Page 57 of Hannah and the Hitman
“Crazy? Hurtful?”
I pursed my lips. They were those things.
“Family isn’t always forged with blood. I should know.”
Yeah, he should.
“I want to meet your friend Dax.”
“Oh, gorgeous, he’s dying to meet you. Soon. For now, I want to know if the heroine realizes she’s fallen for the wrong twin.”
“You know these books all end in happily ever afters, right?”
“I hope in more than just books.”
39
HANNAH
It was always extra quiet in the library after Storytime finished. The void the group of toddlers left behind after they picked out books with their grownups was always pleasant. The hour-long program was its own form of birth control for me. It was a weekly prompt that I wasn’t ready. So when the last finally left, I took my lunch break in the back room and read in peace and quiet.
Did he want kids? He’d had a brand-new box of condoms that we made a huge dent in, indicating I was a foregone conclusion, but also that he made birth control something he took responsibility for and made it a high priority.
Today, my mind was occupied with Jack. The day before, we spent the day together, reading and making out on the couch, until I had to leave to drive back to CoalSprings. I had to work this morning and I hadn’t brought extra clothes to stay with him a second night.
After only either eating out or from food deliveries from Denver restaurants, I wanted to make him dinner. It was something a girlfriend did. We’d never put labels on what we were, but he called mehis girland hisgood girl,so I felt messing up his kitchen might be okay with him. I’d never done it on a counter before, so maybe I could be his appetizer.
I couldn’t help but grin at the thought.
I had a piece of notepaper on the desk beside my leftover salmon–the one from dinner the other night we never got to finishing, forverygood reasons–that I was jotting down what I needed from the store. I wasn’t the best cook, but I didn’t have the money to eat out all the time.
Then it had me wondering about his stomach issues. Was he gluten free? Did he have lactose intolerance? I didn’t want to make something that would bother him, so I would have to ask him. Lots of sex and reading about sex made me forget.
I grinned a little more.
Maybe tacos. I assumed he ate tacos. Who didn’t? I could do corn tortillas and skip the cheese. I didn’t want to make him the kind using the little seasoning packet and a jar of generic Americanized salsa, so I would go and find a cookbook in the non-fiction section and pore over a few recipe books for a more authentic option.
As I was wondering if Jack liked things spicy–in the kitchen, not the bedroom because I knew very well he liked itcaliente–I heard someone behind me. Whipping around in my chair, I glanced through the glass window to thecirculation desk to see who it was, but motion out of the corner of my eye had me turning further.
What the–
It was the man from the airplane. Not Jack. Not the one shaped like a beer keg with the BO. The other one. The farter. The one who’d helped me with my suitcase, called me doll and smelled like a bottle of cheap cologne.
In a suit, he looked respectable-ish, but it was the look in his eye that had my hair standing on end.
I stood, suddenly uncomfortable.
Because I’d been having my lunch, I hadn’t paid attention to who else was in the library. It was possible we were all alone.
“Um, hi. Your friend Jack isn’t here,” I said, rubbing my hands together in front of me. Looking at him made me nervous. Wait. How had he found me? Had Jack told him? If he didn’t, then how–
“Good.”
Good? This was so not good.
I blinked, then moved to the right, away from him. He followed.
“Did you um, want me to give him a call?” I asked, making sure he knew I could have Jack on the phone in seconds. “Tell him you’re here? Were you supposed to meet?”