Author's Note: I want to take a moment to thank my volunteer editor - Neuroparenthetical. This story is the twenty-fifth piece he has edited for me. He is always thoughtful, supportive, and diligent in how he approaches the process of offering feedback and suggestions. Thank you so much for all of your continued assistance, Neuroparenthetical.
All characters in this story are eighteen years of age or older.
The elevator lurched into action as I leaned against the wall. I examined the book I held in my hand; the embossed gold letters were faded and the spine was cracked. I tried to estimate how many other students had held the same book over the past thirty years.
I'd decided to come to the library to work on one of my English mid-term papers. I hadn't purchased the supplemental texts when the professor had announced that they'd be available for short-term loan at the campus library. It was bad enough that I normally spent several hundred dollars on the key texts, so I took any opportunity possible to save a few bucks.
As a junior, I didn't really go to the library much anymore. It had been something I'd done several times a week when I'd been living in the dorms. It had felt like a necessity then; I'd needed to get away from my roommate in order to have the quiet environment I required to complete my work. After I moved into my own place, I could just go to my room.
I'd set myself up on the sixth floor when I'd first arrived; it didn't get much foot traffic. Whereas every other floor of the library appeared to have a design, the top-most floor seemed to have been forgotten. There were a few shelves filled with medieval poetry, a wall covered with seemingly obsolete law journals, and stacks of books printed in foreign languages. It was the literary version of the island of misfit toys.
DING!
I shouldn't have blown off this paper for so long
, I thought as the elevator doors parted.
At least nobody else was using the book I need. It would have sucked to wait four hours for them to return it to the short-term loan desk.
I stepped out into the main space of the uppermost floor. I was confronted by a large shelf of books several feet in front of me; I pivoted to the left to make my way back to the place I'd dropped my things off ten minutes earlier.
As I turned the corner, I nearly jumped out of my skin. There was a guy sitting at one of the handful of large oak desks that were scattered around the perimeter of the floor. He hadn't been there when I'd staked my claim.
I was struck by how imposing he looked. Even sitting down, it was clear that he was massive. I guessed that he had to be at least six-foot-three when standing. He had the quintessential build of a jock. I would have guessed football, if I'd had to make a wager. I slowed my stride as I passed by him; I felt my eyes trying to take in as much information as possible.
The guy appeared to be roughly the same age as me. His face was directed down towards what looked like a science textbook. He didn't seem to be dressed for the library; he was wearing a tight-fitting white T-shirt paired with a slick, black leather motorcycle jacket. I wondered if he actually rode a motorcycle or if it was just a fashion choice.
I could only see his side profile, but he was classically handsome. He had full lips and a sharp jawline that was sporting a five o'clock shadow. The bridge of his nose was a prominent straight line; it looked like the it belonged on a Roman bust. His jet-black hair was slicked with some type of pomade. He didn't look up at me as I passed by.
I made my way back to the desk at the back of the large room. My cheeks were hot with excitement as I took my seat. I couldn't see the guy from where I was sitting.
Maybe that's a good thing?
I thought.
I probably wouldn't get any work done if I could.
I was pulling out my notebook from my backpack when it hit me: the erudite stranger looked eerily similar to my unrequited crush in senior year of high school, Brad Medford. I knew it couldn't be Brad, though. He'd moved out of state and was already married with a newborn. I couldn't deny just how much he looked like the straight prom king I'd longed for as an angsty, closeted teen; if not a twin, library guy could have at least passed for Brad's cousin.
Okay, okay. Back to work.
I parted my notebook to the page I was using to collect citations I thought I might want to include in my paper. I opened the book to the chapter on consciousness in the works of Virginia Woolf. I forced myself to scan the text in an effort to quickly separate the wheat from the chaff.
It was only when I realized that I was re-reading the same sentence for the fifth time that I understood I had a problem.
I wonder that his eyes look like?
I asked myself.
Are they the same emerald green color as Brad's?
I let myself think about an interaction with Brad. We hadn't been friends, but he'd always been nice enough. I remembered him congratulating me when it was announced that I'd been selected for the National Merit Scholarship. That was one of the reasons I'd always liked him. Unlike his varsity buddies, he didn't feel the need to completely distance himself from the uncoordinated masses.
Maybe I should ask him if he's related? Nah, that's too weird. 'Hi, I don't know you... but are you the cousin of some guy I want to high school with?'
I cringed as I pictured myself saying it.
I closed the book. I felt myself standing from the desk before I realized I was doing it.
I'll just go take a better look. I'll see that they don't look so similar once I focus on the details.
I snaked my way through the stacks, eventually locating a good peeping position. I glanced at the shelf in front of me; all the titles were in Cyrillic.
Great, I'll have to pretend I speak Russian if he asks me what I'm looking for.
I inched my way down to the end of the row, trying to be as stealthy as a cat. Once the guy's profile came into view, I began to run my index finger across the books in front of me to give myself cover in case he could see me from the corner of his eye.
His shoulders looked even broader than I'd first noticed. I could see the definition of his traps through the fabric of his jacket. I imagined myself placing my hand on it; it felt rock hard in my mind.
He flicked his fingers to turn to a new page. His hands looked huge.
I wonder how much bigger they are than mine?
He appeared to be nibbling on his lower lip as he stared intently at the words in front of him. His jaw tightened, which made it look even more chiseled than when it had been relaxed.
I reached up and pulled a book down from the shelf. I needed to keep up the façade. I opened it and pretended to look down into its pages while I continued to devour the stylish young jock with my eyes.
I could see his thighs, whereas the rest of his legs were hidden beneath the oversized desk. He was wearing dark denim jeans that clung to his bulging quads. Along with the enormous biceps pushing against the supple black leather, it looked like he was almost too jacked to be contained by his clothes.
No, no. He doesn't look like Brad's twin after all.
