"Shit!" she cursed almost inaudibly. Her teeth were still chattering as she adjusted to the warmth inside. "What's he doing in my spot?"
Holly looked toward her not-so-secret hiding place in the far corner of the book store. She loved going there to sit and peruse the latest novel from her favorite authors. Now she couldn't because that man was there. More than a little bit pissed, she glowered in his direction, while he remained unmoved in her attempt to make him burst into flame solely from the scowl she was sending in his direction.
Even more irritating to her was the fact that the overly bubbly store manager was here today decorating for the holidays and was playing Christmas music over the loudspeaker. It wasn't even Thanksgiving yet! She still had days before she needed to have her ears assaulted by the incessant barrage of cheerful music designed to get shoppers in the mood to overspend. Holly silently wished that tonight was like every other Sunday night she spent at that particular bookstore. Peaceful. Calm. Dead. Yeah, she liked that last description the best.
It was no secret that people who had families usually stayed home with them on Sunday nights to start getting ready for the back to school and back to work week that lay ahead of them. She loved that it was quiet and nearly deserted there at this time of night. Well, it was usually quiet and deserted, but not today. Of course it would be busy when she had been handed a particularly rotten morning, followed by an equally bad afternoon.
By seven p.m. she just wanted to kick back with a book for a while and enjoy a cup of outrageously priced cappuccino with extra foam. She also wanted the ridiculous picture design the barrister would draw in the foam, so she could ruin it by stirring it with a vengeance right in front of him. Oh, and chocolate powder sprinkled on top, too. She needed that as well. Then, and only then, could she drift off to another world, lost in her books.
Contemplating whether to seek out another corner or not, she stood there twisting the heel of her boot into the carpet in a back and forth motion. "Damn it, this is my sanctuary," she thought to herself, "and I don't want to go anywhere else!"
Holly marched over to the seating area and sat her cup down with a thud, grateful that its lid was on securely. She also dropped her purse onto the floor, and piled the stack of books she had picked up along the way onto the low coffee table as well.
"She's pretty noisy and annoying," Marshall thought, stealing a look over the top of his novel to see from where all of the commotion was coming. He didn't turn away, intrigued by the sight before him. Maybe she was more "pretty, noisy, and annoying," he surmised, instead of his earlier characterization. The school girl look wasn't really his thing, but she looked good in a modified version of it.
Her red plaid pleated skirt and knee high chunky black boots paired with the crisp, white, man's style dress shirt was a good look for her, especially with the neckline unbuttoned so he could just barely see the hint of her red plaid bra underneath it. He spotted it when she bent down in front of him to put her books on the table. The conspicuously dyed black hair along with the thick bangs and severe shape of the straight, chin length haircut completed the ensemble, except for those ridiculous glasses. They had a terribly thick frame, black with faux diamonds in a graduated pattern on the sides, and also along the top.
The bright red lipstick was a little much for him, as was the pale makeup she had on her face. He didn't really care for her black nail polish or the coal color lining her eyes so thickly, but she was pretty in spite of that stuff. It was almost like she was trying to hide the fact that she was cute from the world.
She glanced to the right, and then found what she was looking for and stalked off to get it. On her way, she pushed past a display table jarring the Crock Pot Favorites cook books arranged on it and causing "Potato Potlucks" and a copy of "Surprises for Supper" to both tumble to the floor. She huffed loudly, then stooped to retrieve and replace them in their original locations.
Marshall saw her skirt flare out in the breeze as she stooped and concentrated his gaze on her. He watched her go toward an unoccupied chair and shove it in his direction. Anyone else would probably have chosen to move a light weight, straight-backed, wooden chair but not Holly. She first tried to pull it, then gave up on that idea and instead pushed the overstuffed upholstered chair. She had to dig her boot heels into the carpet for traction to get it to budge, but she would not give up on what she was determined to do.
As Holly pushed the chair along, she felt his eyes on her, but she wouldn't stop. She hated that this was proving to be more difficult than she had previously thought, and the fact that she had to really make her muscles work to move this humongous piece of furniture was quickly tiring her. Any other guy who was half decent would probably have offered a girl help by now, wouldn't they? Jerk. She sent him another dirty look as he sat there enthralled in his dumb book. It was probably something with a political theme to it, too. God, she hated that.
But, in spite of the contemptible frown he got from her, he didn't come to her aid. Marshall couldn't force himself to get up and go over to her to see if she needed assistance. It was clear to him that indeed, she did need some help, but he was captivated by the way her leg muscles were straining to move that chair. Thank god for the inventor of the mini skirt! He'd sing their praises every day from now until eternity if he could just sit there and watch her straining like that in front of him for a while longer. He was also enjoying her grunts and labored breathing as well. He could imagine a different scenario where those noises would take on a whole new meaning. Her heaving chest was making it extremely easy to form a vivid mental picture.
Marshall snapped back into reality when she got the chair into position across the table from him and plopped down into it, exhausted and panting heavily. "Marshall Cooper," he said to her, extending his hand.
Oh, like she gave a shit who he was! Asshole. She didn't even offer him her hand. Such a dick. "Whatever," was all she replied while rolling her eyes.
He sat there, eyebrows raised at her rudeness and slowly took back his extended hand. She sat there, crossed her arms in front of her chest and then said, "What's the difference? You don't care or need to know, anyway."
Marshall looked at her in that manner that implied she should just answer the question.
"It's Holly. My name's Holly. Happy now?" Why did she care if he knew her first name? He couldn't do much with that information. Because, damn it, she didn't want to tell him, that's why! Why did she tell him anyway? Oh hell, who gives a shit? So he knew her fist name. Big deal.
A slight smile played across his lips. He liked the view of her cleavage when she pressed her breasts together like that. Yeah, he guessed he was a little happy at her buckling to him just then. Seeing her there tonight, if for no other reason, than to give his fantasy a cute face and tight little body tonight when he went back to the hotel alone to jerk off in the shower before going to bed.
She caught him ogling her again and sniffed at him, making him chuckle. God, he was irritating! Maybe she should just find somewhere else to sit. But damn it, she just went through the trouble of dragging that fucking heavy chair, and she was not leaving. Maybe if she was bitchy enough he'd just leave. It was worth a shot.
"What? What now? What do you want?" she raised her voice at him. "Just sit there and read your fuckin' book, and shut the hell up, Marshall!"
He was surprised at her outburst, but not taken aback. So, this was her deal. She had an attitude, this girl. He'd like to change that in a hurry by driving his hard cock into her repeatedly while she begged him for more, while she screamed for him to fuck her harder, while she pleaded for him to go faster, and... and... And he didn't realize his eyes were making a meal of her as she sat there in front of him.
"Hey, Asshole, I'm talking to you!" she yelled at him. "Eyes on your book, I said!"
Marshall just laughed at her, averting his eyes from her legs that were slightly bent, knees together, her feet anchored on the coffee table by the heels of her boots. Then he looked directly into her eyes, and saw that she was looking at the crotch of his pants where he was sporting a semi. He immediately set his gaze now on the hem of her skirt which had fallen away from her legs and was giving him a great show of her thighs, making him wonder if she had panties on or not. Could go either way, one never knows.
"Perv!" she practically screamed at him.
"I might say the same to you," he retorted. "I believe I just caught you checking out my cock, Holly."
"Ick! I most certainly did no such thing!"
"Oh, but you did. You were eying my crotch like you were looking for a new toy to play with, Sweetheart," he told her matter-of-factly. "I might have read your mind as it compared my anatomy to a tasty treat that you couldn't wait to get your lips around, my dear."
Infuriating, that's what he was. He knew her fucking name, and he didn't need to call her by any stupid terms of endearment. Gross. If he had just put his nose back into the damned book like she had told him to do, he never would have seen her looking. Damn it, anyhow! And why did he have to be so hot? She growled, letting him see he was getting under her skin.
The forces were teaming up against her for the umpteenth time that day, and it wasn't looking good at all. Holly was a sucker for the older professional types, and he fit the bill perfectly. He had his dress clothes on, too, complete with wing-tipped shoes, and on a fucking Sunday night of all times. Who in the hell does that? Damn him and his tidy hair cut, looking all neat and businesslike, and the smartass demeanor that gave him a little bit of bad boy arrogance to go with it. Yeah, she was in trouble. But how did he know it? He just met her!
Marshall just sat there, grinning while she looked at him. He looked over the top of his wire rimmed glasses and saw the slight blush beginning to creep onto her cheeks.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Marshall Cooper! I think you have an overactive imagination and it's getting the best of you," she said.
"Holly, I know you are aware that I find you attractive, and I also know you find me attractive, too. I don't see why you're trying to deny it." He closed his book, letting his finger hold the place for him.
Ugh, he was insufferable, conceited, overconfident, self-important, and egotistical. How could she like that? Because she could tell there was a reason he was all of these things, even having just met him. She knew he'd be able to show her a thing or three in a round of hot and sweaty sex, and god help her, she'd love to try it.
"What does that have to do with anything?" she all but spat at him.
"It can either have a lot to do with nothing, or some small thing to do with everything," Marshall replied.
What? Was he going to talk to her in riddles now? For fuck's sake. She huffed again, going to her bag to place her cell phone inside it.
"I see you have chosen some pretty racy reading material there, Holly."
"Yeah, so? I'm an adult and I can read whatever the hell I want."
"So, I'm guessing that you enjoy reading erotic stories then masturbating over what you have just read. Is that true?"
