Murder of a Stacked Librarian (32 page)

BOOK: Murder of a Stacked Librarian

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“Hold it, fellas.” I crossed my arms. “Let’s maintain a little personal space here, shall we?”

Jake cocked a dark brow and gave me a badass grin, but he didn’t budge, and Noah, despite looking a little sheepish, didn’t give an inch, either. Frustrated, I put a hand on each of their chests and shoved. Even though Jake was brawnier, Noah had a lean strength, so it was like pushing against twin statues.

Lowering my gaze to their crotches, I threatened, “Don’t make me go for the family jewels.”

Jake raised his hands. “Fine.” He tipped his head toward Noah. “But are you really dating this bozo?”

Noah tensed, then narrowed his slate gray eyes, shouldered his way in front of Jake, and said to me, “After not hearing from this jerk for weeks, you’re not thinking of seeing him again, are you?”

Well, hell! This was truly a hot mess. I
so
didn’t want to have this conversation with either of them right this minute. Mostly because I had no idea what to say. Both men were gorgeous, in utterly different ways. Mysterious versus familiar. Strikingly masculine versus classically handsome. A German shepherd versus a Russian wolfhound.

However, both had significant drawbacks as well. While the sexual chemistry between Jake and me was off the charts, he lived in St. Louis, a good five hours away. There was also the troublesome detail that he worked closely—very closely—with his ex-wife, who happened to be his team leader and thus his boss. In fact, his most recent assignment had required that they pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend.

So, Noah had the advantage of availability, but I had a painful history with him. Jake had a clean slate, but complications.

Neither guy was a sure thing; nor was either one an obvious choice. With all that in mind, as well as the knowledge of my many previous romantic missteps, I figured that dating either man would probably be a lesson in candy-coated misery.

What I should do was convince them that we could all be friends and keep both relationships platonic. Of course, I rarely did what I should. Still, I had to do something before they killed each other or shed someone else’s blood, namely mine. I’d detested being a suspect in a murder case, but I was pretty damn sure I’d hate being a victim even more.