A Library Romance

*Nico's P.O.V.*

After work last night I’d rushed to get a new razor. Now that I am showered and clean-shaven, finally, I’m rummaging through my closet, looking for something decent to wear. This evening is my meeting where I know I’ll see Adlar. This time he’s not going to catch me off-guard; I’m going to be prepared and damn-well sexy.

Sometimes I wish I was a girl. Girls have so much more to choose from when it comes to clothes. After half an hour – I’d gotten up early – I finally decide on fitted, faded, grey jeans, old purple converse, a Motley Crue t-shirt, and my worked-in leather jacket.

I sigh at my reflection, shrugging. Walking down the stairs, I grab my daily morning coffee and bagel with cream cheese.

“You look nice today, Nico, occasion?” my mother asks.

“No,” I lie.

“Is it a boy?” Ariana smiles mischievously.

I stick my tongue out at her. My entire family knows about my homosexuality. They all accepted it a long time ago.

“It is a boy, I heard him talking about it to Deana,” my twelve-year old brother Donato says matter-of-factly, “Some dude named Adlar.”

Carina, my fifteen-year old sister sighs dreamily, “Adlar is like the most gorgeous guy ever.”

“Duh,” I mutter, sitting at the table as I finish half the bagel.

Have you ever thought of the word bagel? It’s a really weird word.

“Nuh-uh, Edwyn is way cuter,” fourteen-year old Belina counters, referring to Adlar’s younger brother.

“You’ve never even seen Adlar,” Antonio says as he walks in the room, doing up his tie, and failing, “Cool guy, fun to party with; hilarious drunk.”

“Seriamente, Antonio, when are you going to learn to tie this yourself?” my mother asks impatiently, tying it up for him quickly.

“The way I see it, right now I got you or Nico Fatato to do it for me. I stay here till I find a girl, then I got her to do it!” he smirks.

“Stop calling me Fatato!” I yell, throwing a bit of uneaten bagel at him.

Antonio ducks, the bagel sticking to the wall by the cream cheese. Antonio smirks smugly before leaving. If you’re wondering why Antonio is wearing a tie, it’s because he’s an auto salesman. Gotsta look presentable with that job. I gulp down the rest of my coffee, ducking out of the house before Mamma can take her wrath out on me. She hates when we mess up her house.

Deana and Drake are waiting for me on the front steps.

“Ooh, la, la, don’t you look dashing this morning?” Deana smirks.

“Do I Drake?” I ask, hopefully.

“What, you don’t trust me?” Deana pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Ya, but, a guy’s opinion is different from a girl’s.”

“Not really, straight guys do not admit when another guy looks good.”

“Drake?” I whine.

“What? You look like you to me,” he states.

“See!” Deana exclaims.

“Fine, let’s just hope Adlar thinks so,” I try to sound enthusiastic.

-----

By third period I lose almost all my worries about seeing Adlar. I realize that there really is nothing to freak out about. What’s the worst that could happen? I get rejected. If that happens it’ll be complete closure for me and I can move on.

Today third period is free due to the absence of the gym teacher, Mr. Sarde. Drake and I figure we could do with some weight lifting. Deana sits and watches. Despite the fact I’m gay; she still finds it nice to watch me work out.

I know, I’m gay; the stereotype doesn’t include weight lifting. Well screw the stereotype, besides, being strong and in shape has saved my ass from the ridicule of being gay. I’m not huge or anything though. I find huge, bulging muscles to be slightly repulsive. I have a good enough amount in my opinion.

Currently, Drake and I are doing chin ups. Deana is sitting on a blue mat, watching us adoringly, along with an even more annoying girl, Abigail. The girl won’t move no matter what we say, so we ignore her.

“Why do you lift weights anyway?” Deana asks.

“Are you kidding? If I didn’t Antonio would kick my ass. Besides, when Donato and Paolo get older we’ll have to beat on them. I worry about them, being sandwiched in between three girls, it ain’t healthy. Also, with all the pasta we eat, I have to counter it with something.”

“Cause being after Antonio totally made you manly,” Deana agrees sarcastically.

Abigail sighs, “Speak in Italian, Nico.”

“Hey, Dee, your soccer is still on Mondays and Wednesdays, right?” I ask.

“Yeah, why?”

“Oh, I’m just trying to figure out the schedule to fit in Adlar now.”

“Oh, ya, just put him in the evenings I can’t work, Mondays and Wednesdays, that way you can be with him.”

“Ya, but he needs more than eight hours a week.”

“Speak Italian, please,” Abigail sighs.

Drake looks at me pleadingly as we let ourselves down from the chin-up bar. Ignoring Abigail I rip off my shirt, slinging a towel over my shoulders.

“Please Nico,” she gasps.

“Oh, my God,” I mutter, “Tu sei uno puttana stupido che dovrebbero essere assassinato.”

Drake bursts out laughing. Deana looks at us angrily. Abigail sighs dreamily.

“Come on, let’s get to the showers,” I growl to Drake.

You’re probably thinking the showers are hell for me right? Wrong. It’s not like I openly ogle the other guys. I’m very good at being inconspicuous. And it’s not like I’ve ever gotten a boner in the showers.

-----

I get to work at four. Immediately I begin working on the new schedule. I already know Deana does not work Mondays or Wednesdays; those are soccer days. I work every day, unless I know something is up so I can’t. I figure Ester, Fred, and Marge can do the eight till four weekday mornings. The evenings and Saturdays will be for me, Deana, and Adlar.

Adlar comes by right on time and I nearly faint. His blonde hair is perfect, spiking in all the right ways. He’s wearing a bright blue t-shirt that makes his eyes sparkle even more than usual. But the best part is; his jeans are the perfect fit, pulled taut in the front. No way in hell can I be good enough for that!

Deana walks to the counter and jabs me in the ribs.

“Stop looking so depressed,” she hisses.

“Sorry, but how am I supposed to be good enough for that!” I panic.

“Ssh, he’s coming,” she whispers, smiling, “Hi Adlar!”

“Hi Deana,” he smiles back, “Hey Nico.”

“Hey. Everyone else should be here soon. I told them five o’clock so they’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

Adlar laughs, “Cool.”

“Yeah, the others don’t really like Nico at all,” Deana giggles.

“Why’s that?” Adlar asks.

“They think it’s unfair that they have to take orders from an immature, teenage, gay boy,” I smirk.

“That’s stupid, I think you’re very mature,” Adlar says matter-of-factly, “I am proud to be at your service.”

“Thank you,” I say with an English accent, sticking my nose in the air.

Ester walks through the door, followed by Fred and Marge. All look quite sullen about being dragged back here.

“Okay, let’s get started. Fred, Ester, Marge, this is Adlar; he’ll be working with us from now on. Adlar, this is Ester, Fred, and Marge.

“Hello,” Adlar waves politely.

The three give him glares before muttering some sort of greeting.

“Okay, so I was wondering if there are any problems with your current schedules,” I addressed the sullen three.

The Sullen three, I like that, it has a nice ring to it.

They groan, “No.”

“Okay, so Adlar, I was wondering when is best for you?”

“Anytime,” he shrugs.

“Perfect, so I usually let the three have weekday mornings because then Deana and I are here during evenings. Before, I had to rotate on Mondays and Wednesdays because of Deana’s soccer. Would you mind working those days in her place?”

“No problem, what times?”

“From four till 8, and then we’re usually pretty busy Fridays so would you work that too?” I ask carefully.

“Fine, what do we do Saturdays?”

“Actually I was gonna ask you if you’d be able to work that too. It’s Deana’s Grandparents day so she can’t, and I sort of promised the others they didn’t have to work it anymore,” I smile hopefully.

“That’s totally fine, man.”

“Great.”

“So, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from four till eight; and what times Saturday?”

“Ten til six.”

“Perfect.

“Okay, great, so you three can work every week day morning from eight till four, and that’s it,” I tell the Sullen Three, “You can go now.”

They leave, grumbling. Deana goes back to stocking shelves.

“So, Adlar, if you want, you can stay for an hour or two and I can show you the logistics of the counter and shelves, that way you’re good for tomorrow.”

“Sure, I got nothing to do,” he shrugs.

We only wait ten minutes before we get a customer. I show him how to use the computer.

“Just use this little gun to scan the code on the back of the book, the price will come up on the screen, then just choose whether it's cash, credit, debit, or cheque.”

The woman hands me a ten dollar bill.

“So, cash, type in the amount paying, and then it tells you how much change, and the register opens.”

I hand the woman her change, “Have a good evening.”

“Sweet, looks easy enough.”

“Oh ya, and we’ll get you a name tag by next week.”

“Cool.”

“So you think you can handle the rush?” I smirk, “It should be any minute now.”

“I think so,” Adlar says smugly.

The bell dings as a customer walks in. I smile enthusiastically at Adlar, giving him a thumb’s up. Every five minutes the bell dings. After half an hour, there’s a cue of four people and Adlar’s looking flustered.

“Let me, Adlar,” I tap his shoulder, “Just watch.”

“Got it,” he backs off quickly.

“Sorry about that, sir, we’re just training a new employee,” I smile reassuringly.

My fingers type quickly, books go rapidly from my hands to a bag, and my smile is ever present. I get rid of the cue in a few minutes.

“Dude, you’re like, pro,” Adlar chuckles.

“Don’t worry, once you get used to it, you’ll be just as fast.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be that good,” he smirks.

“Dee!” I call, “Can you man the counter while I show Adlar the book system?”

“Kay,” Deana appears.

I lead Adlar to the back and through the shelves. I can’t help but notice that we’re alone in a corner, where no one can see us. I stop at a cart full of books. I pick one up.

“So, how the organization goes, it’s basically the same as your standard library and bookstore. It starts with the letter of the section, so F for fiction, or C for cooking, and then dash and the first letter of the last name of the author because it goes in alphabetical order, like K for Stephen King, or T for J.R.R. Tolkien, and then a four digit number, the numbers go in order too.”

“Okay, sounds easy enough,” Adlar nods.

“That’s what you said about the counter, too,” I smirk humorously.

“It was my first time, man,” Adlar whines.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I say as if speaking to a child.