I need to do what Samuel told me. Cut the dead weight. Stay focused on my goal. I don’t need Kaplan or anyone else aside from Samuel. Even despite Kaplan’s proximity to information on Legio Agni, he could wind up being more of a dangerous distraction than a source of useful information. I don’t get the sense he’s the kind of person who will risk sharing details anyway, and what I’ve retrieved from his computer wasn’t that helpful. I’m close enough to the FBI, I don’t need to be sitting on their laps.

I open my eyes and push away from the wall with newfound determination. This energy I sense between Kaplan and me is only diluting my focus. It’s making me confused. It’s fucked with me enough. Just let it go.

I stride into the office as casually as I can manage. David looks up as I drop into my chair and comes over with my coffee.

“You okay?” he asks as he leans against my desk. I want nothing more than to put my headphones in and ignore him, but this is the social game I’m forced to play if I want to stay hidden in the world.

“Yeah, you?”

David nods as he scratches his cheek at the edge of his beard, the bristles crunching beneath his fingernails. I try to keep my eye from twitching in irritation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you and Dr. Kaplan were a thing.”

“We’re not.”

“I’m not sure he agrees.”

“It’s not just up to him,” I say with a shrug, trying to look nonchalant. “Besides, I think he’d do the same for anyone.”

David chuckles as he pushes himself from the desk. He tips his cup toward me in a salute. “Nah, Brooks. He wouldn’t. The man has it bad.”

I watch as David winks and turns away, then I put my headphones in and resolve to push those thoughts aside.

The day picks up momentum and passes in a blur. I have a few classes and several meetings scattered throughout the day. I work into the late evening, spending a few hours immersed in literature review before turning my attention to working up some viable essay topics for Dr. Halperon’s undergraduate Learning and Memory course. I check my email one more time just before I shut my computer down, and a new message comes through from Dr. Halperon.

Bria,

Christina sent me a message—Digital Media and Cultural Memory by Asperson and Dahl is now in the library. She shelved it before she remembered to let me know. The irony! Can you please snag it and we’ll pull out some essay topics tomorrow a.m.?

Thanks,

Dr.H.

I scowl at my watch as though it should become a time machine. It’s 9:28 p.m.. The library closes in thirty-two minutes. Dr. Halperon is scatterbrained enough to have forgotten about this all day, but she’s also sharp enough to know I’ll still be working on campus. The cathartic image of ripping her glasses off her face and shoving those fuchsia acetate frames down her throat pops into mind before I pack up my laptop and stride down the hall toward the library.

I look up the book details on my phone as I walk between buildings, headphones in, the hood of my coat up against the drizzling rain in a windless storm. By the time I make it into the warmth of the library, it’s 9:43 p.m. The two students staffing the reception desk shoot me a warning look, but I glare back and their eyes shift back down to the papers they shuffle across the worn desk.

I don’t see a single student on my way up to the third floor. I drift through the tall shelves until I make it to the row I’m looking for. Naturally, I find Digital Media and Cultural Memory on the shelf that’s just beyond the reach of my fingertips, even while standing on my tiptoes. My teeth grind together above the sound of the music filtering through my headphones. Fuck it, I’ll scale these shelves like a goddamn monkey if I have to. I’m not going to search for one of those round stools that are as rare as gold dust on the third floor.

I grip the edge of a shelf like I’m about to go bouldering when a large hand appears over my head and pulls my textbook off the shelf. A scent invades my nostrils. Bay rum. Bergamot. The slightest hint of spearmint.

My eyes narrow.

Kaplan.

I turn slowly and hold his deep brown eyes in a menacing stare as I pull one headphone free and then the other, pocketing them. He’s much closer than I anticipated in the aisle. I can feel his warmth in every breath that fans across my face.

My eyes slide to the book he holds aloft in his hand. An ascending tone echoes through the speakers mounted on the walls. Kaplan’s eyes shift upward as though he might see something in the recorded message warning that the library will be closing in ten minutes. I’m not sure if it’s a social convention or just…stupidity. For some reason, I catch myself hoping it’s the former. An unbidden ache coils low in my belly, and I loathe myself for taking a deep breath of the intoxicating smell of a man who might be looking around for a recorded voice from a stationary speaker.

When the message is over, Kaplan’s eyes drop to mine. There’s a brief flash of surprise when he finds me staring back at him with a look that can only be described as lethal. And then the hint of a cocky smile lifts one corner of his lips, bringing the shadow of a dimple out in his cheek. My ache becomes a burn, torching my chest with anger and my core with need.

“That’s my book,” I say.

He turns it to read the spine. “Asperson and Dahl. I don’t see Brooks there.”

“Give it to me.”

Something darkens in Kaplan’s eyes. His throat bobs as he swallows. His smile fades as his gaze flicks down to my lips before fusing with my eyes once more.

“Are you going to give me that book?” I ask.

“I haven’t decided.”

“Does it always take you this long to work something out?”

“Only when you’re involved, it seems.”

He leans a fraction closer and I stand my ground, but it takes more effort than it should. Not to keep from backing away, but to stop myself from moving closer. I’ve never felt a need this strong before, its pull overpowering me as though I’m nothing more than a metal fleck in the path of a magnet. The need to kill. The need to fuck. They’re like two planets crashing into one another, destroying the walls and barriers that hide my darkest desires. I feel like I’m struggling to keep hold of the beast that prowls behind them. “Run off with it then, why don’t you,” I challenge, squaring my shoulders. “Put it in your hipster leather satchel to go with your equally predictable tweed jacket and scurry off.”

Kaplan’s smile grows, the dimple deepens. His eyes drift across my face like he’s memorizing the smallest details, lingering for only a moment on the bruise beneath my lashes. He leans a little closer still, his nearness and heat radiant in the space between us. “Are you always so vicious?”

“You have no idea.”

There’s a long moment of utter silence. My heart claws up my throat and drums in my ears. My breath grows shallow as Kaplan’s smile dissolves and his rich brown eyes fuse to my lips. A coldness creeps up my arms, crawling, scratching, gooseflesh leaving a trail behind a phantom touch as though my skin is begging for his hands.

Kaplan’s grip tightens on the book. He leans closer. That scent of bergamot, I can almost taste it. My mouth waters as my eyes drop to the pulse that pounds in his neck.

“Maybe I want to see it,” Kaplan says, his voice low. He edges a step closer, his chest grazing mine with every inhalation. “Maybe I want to taste all that ferocity. Straight from the source.”

He takes another step forward. I let him push me to the shelves. My back is as rigid as the spines of books beneath it as Kaplan presses in closer, his eyes still soldered to my lips, his free hand caging me in as he grips the shelf next to my head.

The warning tone ascends above us. The recorded message drowns the sound of my pulse burning its quickened rhythm through my brain. The library will be closing in five minutes. Please proceed to the reception desk to check out any books. Thank you.