Page 5 of Let it Crackle
But instead?
All I can think about is how those cute little glasses would fog up if I ever got her naked and panting beneath me. How that prim librarian outfit would look wrinkled and inside out on the floor of the back office. How she’d moan if I ever got the chance to run my hands over those curves she keeps pretending I haven’t noticed. Because I’ve noticed.
Back in high school, I was a dumbass. Said some stupid things to impress my friends. I thought pushing her away was safer than admitting how badly I wanted her.
But now?
Now I can’t stop looking at her. Can’t stop thinking about how it’d feel to make her smile. To make hertrustme. To make her forget every single shitty thing I ever said.
But she’s still hurt. I can see it in the way she stiffens when I get too close. In the way she glares at me like she’s daring me to mess up again.
So yeah, maybe I’m walking a tightrope here. Half regret, half raging lust.
But if Maya Gibbons gives me even an inch of a second chance—I swear, I’ll crawl through broken glass to take it.
She catches me staring and shoots me a glare.
“What?”
I shrug, the scanner dangling from my hand. “Nothing. Just… didn’t know librarians could be this terrifying.”
“I’m not terrifying,” she snaps. “I’m just surrounded by incompetence.”
“Yeah?” I step a little closer. “And yet you let me stay.”
She opens her mouth—probably to tell me to get lost again—but something shifts in her eyes. Just for a second. Then it’s gone.
“Only for today,” she says firmly, turning away. “Then you’re someone else’s problem.”
I smile, already knowing she doesn’t mean that. Not really.
Because I’m not leaving. Not anytime soon.
Chapter 3
Maya
I don’t know why I’m surprised when I hear a knock at the library door the next morning. Especially since the closed sign is up. Scratch that. Idoknow why.
Because I told Maddox Cole—former high school menace and current walking distraction—to stay away. I said it clearly, with crutches under my arms and the kind of biting sarcasm only forged by years of emotional calluses. I meant it. Or at least, I thought I did. But here he is.
Waltzing in like he owns the place, carrying two coffees and a box of donuts like this is some kind of twisted apology tour. Like caffeine and sugar can fix the years of teasing, or the way his friends used to laugh behind their hands while I tried to disappear.
“For you,” he says, lifting the box with a grin that’s too damn easy.
I cross my arms. Or try to. It’s awkward with my crutch jammed under one arm and my pride taking up the rest of the space. “I told you not to come back. It was a one-off thing. Besides, you were only supposed to be here this afternoon.”
He shrugs, one of those maddeningly casual movements that draws attention to how absurdly broad his shoulders are. I hate that I notice it. Worse, I hate that Ilikeit.
“Yeah,” he says. “But like I said I’ve never been great at following instructions. Classic Maddox, remember?”
God, do I remember.
“Yes, as you keep reminding me.”
“I just thought you would like something sweet before I head to the station. Remember how you always liked sweet stuff in high school.”
“Whatever.” I sigh.
