The Best of Kristina Wright Read Free

like a weight on my shoulders. I glanced up to see him staring intently at me.
    “May I help you?” I asked, sounding colder than I felt. My palms were already beginning to sweat and he hadn’t said anything to me.
    He smirked. “No, I found what I was looking for this time.” He gestured at the stack of books in his hand. The title of the top one mentioned nude photography.
    “Oh.”
    The smirk deepened. “I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee sometime, maybe one night after work?”
    “I don’t think so,” I said quickly, glancing around to see if anyone had heard him. “I mean – thank you, but I don’t think we really have much in common.”
    The smirk never faltered. “No? What a pity. I thought I turned you on.”
    He was gone before I could pick my jaw off the floor.
    I was curious, I admit it. So when I pulled out of the parking lot half an hour later, I turned left instead of turning right. I drove the five miles to the street where he lived. I turned on the street in a very nice subdivision and I drove along the main road that circled the hundred or so houses. I found his house, tucked in a cul-de-sac. I was so intent on making sure I had the right house number, I didn’t realize someone was getting out of the Mercedes in the driveway. It was him!
    I sped away, heart hammering in my chest. He couldn’t have seen me, he wasn’t looking in my direction. Still, I could feel my cheeks flush hotly as I drove the few miles to my house. Whatever his charm, I wouldn’t do that again.
    I almost dreaded seeing him at the library again. Almost. Here I was, thirty-seven and hopelessly single, mooning over some pervert who used the library as his dirty bookstore.
    Still, there was something about him that suggested he’d be able to tell me all the secrets I’d been wanting to know. Questions I wasn’t even sure how to ask. Maybe he was a pervert, but if he was, so was I. Because he had my mind going down a road it had never been, and my willing cunt followed.
    By the time I saw him again, I was debating calling him. It would have been highly inappropriate and I could have lost my job for it, but desperate times call for desperate measures, to my way of thinking. Who am I kidding? I wasn’t thinking, I was only feeling. And it felt good.
    Strangely enough, it wasn’t the library where I saw him next, but the grocery store. I was standing at the bakery counter, choosing a loaf of bread, when I heard a familiar laugh. I jerked my head around just in time to catch his smile as he turned and walked away. My cheeks flushed hotly, but instead of ignoring him, I followed him, bread forgotten.
    “Wait. Hey! Mr Brant, Justin – wait.”
    He turned and looked at me. We were standing alone in the wine aisle. It was after ten o’clock and there were few people in the store.
    “Yes?”
    I stopped in front of him, suddenly speechless. “I was just – I mean—”
    He arched an eyebrow. “How did you know my name?”
    My face felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t think of a good lie quick enough. “I looked you up,” I blurted.
    “I like that.”
    That made me feel warm for an entirely different reason. “Can we go some place?” I asked, emboldened. “To talk?”
    “Talk?”
    I felt like he was teasing me. “Yes, talk,” I said, suddenly angry. Not at him, at myself for being so foolish. “Never mind, forget I asked.”
    He grabbed my wrist with a gentle, but insistent pressure that was impossible to ignore. “I don’t forget anything,” he said. “Ask me again.”
    Part of me screamed to get out of there and away from him. Part of me never wanted him to let go of my wrist. “Would you like to go somewhere and talk?” My voice was soft, I could barely hear myself, but he didn’t seem to have a problem.
    “Good. You’re learning.”
    There was a condescension in his voice I wouldn’t have tolerated from anyone else. So why was I taking it from him? Something about his confidence, maybe.