“Yeah, he just beat the crap out of us instead.”

Frowning, I looked way, mostly because Jason was right, though I was loathe to admit it. “Well, he doesn’t anymore, right? Just get your shit together,” I grunted.

And because I really didn’t want to knock my brother out, in spite of my temper, I took a step backward, gave him one last glare, and stormed out the door. I headed up the hall to grab my own books and book bag. Like I said, I didn’t have time to bullshit around with my brother. I had shit in my own life I needed to take care of.

****

Deborah

“He better not stand me up,” I mumbled, peering down at the watch on my wrist. I ran my hand along the beat-up leather band. It was only a minute after five, but I hated tardiness. If he insisted I meet him at the library the least he could do—

“Waiting on me?”

I abruptly turned, ignoring the chill that ran through me upon hearing his deep voice. I glanced up into those dark brown eyes of his, swallowing.

“You’re late.”

He frowned just before staring up at something behind me.

I turned to see what he was looking at to find a clock mounted on the wall above the library’s entrance.

“And you’re a stickler for time.”

“If you tell someone you’re going to meet them, the courteous thing to do is be on time. I—”

“You’re right. It won’t happen again,” he stated, shocking me.

Did he really say I was right? My mouth parted, but no words came out. I quickly clamped my mouth shut but it was too late. He’d noticed, which was apparent by the cocky smile that touched his lips.

“Let’s take one of the quiet rooms upstairs. I already reserved it for us.”

Again, I was surprised at his preparedness. So surprised, in fact, that I didn’t even notice when he’d taken me by the elbow, leading me toward the staircase where the library’s quiet rooms were located.

“Did you have a chance to read over the books I gave you?” Robert questioned as he shut the door of the quiet room.

In spite of the fact that the room had windows on three of the four sides, and I could see out—as well as others being able to see in—being in such a small room, with the door closed, alone with him felt … overwhelming.

“Uh, what?” I questioned.

“The books? Did you pick a topic?” he questioned coolly from his position leaned against the door, arms folded over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles.

“Yes. The Berber religion as you said earlier. It appears to be interesting.”

He nodded, his thick brown hair, which was only an inch or so away from touching his shoulders, swayed with the movement of his head. Not for the first time, I noticed the freckles that lined his cheeks and bridge of his nose. There was something distinctive about them.