baseball cap.
He held a finger to his lips as he slowly opened the door. And then, as if breaking character in the middle of a play, “Which show did you go to?” He said, pointing at her shirt.
“All of them.” With that, the black-clad vagabond approached the desk.
“My favorite album is Be the Void.” He looked into her twinkling green eyes and touched her hand. Adrenaline and lust rushed between them. Her shoulders tensed as he ran his hand through her soft auburn hair but loosened when he leaned in for a kiss, which she gleefully returned.
The guard’s clomps kept getting closer, and then the scamp rushed back to the door, leaving Eve out of breath and with a bosom heaving with pleasure and confusion.
He opened his bag to show Eve his prize, an original manuscript of “The Purloined Letter” by Edgar Allen Poe. She gasped, and he shushed. Before he left completely, he said loud enough for her to hear, “I’ll come back and see you soon, beautiful.” With that, he vanished into the night.
Oscar the guard approached Eve as her heart raced. “Who was you were talking to?”
“Just some guy. He wanted directions.” She didn’t want to be an accomplice, but that kiss made her feel more turned on than anything in years. His eyes and the way he touched her—like he knew her body and what she needed—got her heart aflutter and made her somehow very sexual crossword-puzzle undies very wet.
“You see him in here again, you tell me.” No response. “Yo, sweet cheeks,” he said snapping his fingers.
“Yeah, whatever. Get the fuck out of here with that sweet cheeks shit, Oscar.” As she got back into the business of barcoding, she kept one eye on the door. She knew her Robin Hood or petty thief or whatever would be back…
…Eve woke to the sound of a siren outside her apartment. She lived in a small studio (attic) that’s paid for by the university. It’s said that 5 hot librarians have lived there, and she made it 6. She heard boots trudging up 200-year-old stair and clomping down uneven hallways. By the time they knocked, she had put on a sweater and robe.
“Miss Eve Dartmouth?”
“Yup.”
“Did you happen to see this man last evening?” The cop asked as he handed her a black and white mugshot of the scoundrel. Eve never was one for miscreants, but his eyes, cheekbones, and big, strong hands made her feel a little butterlyish.
“Yeah, he robbed the library.”
“He’s a wanted felon with a rap sheet for petty thievery a mile long.”
“Any violent or creepy crimes?”
“Nah, just robbing from rich. He calls it reverse capitalism,” the cop said. While she didn’t agree with his methods, she could see herself being convinced he was doing good. But it would take a lot of convincing. Her mind drifted as she thought about his Mediterranean mustache tickling her labia as he made short work of her sexual inhibitions.
“Do you know the suspect?”
“No, why…”
“You talked to him for 1.5 seconds before he walked out—and he kissed you. According to the cameras.”
“Never met him before.”
“And he just up and kissed you.”
“Men are assholes like that, officer. So now that’s my crime? Any more questions?”
“What did he say?”
“Something about the futility of life.” With that, the cop left. She had a few hours before she was to meet with her cousin Edith for tea—it was weird. And before whatever that was going to be, she thought about the thief. His tongue. His touch. His boundless guile. Who was he and why did he kiss me? She wondered. Until she heard a gentle tap on her window and saw a familiar face…
…She unlatched the window 🪟 and in came the scoundrel, dressed in what could only be called burglar causal. He no longer wore his hat, so you could see the sprinkle of salt in his dark black hair. He wore a vest with lots of pockets, likely for thieving, and tasteful black pants that left little to the imagination—at least Eve’s. As she made her fast assessment, his luscious lips opened to say:
“Good morning, beautiful.”
“What are you doing here?!” she whisper-yelled.
“I wanted to make sure you and I were on the same page about yesterday,” he said as he tucked his unruly, raven locks behind his ears. “What did you say to him?”
“Who? The cop? I told him I didn’t know you and that you kissed me out of nowhere because men are awful. Honestly, I don’t give a shit about you stealing shit, but you can’t be up and kissing me at work.”
“How about outside of work?”
“Fuck you,” she said playfully—not too playfully— “seriously, why are you here. If I told the cop something, were you going to—what—kill me?”
“Of course not!” The bounder exclaimed. “I just needed to know what he knows. Not much is my guess. That guard didn’t see shit, and you were too enamored with me to ID me.” A twinkle and a smirk was met with a bit of flirtatious incredulity:
“I didn’t want to get involved. Cops can cop and figure this shit out. They have security cameras. You weren’t so smart showing you face on the way out.”
“But who’s going to ID me? The infatuated and— I’d guess a little bored—librarian.”
“Infatuated? Please.” She guffawed.
“How many dreams did you have about me last night?” He asked, touching her shoulder.
“I don’t have to answer that,” she said with a smile.
“What happened in the best dream?”
“You came by the library the next night and made passionate something to me at the checkout desk while I continued to checkout books. It was hot and a little mundane.”
“Are you free tonight?”
“Working.”
“I’ll stop by later to make sure your dreams are satisfied.”
“So, you don’t care about getting caught?”
“You’re the only one who saw me, and you’re dreaming of having me inside you, deeply. Just sliding my massive manhood in and out while you tingle in delight. Your dreams, not mine.”
“Sure. I’ll see you tonight.” Her standoffishness was meant to hide the fact that she wanted to kiss his face all night and see what else might happen…
…It was another quiet night in the library, and Oscar had already made his 9th check in of the night: “Just want to make sure you’re doing okay after all that ruckus the other night.”
“Doing fine. Did you hear what he stole?”
“Something by that gloomy fuck, Edgar something.” She laughed…at his terribleness.
“I didn’t know we even had something valuable in here.”
“Oh, yah. Lots of valuable stuff. That’s why they got old Oscar on the job. There’s an extremely rare first edition of Canterbury Tales locked up in a vault in the sub-sub-basement. I only seen em bring it out once.”
“What for?”
“Bette Midler.”
“Bette Midler. Big Chaucer fan, that Bette Midler?”
“I can’t believe I’m the first one to tell you, but Bette Midler attended our university for 2 and a half semesters before dropping out and becoming famous.”
“But why would they bring it out for Bette?”
“The honor of it all.”
“Okay, Oscar. Time to secure the perimeter.”
As the security guard’s keys jingled down the hallway, she heard a gentle whistling…it was “Wind Beneath My Wings.” As she realized it, she saw the vagabond’s twinkly chocolate eyes.
“You know you are, right?” He said.
“The wind beneath my wings?” She said, and he gave an impish smile. “What are you here for?”
“You…and probably the Canterbury Tales once I sort some things out.”
“You’re joking.” She said, needing it to be true for now.
“Yes, my dear. I’m here just for you.”
“You know we can meet somewhere other than my job and my fire escape?”
“Where’s the fun in that,” he said as he approached her. She still wasn’t sure what to make of this rapscallion, so she manually closed her red cardigan over her vivacious and frankly inspirational cleavage. He leaned in for a kiss, but she slid her chair back.
“What’s your name?” She asked as she carefully stacked some books on a cart.
“Ezekiel.”
“Biblical. Last name, smart guy?” He stumbled as he said:
“Frankfortson.”
“Frankfortson. So, false identities aren’t really your strong suit.”
“What difference does it make if you know my real name.”
“A real name gets you a drink with me later. Another fake one gets you Oscar the best security guard ever.”
“Okay.” He looked around. “Phineas Goobleburg.”
“So your real name sounds like a fake name? You should have just told me your real name first and then I would have thought it was fake.”
“Maybe that’s what I did.”
“But you didn’t.” She said, and he shook his head. Now that she was confident he was no intellectual match, she walked back up to the desk and said: “Meet me at Jose’s 37 Taps at 11. You’ll recognize me since I’ll be wearing this.”
“Did I tell you how cute you look in that red cardigan?”
“All right, Casanova. Save your game for tonight. Do you have a plan?”
“For tonight?”
“No, for the” and then she whispered “Chaucer.”
“No plan yet.”
“We’ll, I’ve got one,” said the mild mannered librarian to the immediately impressed and humbled, erection-sporting thief.
“Um. Jose’s?” He said as his heart beat faster. He loved the sudden shift. If only she’d let her hair down from that oppressive bun. He wanted her brain…bad. And he’d take good care of her kissably smooth body along the way…
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