I lead us to a bookshelf in the back of the library that contains all the classics. Austen, the Brontë sisters, Fitzgerald.

"Oh, this is a good one," I say as I reach for a copy of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. I must've read it a hundred times now.

I slowly walk my feet down the wooden ladder, and meet Jack's stance on the floor.

"Read it already," he says carelessly.

"You couldn't tell me that while I was standing up there? You saw me hold it out to you. Now I have to climb up the stairs again."

"Isn't that your job?"

I huff, grabbing ahold of my hips. "No, Jack. My job is not to climb up and down the bookshelf ladder all day. But, speaking of my job, it ends in 10 minutes, so I suggest you stop wasting my time."

"You can leave. No one's stopping you. In fact, I'd probably find something faster on my own at this rate."

"And leave you here alone? Yeah, right."

"So, that's what this is about then, huh? You wanting to spend more time with me."

"Is that how you feed your ego? With lies?"

"You're the one lying. Stop denying the fact that you like when I'm near."

I forcefully push the book to his chest, but his quick reflex signals him to catch it before it can touch his body.

"I'm leaving," I state.

I start walking to the front of the library, but feel him on the back of my heels. "You can't just leave. Tracy will be pissed."

"Tracy can pay me overtime then."

I make my way behind the desk and start packing up my things. If this is what the job's going to entail –running into Jack Carrington on a daily basis – then I plan on finding another way to make money.

He lets out an exhale and then says, "Okay. I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apology. I want you to stop acting like a jerk. Despise me all you want, but back it up with a reason. Otherwise, treat me as an equal."

I'd like to believe that he sees the sincerity behind my words when his muscles relax.

"Okay," he says.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. I'll quit acting like a jerk. Unless you give me a reason to."

I squint my eyes at him, trying to locate his honesty. I think I find it, so I say, "Fair enough."

***

"Maybe it's easier if you tell me what you've read already that way we can save some time," I say to Jack as he trails behind me. I'm leading us to the historical fiction section of the library because I could see him being a fan of the genre.

"We'll be here for days if I do that."

Inquisitiveness strikes me, so I whip my head around to face him. When our eyes lock, he gives me an adorable smile that I hate myself for happening to like so much.

"It's funny. You don't strike me as a bookworm."

"A bookworm?" he chuckles. "Why's that? Because of my good looks and charm?"

"What does that have anything to do with it?"

"So, you're calling me good-looking and charming?"

"No, you called yourself that."

"You didn't reject it."

"That's because I'm ignoring it."

He pouts at me and it's a sight for sore eyes. "Geez, Stas, give credit where credit's due."

I stop in place and turn around to look at him. "Did you just call me Stas?"

"Yeah."

"No one calls me that. The only person who ever did was my mom."

"Was?"

For a split second, there's a part of me that almost tells him everything. It's funny, I never felt like I could do that with anyone. Not even my dad. But then I come back down to reality and remember that no one gets that piece of me. Especially not Jack Carrington.

"Never mind," I say, picking up my pace again until we finally make it to the historical fiction section. Thankfully, he doesn't press me further.

"So, back to the reason why I didn't strike you as a bookworm..."

"Oh. We're still having that conversation?"

"We don't have to. We can talk about your mom instead."

I shake my head and give him a serious expression. "No. We can't." I pause because I need to compose myself. Otherwise, I'll tear up, and that's not an option. "Um, I don't know. I just feel someone like you would believe that he has better things to do with his time than read."

"Oh, so you're socially stigmatizing me? That's nice."

"Hey, it's not my fault when you give the world reason to."

He looks at me intently and then says, "I think you mistake me for someone else."

I chew on my lip, feeling guilty because he's right. I have this idea of him in my head that I forget is just an idea. The truth is, I don't know anything about Jack Carrington. I may see him for what he is on the outside, but that doesn't define who he is on the inside. And then my curiosity starts churning. I want to know more about him, and I can't help but wonder if I'll ever get the chance to.

I don't say anything after that, and instead, reach for the book that I had in mind for him. Gone With the Wind.

"Already read it," he says when I show it to him, and I drop my shoulders in defeat. I officially give up. But then his serious expression transforms into a smile and he cutely says, "Just kidding."