The bus drops me off outside the city library, which is thankfully still open for another hour after I get off of work. When I'm trotting up the steps, I'm once again thankful that I ditched heels years ago. They may make women's legs look longer and sexier, but I can't even imagine how much my feet would hurt after running around the office all day fetching reports and coffees and now climbing these steps to the beautiful ornate exterior facade of the library. I don't want to be hobbling around like an old lady by the time I'm forty.
Rather than stopping at the reference desk and since I know my way around a library pretty darn well after all those years studying in high school and college, I make my way to the most obvious sections where the DSM-5 would be located. I check the books on psychiatry and then the reference books with no luck.
Feeling a little defeated, I make my way to the fiction section and slide one of the romance books from its spot on the shelf. There is a cheesy picture of a huge, bulky man with his chest bared and long golden hair swept up by the wind holding a busty woman in his arms who looks like she's about to faint and her breasts are about to fall out of her low cut dress. Waves are crashing on the beach behind them. Ugh. Is this seriously the reading material I need?
Suddenly self conscious because of just the cover itself, I glance around the aisles to see if anyone is in the area. Thankfully this part of the library seems deserted, so I hesitantly open the cover and flip through a few of the pages to see what I'm in for. Is the plot as superficial as the cover?
The female lead of the story—Caroline—seems to have fallen for her gardener. She watches him while he works in her lawn, exposed biceps and triceps and all the ceps sweaty and glistening as he toils away in the sun and she stays obscured by the frilly curtains of her kitchen window.
Flipping through more pages, I finally come to a scene on another day when she has gotten up the nerve to approach him. She offers him iced water, he accepts, and then they make long, intense eye contact before she offers for him to take a dip in her pool to cool off.
"Or you can always take a shower. I have one in my bedroom upstairs."
I snort and roll my eyes. Please. My dreams are way better than this. But then again, I never have to go fawning over the stranger. He always just shows up, and he always knows exactly what to do…
I quickly slam the book shut and slide it back in place. Caroline and her gardener are definitely not going to cut it. Maybe I should have done some research prior to even entering this mammoth of a section. Who is to say what kind of nonsense I'm going to subjecting myself to? And who the hell knew there were so many damn romance novels to pick from?
My time is short, because the library will be closing soon and I still have to inquire about the DSM-5, so I pull out a few more books and slide them back before finally one piques my interest. This one doesn't have any bare-chested man on the cover. This guy is almost completely obscured in shadow, wearing a leather jacket and black jeans and boots, walking along a dark misty street with a massive wolf following on his heals.
It's clearly a supernatural romance… possibly even with a bit of thriller woven in. Yeah, I could do this. It looks way more appealing than the rest of the Fabios I have seen. And there's something about the guy on the cover that is oddly familiar. I guess it could just be because of the mystery. I am becoming very familiar with mystery.
"Nice choice," the young girl with fun edgy hair says at the checkout. It's spiked up several different ways and is split down the middle—half of it bright pink and the other half deep black. "The Raven series. He is super hot. There are like 15 more books in this series if you end up liking it. They're not your typical werewolf stories, either."
"Oh," I nod, glancing around in the hopes that no one I know happens to also be at the library tonight and overhearing my genre choice that is now being discussed rather openly.
"I bet you fly through this one pretty fast. Do you want me to go grab a few of the others for you?" She looks at the back cover like she is reminding herself of the story within, and a small smile tips the corner of her lips.
"Nah. I'll just start with this one. This is good."
"Okay," she shrugs, and then slides it back to me. "Was there anything else I can help you with tonight?"
"Actually, there is. Do you have a copy of the DSM-5?" My voice sounds so astute and professional—I want to pat myself on the back for it. I sound like a psychology student or at least like some kind of intelligent being who is not only interested in smut and whatever fantasies will captivate my mind with it.
"We sure do. We keep it back here." She disappears for a moment before returning with the behemoth of a book and setting it in front of me.
"Great, I'd like to check that out, too."
"This one you can only borrow while you're here in the library. It isn't available for checkout like the others." She places her hands on the cover like she is afraid I'm going to take off with it.
"Oh, I see."
I must look pretty crestfallen, because she leans forward. "I'm sure it's available for purchase at a bookstore."
"I think this one would be hundreds of dollars," I chuckle. "I don't need it that badly."
"If you get a subscription to a professional database—you know, like one of those academic ones—I bet you could access it online that way."
"Yeah, maybe." I take the book that I am allowed to check out and offer her a departing smile.
"See you in a day or two when you're done with that," she smirks and then retreats to put the DSM-5 back where it came from.
If I wasn't a poor intern, maybe I could buy it or get a subscription to a professional database. I don't even have wifi right now at the apartment, because I spent the rest of my savings on clothes so that I would be able to dress for the position I want at Möbius rather than just the position I was hired for.
I guess instead I could come here on Saturday and spend the day tucked in a corner reading through it. It's just that I so desperately want to know what is wrong with me now! Before I have to go to sleep again.