#drunk dilf and his hot library wife

[cryptidowl]

What do you do with a drunken demon?

[iwannabearomancewriter]

Chapter 1:

Five years later…

“Here he comes!” I hear frantic whispers from outside my sad excuse of an office behind my circulation desk. I rolled my eyes to myself. I can hear all of the yoga pant wearing stay at home moms shuffling over to the window that faces the park and the playground. I chuckle remembering one of the younger volunteers sharing a joke with me last week about how the yoga pants were sad because they'd never be used for their intended purpose. I am wearing my most professional librarIan apparel of black pants, form-fitting white button down with black cardigan, and sensible black Mary Janes. Yes, it was the typical uniform of the mourning, but I wore it with style. I had lost my married weight over the years, so I now wear fitted women's shirts with pride. I pushed the tips of my shocking red bangs off my face for what seemed like the thousandth time today. In a moment of weakness last year, I decided to chop off my flowing waist-length locks only to chicken out after the stylist slashed only my bangs. So, now instead of looking classic and stylish, I looked like a recovering lobotomy patient. This afternoon I am hiding in my office trying to avoid the well-meaning moms who feel the need to find me my next husband. I've told them I will never remarry, but they think if I just meet the “right one” I’ll change my mind. I haven't told my library moms with their 2.5 kids about my gay ex-husband, so they think my attitude is unjustified. Ha! As if. My ninja skills are severely lacking because I can see through the window that someone has discovered my super secret hiding place. My assistant leans in the doorway with the biggest grin on his face.

“No playground for His Hotness today, Olivia! He's got a bag on his shoulder and he's headed this way!” Mark has a glimmer in his eye. He’s drunk the soccer mom, delusion-inducing Kool-Aid right along with the rest of them. These people think a middle aged librarian with no man and no prospects needs saving. Not bloody likely. I'm not British, I just like that phrase.

“Ladies... And gentleman.” I clear my throat to give all of the moms a chance to face me. Every week. It's like after they gave birth their hormones could not be stopped by logic or librarians. “It appears as if our bi-weekly entertainment is heading our way. Quickly return to your seats and buckle your smirks and sighs until the DILF has left the premises.” I kid you not, this spectacle I am witnessing happens twice a week. Mr. Hot Dad brings his daughter to the park twice a week. Of those two days, one of them includes a special visit to the public library to exchange his daughter’s books. The moms and Mark make quick work of looking like they weren't totally drooling over the man-candy now walking through the door. Their conversations start in the middle of sentences like they’ve been talking his entire time. Damn. They are good! In walks a man sent from the gods of some Latin country where men are steeped in the fine art of machismo… In a good way. Manliness just envelops him. You get too close, you could burn right through your panties. Papí struts back to the children’s section looking straight at me with an expression on his face that could be interpreted as “I am the man of your wettest dreams” or “Did I leave the iron on?”. I'm going to take a wild guess and say that this incredible specimen of man-candy does not iron.

I try to look as cool and calm as possible. I hate having to talk to the man when all of the hens in the henhouse are listening and watching. I and my total awkwardness around this man are their favorite form of entertainment.

Don't get me wrong, I love these ladies and their kids. Most of them are wealthy families who, upon discovering the Little Missus would be bringing forth their progeny, made sure to read every parenting book. Good, upper middle-class, hard working families who want to give their kids a head start in life. Their fervor for their children drives them to teach little Gertrude how to read by the age of three. Their children are smart, hardworking, and well rounded by all of their books and extracurriculars. Plus, I love my regulars. My stay-at-home moms who are just looking for something to fill the time until their darlings are ready to be driven to soccer, swimming, gymnastics, chess club; you get the idea. But through me they get to live vicariously. And they think this is a good thing! Little do they really know.

Forget that I'm a professional with an advanced degree attempting to teach their kids to have a lifelong love of reading. Forget that I've spent the past five years getting divorced, getting my Masters, and getting a real job and a comfortable enough existence after my husband left me… For Steve. God. Can this be over now? They all think this married guy is great practice for getting my confidence back. I just can't bring myself to tell them that the good lovin’ days are gone. Or more accurately, never were to begin with.

“Excuse me? Are you the librarian?” the extra tall panty melter with the broad shoulders and the hella deep baritone asks assertively.

I straighten my shoulders and walk out of my office with a forced smile on my face. I extend my hand politely, “Olivia Hastings. Yes, I'm the librarian.” I look him in the eye trying to convey that this is my domain and you will not fuck with me, but as soon as our eyes meet, that's when time stops. Happens. Every. Single. Time.

His eyes. I am such a sucker for brown eyes, but these are such a deep brown that I can't tell where his irises stop and pupils begin. I have never seen such lush eyes in my life. His eyelashes are so long that women across the planet are crying at the unfairness of it all.

He’s still shaking my hand... I think.

Is it warm in here? Or have I finally entered menopause? Sure I'm only thirty nine, but it could happen. It ain't like I'm getting any younger.

The heat radiating from my reproductive organs has been kick started after at least five years of neglect. Definitely not menopause. Good to know.

I drop my hand like it's on fire. On fire from the hotness standing in front of me. Gah! Get it together Olivia! He's a dad. He's a married dad! Dad, dad, dad, dad… DAD!

I lower my eyes to floor hoping to all things holy that he did not just hear my internal dialogue.

“Sebastian Arroyo. Pleasure to meet you.” I can almost hear a faint smile along with a very faint accent in his voice. Dios mio! Mr. Hot Dad shall henceforth be known as Señor Papí Calienté. Spicy! No. Picanté! Muy bien. Yep, he heard you. Stop it.

I look up at him again attempting a genuine smile, and I can feel my skin blush from the top of my head all the way to my girly parts. And when redheads blush? There's no hiding it. Nope. He knows exactly what I'm thinking or he's the most clueless DILF in North America. I see a mirthful light dance in his darkest gaze. I lower my eyes to the floor again.

“Is there something I can do for you, sir?” Or to you? Stop now!

“Yes. Mrs. Hastings…”

“Ms.” That wasn't obvious or anything. I cough to clear my head more than my throat. “Ms. Hastings.”

“My apologies. Ms. Hastings” he tilts his head forward just a bit, like he’s bowing his apologies. Nice. “I just finished talking to my daughter, and she reported to me that she has lost one of the books we borrowed months ago,” he states.

Oh yes. His daughter, Alexis. That poor girl. She loses everything she touches. With a dad that well put together, you'd think some of that Type A would have rubbed off on her, but, alas, no. Clueless would be a polite term for Alexis. And mom? She brings little Alexis by the library, too. However, she doesn't pay nearly as much attention to her daughter as Señor Papí does. Plus, the little missus might have been pretty once, but now there's so much plastic involved in her features, it's hard to tell what is her classic beauty and what is manufactured tripe. And you know that it's poisoned her brain as well. Ditzy as the day is long. What he sees in that god-awful woman I can only guess. And my guess? Papi here fell in love with whatever freaky shit she did with that pussy, and girlfriend fell in love with his cash. A marriage made in heaven. Insert eye roll here.

“Yes. I know Alexis,” I smile as sincerely as possible and direct my gaze to his ear. “Very sweet girl. I love her to pieces. But, she does have quite a difficult time keeping track of her library books,” and her brain.

Olivia, behave. It’s not like you're anyone to talk. How many times have you lost your keys today? Four and it’s not even noon. Pot? Meet kettle.

I attempt to look him in the eye again, but I just can't seem to do it. The stupid things flitting across my thoughts will blurt out if I don't keep my wits about me. The brief look I get of his face has me quickly turning away from him. Oh, look! My computer! I can use that for looking up books… And… Stuff. Go there, Olivia. The computer is your friend.

Mr. Arroyo follows me to my desk and speaks again, “Yes. This past year has been difficult for Alexis. Her mother and I,” he looks around the library as if to make sure he's not overheard. “We separated back in January. She has taken it very hard. Also, the custody arrangement is not ideal. I am not there to help her stay organized, and her mother, how can I say politely?… The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Holy. Shit. Señor Calienté is Señor divorciado Calienté! So he does see that his ex-wife is a plasticized ho. I gain a little respect for him in that moment, and I do a little dance inside my head. Right, Olivia. Like you've got a shot with this guy. The last man who got a piece of that is gay, remember, sexy lady? Okay, it's not like you turned him gay, that's not how it works and you know it. Still. You have less than a zero percent shot with Papi here, so keep it real, babe. Now, act like you know your business, and let the nice man-candy go on his merry way.

Reality throat fucks dicks in hell.

“Well, looking at her record, I can see that the book she lost is only a $4.00 paperback. I'm happy to just waive the cost, now that I know what's going on at home,” I reply with as much concern, gravitas, and not-glee in my voice as I can muster.

“Oh, no. That is not acceptable,” Sebastian replies forcefully. My eyes drift to the floor again. Would you look at that awesome industrial carpet? Oooh! A dime! I bend over to pick it up from the floor, and now I have something else to keep my attention. Score.

“Of course I will pay for the book,” Mi Papí continues. “I just wanted to make you aware of Alexis’s predicament. Divorce is hardest on the children, wouldn't you agree, Ms. Hastings?” He lowers his head to try to look into my eyes again, and his tone holds something I can't put my finger on. Our eyes connect, and it's like he can read me like a flashing sign on the strip in Vegas. I would almost wager that I can hear a tad of something lustful in his voice, and it's not just my overactive imagination. I swear!

“Well, speaking from experience, sir, I think divorce is hard on everyone involved,” I reply softly. I cannot believe I just said that. I said those words, and I looked through my lashes as I said them. I am flirting with him. I don't flirt with anybody. I gave up that dream a long, long time ago. What thirty nine year old divorcée librarian would dare flirt with a man so obviously out of her league? And seeing as most men that I find attractive are out my league? This is why I don't flirt. It's bad form for someone like me. We stand for several beats holding each other in our eyes. I could be mistaken, by all rights I'm sure I am, but I really think I see a little flirt action coming off of him, too.

No. Way. No way does Señor Calienté flirt with Olivia the Spinster LibrarIan. In no universe does that happen. Ever.

“Please,” he says, “Call me Sebastian.”

“Oh. Of course, sir,” I reply hastily blushing all the way. “Sebastian. Sir. I'm sorry. Good manners were drilled into me since birth,” I continue blushing wildly and rushing my words. I flip the dime over my fingers like I'm attempting a magic trick.

“And may I call you Olivia?” he asks so sweetly. I raise my eyes thinking, Honey, you can call me anything your little heart desires.

“Yes. By all means, please. Olivia… Yes… Sir… Sebastian,” my words just sort of stutter and putter until I run out of steam. You are so the epitome of smooth. Wow, a baby’s butt has nothing on your smoothness.

Sebastian pulls out his wallet and removes a ten dollar bill. “Oh,” I say shaking my head, “Please. On the house. I insist,” I move to push the money back towards him, but I stop short knowing if I actually touch him, I will most probably spontaneously combust.

He gets it, I think, because a small smile and that light in his eyes returns as my eyes quickly return to the beautiful industrial carpet.

“And, Ms. Hastings? Olivia?” He pauses. I would bet a million dollars he's doing that bending down thing to get me to look up again.

Why is he pausing? Why is he… Oh. Oh god, no. Nuh-uh. He wants me to look at him again. Please no. I can't. I hear a small cough. Shit. Piss. Fuck.

I look up reluctantly. The smile has given way to a stern, serious line of gorgeous lips.

“Thank you,” he says straightening his back as my eyes return to his. Cha-ching! One million dollars for the lucky, lucky lady! I see he's holding a card out to me. “Make sure to contact me in the future when you need anything to improve...,” and I swear he pauses. Pauses! “... The library you work so diligently to maintain.” It's not a request. The severe look on his face and the authoritative tone of his voice leave no doubt his words were most definitely not a request. They were a command. A command to call him when I need anything to improve… The library. With a pregnant pause. That pause was purposely left wide open for me to fill in with my pervy commentary. He just commanded you to call him. No. Olivia. Yo clueless? You have got to cut back on the alpha-male romances. That man did not command you. He's a lovely gentleman just looking out for his daughter and the library he supports. Señor Sexypants wouldn't flirt with some lowly libraran unless he was just doing it to make you feel better about your lot in life. Take your pittance, use him for your fantasies, and move the ever loving fuck on with your life.

I reach to take the card from him, and Señor Smoothness grabs, raises, and turns my hand over. The fire of passion blazes in the in dark centers of his eyes. I can feel the warmth of his exhale as he places the softest kiss on the inside of my wrist. White heat inflames my nethers. Guh. Ladies and gentlemen, all logic and reasoning have left the building. And the wetness in my panties could save California right about now.

“Thank you, again. Olivia.” He makes sure to enunciate every syllable of my name. He places the card and the ten dollars in my palm, folds my fingers around them, and gently releases my hand. Sebastian quite pointedly sears through my inhibitions with his dark, lush stare. Then, he smirks, turns, and walks out of the library.

What in the holy mother of hell was that?