(A/N-Special thanks to Bekki boo for beta reading this. And to those who read, review, follow, fav this story.)
Regina's face is heated with embarrassment. "A cop! I meant a cop."
Regina can't look directly at him, but she does catch him out of the corner of her eye, grinning like he won the lottery.
Jesus, his grin is like a superpower. She's instantly wet.
"I guess it hasn't come up in conversation," Belle says, as though she didn't notice Regina's blunder. She sets down her scissors and stares at her point blank. "And of course, he's hot. He's related to me."
Regina didn't think her blush could deepen, but apparently it can because now she feels it down to her toes.
And that's Regina's cue to leave.
"Well, look at that," Regina squints at the clock on her computer. "My break is over. I have to get back upstairs. Nice meeting you. Again. Officer Locksley. Robin." It's strange saying his name and yet she wants to say it over and over. She wants to scream it.
She wants him to give her a reason to scream it. She wants to scream it as she-
What is she thinking? What is she thinking? She meant all those things she said to Belle.
But, God, look at him…
He cranes his neck to check up on the boys who are hidden in between the stacks, and her uterus aches. He's so damn good with them. He's just so damn…good.
Regina sighs and, with his attention elsewhere, slip around the children's reference desk, and makes a quick escape toward the elevator.
She's inside the car and the doors are closing when a large hand reaches in and stops them. A large sexy hand that can belong to no one other than Robin Locksley. Two seconds later, he's in the car with her.
The elevator is small, and it feels like he takes up all the room. Regina pushes the button for the top floor and then steps as far to the side as she can. She swears he only spreads out wider. His body grazes hers and goose bumps break out all over her skin. She huffs in irritation. Where is he even going? Wasn't he watching the kids?
He doesn't offer an explanation, and she refuses to ask.
Fortunately, the ride is short, and Regina has work to do. As soon as the doors open, she rushes to the cart she'd loaded earlier and starts pushing it toward the fiction section. It's slow enough that she's not needed on the floor where Robin might feel obliged to try to talk and disarm him with his cobalt death rays. So yeah, she's planning on hiding in the stacks.
It's a good plan. Problem is, as soon as she starts pushing, Robin starts following.
Perhaps it's a coincidence. He could have been heading for fiction. Maybe that's why he came up here—to grab the latest murder book, or no. That's not what he'd read. He'd read epic fantasy, Le Guin or Rothfuss maybe. Or maybe something more in the George R.R. Martin or M.D. Ireman vein. He struck her as the kind of guy who liked his books smart and a little fun.
So, she stops and pretends to look at a book on the cart, giving Officer Locksley a chance to pass her by.
Except he stops too.
Goddammit.
Of course, he stops.
He probably isn't even a reader because a subscription to Playboy online does not count as reading.
With her jaw set, she takes a deep breath and forces a smile on her face. "Can I help you with something?" Regina has no idea why her voice sounds as high as it does. Or why her heart is beating as fast as it is. Or how his cheekbones can be as perfect as they are. Or how tight his jeans fit just right in his crotch.
"You can, actually," he says, his eyes twinkling.
Aw, Christ on a cupcake, he knows how to twinkle. Regina lets out a string of curse words in her head, including a bunch that she's made up on the spot that are specifically related to how amazingly Robin Locksley fills a pair of jeans.
She's hopeless. This is hopeless. "Is this library related?" Regina asks him. "Because if it isn't—"
"I can tag along while you shelve." Robin said.
"Fine," She says through gritted teeth. Regina shoves the cart harder than she needs to, hoping it will alleviate some of her irritation, but if it does, she doesn't notice. Robin and her are walking side by side now toward the fiction section, and all she's aware of is the wall of heat between them. It beckons her closer, makes her wonder what it would be like to be pressed up next to him. Makes her wonder what the scratch of his stubble would feel like against her cheek.
Regina pushes the cart up to the P's, picks up a handful of books, and starts looking for their places on the shelf. They're silent at first, and it's killing her, but after what happened downstairs, she's not saying a word until he does.
He leans back against the bookshelf and crosses his arms over his chest, which causes his biceps to flex, and until now, she had not been aware that arm porn was actually a thing, but apparently it is. In this position, she can see his tattoo better. The silhouette of a lion on some sort of shield. Maybe the family crest?
Regina pretends not to notice he's watching her too. It's not like she likes it or anything.
Okay, she likes it. A lot. Hot guy checking her out? How could she not like it?
"So, I'm vetted now," he says eventually.
"Vetted?" She reaches for another book, avoiding looking at him directly. "What do you mean?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him shrug. "I'm Belle's brother. It means you can go out on a date with me. I'm not some random stranger."
Oh God. The date he'd asked her on. She'd hoped he'd given up on that.
"Being Belle's brother doesn't automatically vet you. You can still be a giant douchebag and share DNA with a good person." Another handful of books and this time she bends down to search for their placement.
"But I'm not a giant douchebag." Is it her imagination, or is he suddenly closer?
Regina peers up at him. "How do you know for sure? It's hard to be objective when you're both the one doing the judging and the one being judged."
He crouches down beside her, and her heart practically leaps into her throat. "How about you go on a date with me, and you can tell me if I'm a giant douchebag?"
She means to let out a mocking laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a giggle. "I'd rather not."
He moves to meet her eyes. "Why would you rather not? You said I was hot if I recall."
"I said—" Regina stares at him, open mouthed, shocked that he'd bring that up. She's so humiliated. Again. "That was a slip of the tongue." She returns to shelving, refusing to look at him. Ever again. Ever, ever again.
Fine, she sneaks one more peek at him, but this is definitely the last one.
"So, you're saying you don't think I'm hot?"
Oh my God, he's so hot.
"Aren't you supposed to be watching your nephews?" Yes, she's changing the subject.
"Belle's taking her dinner break; it's been ten minutes. Tell me, Regina. Are you absolutely not attracted to me?"
She studies him for several seconds before her eyes flicker involuntarily to his lips. She licks her lips as she does so.
What the hell is she thinking?
She shoots up to her feet. "This feels like a trap."
Robin follows her up, caging her between the bookcase, the cart, and his body. His hard, hard body.
"It's totally a trap," he says, his voice low and husky. "I'm trying to trap you into dinner with me."
She swallows, but she can't get the lump out of her throat. He's close enough that she can breathe him in. He smells like musk and sporty body wash and, faintly, of baby bottle, which somehow makes him even sexier. Her eyes wander back to his lips, and she can't help wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by him. She bets he kisses hard. And deep. She bets his kisses bruise and burn.
His head tilts toward hers. "For the record, the feeling's mutual."
"What feel—" It takes her a second to remember he's referring to her accidentally calling him hot. And another second to realize he's now calling her hot. "Oh my God." She turns away, her skin so flushed she's sure it's warm to the touch.
Even with her back to him, she can feel him grinning. She's so glad she amuses him. Is that his interest in her? Comic relief?
She'll never know because she's never speaking to him or looking at him or thinking about him ever again.
But when she reaches for another pile of books, he says, "Hand me a stack. I'll help."
And so, she turns and hand him a stack as big as she can hold. He grips it easily in his large hand, and when the tips of her fingers brush his and her body starts to hum in response, she decides that maybe this is how it's going to be when she's around Officer Robin Locksley, and maybe she should just accept it.
Accepting it doesn't mean she's going on a date with him. But he can certainly help her shelve a few books.
They settle quickly into a routine, reaching around each other for a new stack, Robin placing the higher books while she shelves the lower ones, chatting while they work.
"How come I haven't seen you around here before?" he asks.
"I transferred a couple of months ago here."
"I see." He looks around like he's about to tell her a secret. "Must get boring at times."
"Not always. Sometimes it does feel like it's actually about reference or matching people with good books."
"You like that, don't you? Playing matchmaker." Robin said.
"I do," She says proudly. „Because not only doe I like it, but I'm also good at it. I'm good at listening to someone tell me which books they've enjoyed, which they haven't, what they think they're in the mood for and then finding just the right book for them to read now."
"Okay then," he says, his tone challenging. "Go ahead. Match me."
They're standing next to each other, barely a foot separates them, and somehow, she thinks he's not asking her to find him a book, which is good because she couldn't begin to think of a book to recommend right now.
"Okay," Regina says, anyway. Then nothing else. Her breath quickens as he searches her face, his eyes landing on her lips before skimming down to her breasts. She's sure he can see how they're peaked through the thin fabric of her blouse. He has to know it's because of him.
"Regina?" His voice is ragged, and fuck. It's so sexy, she can hardly stay standing. It's been so long since she's been attracted to a guy. She means, really attracted. To the point where she's sure that her vibrator can't compare with even what she just imagines about his fingers.
She meant what she'd said earlier—she's not interested in men or dates or anything involving emotions. But the stairwell's fairly quiet and Belle still has time on her break…
"There you are!" Violet pops out from around the bookshelf, and she jumps away from Robin as far and as fast as she can. "What have you been doing?"
"Nothing. It was nothing. We were nothing. Shelving." Regina smiles tightly, brushing back an imaginary hair behind her ear. "Hi, Violet. What's up?"
"Just looking for you." She looks at her suspiciously. Then eyes Robin. "Heya, Officer Locksley. Regina's not in trouble, is she? Regina, you should have texted! I would have been here for you! Paybacks and all!"
"Nope. Not in trouble," Regina says hurriedly. She's blushing, and she knows Robin is grinning his cocky grin, even though she refuses to look at him to be sure. "What do you need?" She asks again, desperate to get the attention off of them. Off of her.
"Cool. Well. I have a paper due tomorrow. I know. I procrastinated until the last minute, but that's a long story, and I don't think that you'd really consider it my fault if you heard all the details because I'm not the one who—"
"Violet," She interrupts. "Get to the point."
"Oh. Right. American History. I have to do a paper on a woman who has shaped American History and everyone else is already doing Susan B. Anthony and Betsy Ross and Hillary Clinton. I want to do someone cool and unheard of, but I don't know who that would be. But I knew you'd know."
"Um. Okay." Normally this would be an easy one. But her head is not in the game. She's still thinking about Robin and his lips. And his eyes. And his…everything.
"Elizabeth Cady Stanton," he says. "Do a report on her."
"Who's that?" Vioket asks.
"You don't know her?" He feigns shock. "She's your soul sister. She was an American suffragist, social activist, abolitionist."
Robin goes on to highlight Elizabeth Cady Stanton's contributions to society, but Regina's no longer listening. He's good with Violet. Like he was good with his nephews. Is that something a man's either born with or not? As much a part of his DNA as his thick hair and strong jaw?
Regina thinks about Robin's good genetics. She thinks about the constant ache in her heart. She also thinks about the newer ache between her legs, and an old idea starts to re-form and become something new.
"Now stop talking about it, and get started," Robin says, interrupting a Violet-length monologue. "Library closes in two hours, and you're going to need all that time. Better hustle."
"Aye aye, captain." She salutes, and miracle of miracles, she actually goes off to work without further pushing.
He's good. He's real good.
"Well?" Robin says when he turns back to face her, and she's sure it's because they were in the middle of something, but that was a bad idea. She has a better idea now, so she maintains a three-foot distance between them and avoids gazing directly into his eyes.
"I do admit that I might have misjudged you," Regina concedes, leaning against the bookshelf, her hands tucked behind her back.
He raises a brow. "Because I'm a guy, and I know who Elizabeth Cady Stanton is?"
"Because you're a guy who supports your local library." She can't help herself—she meets his eyes. His goddamn twinkling eyes.
He grins, slowly, and she knows that he knows he's got her.
He leans against the opposite shelf. "Dinner tomorrow. Six o'clock."
"Seven." He's got her, but he doesn't have her that easily. "I work before that."
"Tell me where to pick you up."
"Tell me where to meet you. I'll drive myself." No way is she going out with him without an escape plan.
He considers. "I haven't decided yet. I'll text you."
"I haven't given you my number." Regina reminds him.
"Then give me your number." Robin says, his words barely above a whisper.
There's no way for her to have the last word on this one and win. There's either she gives it or she doesn't, and if she doesn't, this is done.
And she doesn't want it to be done.
So, she gives him her number.
Because maybe there's something to what Belle said earlier after all—you don't get anything good without risk.
Well, she's decided there's something that she wants. Something she's willing to take a risk for after all.
And if she gets it, she has a feeling it's going to be real good.
When Robin settles into his patrol car the next morning, he decides that nothing can touch his good mood. Nope. Nothing, because tonight Officer Locksley has a date with the sexy librarian. And if he thought those leggings would give him carpal tunnel from all the stroking off they inspired, then he's going to have something much worse than carpal tunnel after seeing her in that pencil skirt and tight no-nonsense bun yesterday. How do teenage boys even handle her being their librarian? He'd be terrified to shine a black light in the men's restroom.
Note to self, see if Regina is willing to play Sexy Librarian after they play Find the Nightstick.
So, the normal rounds of criminals, liars, and people who yell at him for giving them tickets don't bring him down.
The dirt bag who tries to lie about slashing his ex-girlfriend's tires the night before doesn't bring him down.
The irate doctor who accuses him of discriminating against people who drive nice cars in order to boost ticket revenues doesn't bring him down.
Even the white lady who yells at her after he wrote her a ticket for causing an accident doesn't upset him.
"Failure to avoid collision?" she reads off the ticket. "How the fuck am I supposed to avoid a collision when the car in front of me stops without warning?"
"They were stopping for a red light. In general, we would consider the red light a warning that cars ahead of you will be stopping," Robin says, aware that he's being snarky, but keeping his voice bland and pleasant. It's easy to stay pleasant when he knows he'll be pressed against Regina later tonight. "I also have three independent eyewitnesses saying you were tailgating that car and visibly texting on your phone. If you'd been following at a safe distance, you wouldn't have hit them."
"You can't know I wouldn't have hit them," she hisses wildly.
"Actually," Robin says cheerfully, "I can know that. Given the incredibly short skid marks and given that the coefficient of friction for dry asphalt is generally between a .7 and .9, I'd say you would have only needed an extra six or seven feet between you to have avoided the accident. Less than a single car length."
She blinks at him.
He flips over her accident report form and start writing out the formula for her. "So, the mass of the vehicle is irrelevant here, and without a drag tire I don't know the exact coefficient of friction, but we'll be generous and say it's .7, and so if f equals force…"
She's now staring at him incredulously.
"It's physics?" He offers.
"Fuck physics," she snaps. "You'll be hearing a complaint from me, Officer Locksley. You've been nothing but unprofessional. And those eyewitnesses are bullshit—no one can prove I was texting!"
"That's why I didn't write you a ticket for texting, I wrote you a ticket for crashing into the back of another car."
She practically snarls, snatches her ticket out of his hand, and leaves. He finishes the physics formula by himself for fun, get the answer he knew that he would, and then finishes up his report.
Good mood undaunted, he spends the next hour running speed along one of their busiest roads, his phone wedged between his cheek and his ear as he holds the LIDAR gun steady and track cars as they drive by.
"Do you think she prefers it if a guy dresses up or if he's more casual?" He asks Belle. He called her to not-so-subtly investigate Regina before their date tonight; Robin is very, very invested in it going well. His dick is too.
"Let me guess," Belle says, "it'll be the Locksley trio? Dinner, drinks—"
"—handcuffs," Robin finishes for her. "And don't knock the Locksley trio. It's very popular in certain circles."
"You mean the circles of women aged twenty-three to twenty-seven who live within walking distance of a bar?"
"Oh, come on."
"Face it, Robin, you have a type."
"Beautiful women?"
They're miles apart, but he can practically hear her eyes roll. "Shallow women. Badge bunnies. The kind that get off on playing 'License and Insurance' and then afterwards are more than happy to hop on to the next officer. Regina's not like that, Robin. She's not impressed by your badge or those dumb sunglasses—"
"Hey!" He protests. "My sunglasses are not dumb!"
"—and she's definitely not shallow. She's smart. And passionate. And determined. And she's sworn off men, so I don't know how you convinced her or hexed her into agreeing to a date with you, but it's probably not because you've dazzled the panties off of her."
He thinks about that a minute, his good mood threatening to deflate the tiniest amount. Not because Belle told him Regina had sworn off men, since he's pretty sure once he gets her to himself she'll decide to unswear off men…for at least two hours. Four if she has a hot tub.
No, his good mood is wavering because his own sister is clearly wary of him dating her friend. "Belle, you know that I'm not like a total asshole right? I'm not planning on fucking it and trucking it. I'll be a gentleman."
"Hmm."
"Don't hmm at me," He says indignantly. "Maybe I didn't dazzle the panties off her, but she must have seen something in me she likes. Even if it's just the promise of a fun night."
"Don't you ever get tired of being just a fun night? Being just Officer Good Times?"
The answer is so obvious that for a moment he thinks that he misheard the question. "No, I don't, baby sis. No, I don't."
Again, he can hear her eyes roll. "I don't believe you, dude."
He makes a scoffing noise as he adjusts the phone and aim his LIDAR at a Lexus barreling down the far lane. "You don't have to believe me. But I will tell you, I definitely wouldn't mind if I had more than one fun night with Regina. A few would be ideal. And do you think she'd wear those leggings if I asked her? I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to tear them apart with my hands and—"
"Oh my God. I'm hanging up." Belle threatens.
"Fine. I have to pull over this car anyway. If the date goes badly, I'm blaming it on your poor intel."
Belle makes her own scoffing noise and then hangs up, and he drops the phone in the seat next to him and reach for his lights and sirens. But as he does, as he pulls over the SUV and have yet another doctor accuse him of profiling expensive-looking cars, he wonders about what Belle said.
Is he sick of being Officer Good Times?
He means, of course not.
Right?
But for the first time, he's not sure if he believes himself either.
Tonight should be interesting.
