When we finish copying the book Sam checks his phone and sighs, "Dean's hungry, I gotta go."
"I'm hungry too, let's all go." I pull my bag out of my desk, and my coat off the rack.
"If that's ok?"
"Sure." Sam agrees, "As long as you don't mind burgers, tacos, or pizza."
"That's the extent of Dean's menu?" We reach the central desk and I wave to Tionne who waits until Sam is past to give me an ear to ear grin, and a double thumbs up. Damn her.
"There's other things he'll eat, but when he's hungry, that's where his brain goes."
"Well, good news, the cafeteria has all of those, and more, it's close by, and new, so the food is actually pretty good."
"Really? Because even at Stanford the cafeteria wasn't that great."
"Stanford?" I raise my brows as we reach the sidewalk.
"Yeah, where I did my undergrad." Before I can react to this bit of outrageousness, the guy who wears second hand clothes and gets into fist fights has a degree from Stanford!?, a big, black car from the previous century rumbles up to the curb and one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen gets out and bounces up beside me.
I'm relieved we're outside because inside his presence would stop time.
His luminous eyes are huge, green, and fringed with lashes like a supermodel. His nose is just rugged enough to be masculine without being too big for his face, and dusted, along with his cheeks, with a light smattering of freckles. His lips are sinfully full, and his jawline is well-defined. On top of all that, he's just a few inches shorter than Sam and his shoulders are almost as wide.
My verbal filter short-circuits. "Holy crap!" I take a step back and bump into Sam. I whirl and look between them. "They fed you guys your protein when you were growing up, didn't they?"
Sam grins as the other man, who must be Dean says, "What!?"
I look up at Sam, then back at Dean, "You guys are huge! Were your parents' giants too?"
Now Dean grins too and I'm thankful that I'm leaning against Sam because my knees go weak.
"Our mom was about your height; Dad and I are both 6'1". No one knows how Sammy got to be Sasquatch." Dean adds waggling eyebrows to the grin.
"Wow, you weren't kidding about the charm power were you?"
"Nope." Sam pops the 'p' for emphasis, but his face falls into a neutral expression that I cannot read.
"Charm power? What the hell does that mean?" Dean narrows his eyes at the two of us. "Smug nerds. Nevermind, I'm starving, let's eat!"
"Hey Dean, this is B, B, this is my brother, Dean."
Pink color makes Dean's freckles stand out and his smile dials down from an eight to a five. I can easily picture what he looked like as a little boy. "Sorry, I'm not really the mannerly type." He holds out his hand and we shake. Those big eyes give me a thorough once over, cataloguing every detail about me and filing it away. I'm betting he could now describe me well enough for a competent sketch artist to get a good likeness.
He has to get even with me for making him blush. "Well, now I get why Sam's been spending so much time here." I can feel the rush of red creeping up my face.
Without releasing my hand, he looks over at Sam, and throws his other arm out towards the car. "Get in man, let's take the lady to lunch!"
Since we're still connected, I give his hand a squeeze. "Stay here. The cafeteria has just about everything, and it's probably cheaper."
Dean raises an eyebrow, looks between us, then nods, "Okay, how bad could it be?" He releases my hand and hops back in his car to find a parking place. Sam slips his hand over mine and pulls me against his side. I don't look at him. If I look at him, I'll stand on my tiptoes and kiss him.
We don't have time for that because Dean is back in a flash. "Ok, feed me!"
I walk up to the booth Sam's chosen, because damnit he got there first. He slides over and gives me a quick smile. This makes it impossible to sit across from him and steal peaks at his cute face without the fear of touching him. I swallow a sigh and sit beside him, stowing my bag between my feet. Now, we're right up against each other.
Dean slides into the seat across from us with a huge, juicy-looking bacon cheeseburger half-buried in fries on his plate. He picks it up and admires it from several angles before squishing it down and taking a huge bite. I feel like I should find this crude and disgusting, but instead it's endearing. He chews, swallows, then looks at us with mischief in his eyes, and mayo on his upper lip. I fight the urge to wipe it off.
"Too bad you're not left-handed B, you two could hold hands while you eat."
"Do you have to be such a jerk?" Sam finishes the last of his soup – a bowl, not a cup – and starts in on his sandwich.
I steal one of Dean's fries. "We just spent the last hour playing bookworm twister, holding hands is sort of a come down from that."
"What's bookworm twister?" Dean asks. I reach for another of his fries, but he bats my hand away. When I stick out my bottom lip in an exaggerated pout he rolls his eyes and pushes the plate towards me. I take another fry and blow him a kiss. He snaps a hand in the air, pretending to catch it.
Sam answers while watching our pantomime. "It's where you copy an old book that's falling apart without damaging it further." He turns to me, "How have you been doing it by yourself?"
"Very, Very Fucking slowly. How long do I have you for?"
"This afternoon, and the next two days. After that I can't say."
Dean looks at us like we're speaking a foreign language. "How long do you have him? How many books do you need to copy?"
"Fifty-three in the office, at least a hundred more in storage."
They stare at me with their mouths open for a full ten seconds before Sam stammers, "M-more than a h-h-hundred!? How do I not know about them? Why are they not in the catalog?"
"What the hell, B?" Dean adds.
"Hey! Calm down. Yes, we've got a lot of old books that need repair that aren't in the catalog. I found them six months after I started. Most of them are in even worse condition than the ones on the repair shelves, and they're mostly in Latin or German."
"German? Why German? Were there a lot of German settlers in this area?" As much as I like Sam, this barrage of questions is starting to irritate me.
"I have no idea. I can barely get to the ones in the cata-"
"But those books could be important B!"
"I doubt it. Old occult books in a dead language or what are probably Nazi translations? No one has requested anything like-"
"But someone might really need that information!"
And that's where my patience ends. I toss down my napkin, grab my pack and scoot out of the booth. "Bite me Sam! The surprise on his face reminds me to maintain a veneer of professionalism. "Did I not tell you my job is on the line? Do you have any idea how few positions there are for book restoration in this country? Let alone how few will hire a woman in her 20's? It's fewer than Rock star. And instead of getting a chance to prove myself I'm stuck out on the floor answering the stupidest questions you can possibly imagine. 'I need this book for my lit paper that's due tomorrow! It's green and it's by that woman who did that thing back in the sixties?' Every day the head librarian casts me more looks of suspicion because the repair shelf is fuller than when I started! How the fuck do I add those moldering tomes to the catalog when I don't have time to repair the books we have listed!?" I hiss out the last sentence and stalk away from the table. Fear, frustration, and a little bit of betrayal make my eyes feel hot, so I walk fast to get out in the cool air.
Sam still catches up with me just outside the door.
"B wait!" He darts in front of me to block my path. "I'm so sorry. You're absolutely right to be upset. I shouldn't have interrupted you or questioned your judgment." He ducks down to catch my eye. "Seriously, I'm an idiot." He smiles and gives me puppy dog eyes.
Oh, I am in such trouble. How do you maintain indignation with a hot guy who can transform into apologetic toddler at the drop of a hat? "Damnit. I bet you get your way a lot with that face, don't you?"
"What face?" He stands straight and has the nerve to look confused.
Dean ambles up, nodding. He's carrying my food in a to-go container. "You have no idea. He's been using that face on me since before he could walk. Even our dad wasn't immune."
"Guys, seriously, what face?"
Dean performs the mother of all eyerolls. I bet he sees the inside of his skull. "Dude, seriously!? The one with the big eyes looking up through the lashes and the smile with the dimples? You can't tell me you don't know you're doing that!"
The smile and dimples return, now combined with lowered brows and a sideways glance. I can easily picture this expression on a baby. Combined with chubby cheeks it would have been devastating. I can't help but snort with laughter.
"See?" Dean cries, but he's smiling too.
"I do. Thank the Goddess you're such a nice guy." I hand him my bag to hold while I shrug into my coat. "I've got to get back and give Tionne her break. Do you still want to help me with copies?" When I start walking back to the library, the boys fall in beside me.
"Of course, I do. Besides, not only do I still need a copy of that book, now I need to help you catch up on your work. It's a moral imperative."