25. Hannah

TWENTY-FIVE

HANNAH

"Being used to it doesn't mean you're not injured," I point out while ignoring the cute comment.

Yes, being called cute is a compliment. But this is the guy I was thinking about while I touched myself last night. I don't want him to view me as cute . I want him to view me as… fuckable.

He spreads his arms wide and turns in a slow circle, giving me a view of all of him.

The move doesn't really prove his point. But fine, twist my arm, I'll look.

His jeans hug his thick thighs and ass. His gray T-shirt stretches across his massive body. And he's wearing a zip-up HOP U hoodie, which blocks my view of what I know are impressive back muscles, but it doesn't make him any less impressive to look at.

I'm pressing my lips together to keep myself from drooling.

Maddox lowers his arms when he's back to facing me. "See?"

"Okay, fine, you're not injured. But if you decide something hurts, I still have a can of pop in the fridge." I gesture toward the back room. "You can put it… wherever."

"Appreciate that." His smile is genuine. "What are you doing now?"

I notice all the people staring at us— or more like staring at the Mad Dog Maddox— and lower my voice. "Nothing. You?"

He lifts the book in his hand. I was too distracted looking at him to notice he was holding it.

"I was hoping to get some reading done. Thought the library would be a good place to do it."

"Oh." It's all I can think of saying in response.

"And since you said you liked it"— he gives the book a shake— "I thought you might be interested in joining me."

Oh!

"Sure," I answer without overthinking. "If you want the company."

Maybe I should've played it cooler than that? Pretended to have plans on a Friday night. But whatever. You only live once.

"Yeah?" His smile widens.

I nod.

I want to ask if he's inviting me as a friend or as more , but there's no good way to ask that. Not without making it incredibly awkward between us.

Then he holds out his hand. For me.

Slowly, with my heart stuttering inside my chest, I reach out and place my palm in his.

Maddox closes his large fingers around mine and turns us away from the central seating area toward the stairs.

I take a deep inhale through my nose.

We're holding hands .

I might be a bit naive, but I'm not that innocent. You don't walk around holding hands with someone you plan to friend zone.

Breathing evenly, I follow Maddox through a few rows of shelving.

When we reach the stairs, he breaks the silence. "I figured we could use one of the study rooms. I didn't bother signing one out since they're usually empty on a Friday night."

"You spend a lot of your Friday nights taking girls to the study rooms?"

He squeezes my hand with a chuckle. "You're my first."

I trip on the next step.

His deep laugh bounces around the stairwell as he raises our joined hands, helping me catch my balance.

"I meant you're the first girl I've asked to study with me. I'm not a…" He trails off.

Heat fills my face, and I keep my eyes forward.

"I'm not either," I practically whisper.

I don't know why it feels important to let him know I'm not a virgin.

Maybe it's because I don't want him to hold back around me. And if he thinks I'm saving myself for something, then he might.

He doesn't need to know it's only been once. And only when I was nineteen, and my best guy friend was moving across the country, and neither of us wanted to die a virgin. So we made a pact, and the night before he moved, we got drunk and had sex. The agreement was that we'd never talk to each other again because it would be too weird after. And the plan worked.

We gave each other our V cards. Neither of us remembers much of it, and we hugged out our hungover goodbyes and haven't talked since.

Truly, no regrets.

Maddox flexes his fingers around mine again, and the grunt he lets out sounds a little more gruff than any I've heard before.

We exit the stairwell on the second floor and walk toward the group of little rooms in the center of the building. There are eight study rooms situated in two rows of four.

They're small. Just big enough for a rectangular wooden table and four wooden chairs with scratchy blue seat cushions.

The handles don't lock, but there's a window on the top half of the door so you can see if it's occupied.

Maddox pulls me along, not stopping until we reach the room farthest from the stairs. The light is off, so we know it's empty.

As our steps slow, Maddox lets go of my hand to open the door but moves his other palm to the small of my back.

"After you." He applies a little extra pressure with his hand, and I step into the room.

Maddox turns the overhead light on as the door shuts, and I make my way around to the far side of the table.

But instead of sitting across from me, Maddox shuffles around the table from the other side and sits in the seat next to mine.