Page 50 of Wild Card
“You told me not to. And I kind of learned my lesson about opening doors without knocking and all that.” She smirks at me.
I raise a brow at her, surprised she’s mentioning it and that she’s making jokes.
“Come on. I’ll show you the library. You can go in there whenever. If I can’t trust a curator in that room, I don’t know who I can trust.”
She follows behind me at a slow pace, and I can tell she’s studying how well I’m managing on the crutches. I wonder if she reports back to Xander every day. I’m starting to think she does, or at least to Harper who reports to Xander. There’s been twice now when he’s asked about something that only she could have told him. So perhaps less of a snoop and more of an informant.
I unlock the double doors to the library and push them open, turning to watch her reaction. This room and the office where I keep all my football awards are my two favorite rooms in the house. This one in particular is my pride and joy and a huge reason why I purchased the house in the first place. I knew it had the potential to be an amazing party house, but I also wanted somewhere I could keep my collections close. I didn’t like the idea of storing them off-site or having to pay someone else to care for them on my behalf. So I made the realtor find me a place that had something like this.
Her eyes go wide, and she steps inside, turning around and then looking back at me. The front part of the room has massive reading tables and walls lined with bookcases that flow back into the rest of the room where I’ve got more bookshelves and display cases, big comfy couches, and a small bar. I had them knock down walls and combine rooms to make this space. But there’s also a spiral staircase that leads up to a mezzanine area and then a second floor. The mezzanine sits in front of a massive picture window that overlooks the rest of the property, the pool, and the pool house, and the second floor has even more books and curiosities I’ve collected over the years.
“Oh my god. This is yours? All of it?” She walks through, her fingertips running over one of the reading tables as she stares upward.
“Yeah, Spitfire. It’s all fucking mine. It’s in my house, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t know you read.” She stops abruptly when she realizes what she’s said and turns back to look at me. “I mean I know you read, but I didn’t think youread. You know?”
“Yeah. I read. I decompress in here when I’m…” Normal. Not weak. Not fucked up. When my whole life hasn’t gone to shit and left me stuck in bed while she cares for me like I’m a child.
“No, I get it. This would be amazing to relax in. Pour a drink and just read for hours. Wow. I’m so jealous.” The look of awe on her face stirs the little bit of pride I have left.
“Well, like I said, you can read in here if you want.”
“Really?” She walks up to one of the shelves and her eyes run over the titles there.
“Yes really.”
“You’ve got a lot of history. Good ones.” She looks up at me curiously.
“I was a history major.”
She blinks at me. “You never mentioned that.”
“You never asked.”
She glances down and then back at the shelves, something flickering over her face I can’t read.
“Don’t worry. I have a collection of vintage Playboys too if you’re worried that I’m too nerdy now.”
She smiles. “We have some of those at the museum.”
“You have a porn collection at the museum?”
“Previous curator, I guess. Thought they were good cultural ephemera. Zeitgeist and what not. Which I mean, they are, but there’s probably a better museum for them than ours. They need to be deaccessioned because they don’t fit the mission statement, but deaccessioning means it has to go before the board. I have to write up a summary of the contents, take photos, and explain why they should be removed from the collection. I haven’t been looking forward to that board meeting.” She smirks.
“Don’t want to give all the little old ladies on the board heart attacks?”
“Or have the Vice President making lewd jokes.”
“Fair enough.”
“Anything else scandalous in here?”
“A few things. It’s a mix really. Whatever I see on auction or sometimes I go to garage sales and find something cool.”
“Huh.” She glances at me and walks around a case in the room that has a WWII bomber jacket in it. “Relative?”
“I wish. Auction. I do have my great-grandfather’s stuff from the war though. He died overseas but my grandmother kept all his letters and the personal items they sent back with him.”
