She started making plans. Selfish plans. Soak in a hot bubble bath? Enjoy a glass of wine? Dare to watch a chick flick or read a sizzling romance? Be totally decadent and paint her toenails?
She rubbed her neck, trying to relieve the tension of hours bent over books, and glanced at her watch. Hours was right. Good grief, it was almost eleven. She wriggled into her parka and shouldered her pack. If she hurried, she might make the last bus. She'd have to. With a grand total of three dollars and twenty-eight cents in her wallet, cab fare was out of the question.
She wrapped a scarf around her neck, tucked her hair up into her knit cap, and bolted down the stairs, clutching her anthro book to her chest. The elevator was powered by tired gerbils on a treadmill in the basement, and she could run the three flights in half the time it took for the elevator to get down, even if she had the amazing good fortune of a car waiting at her floor.
Across the lobby at full tilt, then down the library's cement stairs to the sidewalk. But she hadn't considered the weather. While she'd been lost in the tribal customs of indigenous Australians, someone had had the nerve to dump at least two inches of snow on the ground, much of which had turned to ice. Amy slipped on the second-to-the-last step and landed unceremoniously on her bottom. She scrambled to her feet in time to see the last bus pulling away from the stop.
Stamping her foot did nothing but let her know she must have twisted her ankle in her fall. Dammit. Telling herself that at least she wasn't paying a sitter did little to assuage her frustration. A long walk on a cold night was not in her plans.
"You all right, ma'am?"
Amy started at the sound of a deep male voice. Muggers wouldn't ask you if you were all right. They certainly wouldn't call you “ma'am.” Still, her heart pounded a little faster. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking." She squinted into the street lamp that kept her unknown companion in shadow. Six feet tall, at least, she guessed. He held something out in front of him. Her anthro book.
"I think this is yours," he said. Nice voice. Hint of a southern accent, maybe. That would explain “ma'am.” She reached out and took the book from his hand.
"Thanks. Can't afford to lose this." She maneuvered around under the light to get a better look at him. A little older than she expected. Lines etched around his eyes. Friendly eyes. Blue. Like his parka. Stop that. She'd been out of circulation way too long. Give her someone who said “ma’am” instead of "dude", and her hands start sweating.
"Anthro 110. Dillard, right?" he said.
She nodded. "Yes, and I have a midterm tomorrow and need to get home." She worked her pack off her shoulders, zipped the book into the outer compartment. Somehow, it didn't bother her when he helped her slip the pack back on.
"Relationships. That's the key," he said.
"What?" Okay, now that was a bit much. They hadn't even exchanged names yet.
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