Thief (Love Me With Lies #3)
Author:Fisher, Tarryn

But, these thoughts of being murdered in my house-car didn’t stop us from talking. We continued the game, back and forth with authors we had read: London, Hughes, Achebe, Stein, Chesterton, Dostoevsky, Browning, Longfellow. On and on we went, and she seemed to have a story behind every author she was familiar with, every story she had read. I hadn’t met anyone who shared my love of literature to quite the extent that she seemed to.

 

As the lunch bell chimed and my class dismissed, she was immediately at my door waiting for me.

 

“You are a persistent man,” she said, smiling. She was doing bad things to my mind. I was contemplating a throw down on the death couch with her, but if I was worried about texting getting me fired and killed, having sex with her in my classroom would probably achieve that end much more quickly.

 

“Can you blame me for trying?” I asked, getting up from my desk to meet her at the door.

 

“No,” she replied, “I’m just not used to someone so competitive.”

 

“Please,” I said as we began walking down the hall, “You are married to a professional athlete. I am fairly certain he’s competitive.”

 

“That’s different,” she said.

 

“So, you need to read James Joyce,” she added, clearly wanting nothing to do with the fact that I brought her husband into the conversation.

 

“Okay. I will.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, tell me what to read and I will.”

 

“Okay. Well, you have to read Dubliners then. Short stories, mostly depressing.”

 

“Sounds like my kind of pleasure reading.”

 

“Oh shut up. You’ll love them. He’s my favorite author.”

 

“That’s a pretty bold statement coming from someone who has read so many different books.”

 

“I can be a fairly bold person.”

 

“I can see that,” I said, wondering why certain things she said gave me goose bumps — the good kind.

 

“So you promise you’ll read it?” she asked as we neared the lunchroom. The sound of the students waiting in line was almost as offensive as the smell of fried food wafting through the halls.

 

“I do. I’ll just have to hit up my local public library and find it. It’s probably covered in dust.”

 

She jabbed me with her elbow.

 

“I have two copies at the house. Come by after work sometime tonight and I’ll let you borrow one.”

 

“Are you sure your husband won’t mind if I stopped by?”

 

“He won’t be home.”

 

And with that, she smiled and walked into the lunchroom.