From Wink to Kink: The San Francisco Aftershocks, a Hockey Romance

Have you ever accidentally booked yourself into a sex retreat?
No? Me neither.
Until I did.
Rather than signing up for the librarian wellness retreat I attend every year, I end up at an X-rated summer camp for adults, a risqué sex retreat where I meet a hot hockey player who looks like he just walked off the cover of a romance novel.
Picture me, whose idea of a wild night is rearranging my books by color, being schooled in the art of pleasure by a man who lists breaking hearts and booty calls along with slapshots and stick handling on his resume.
He’s the perfect example of every fantasy I’ve ever had, every alpha I’ve ever read about, and the vision of raw masculinity every romance novel tries to capture.
It’s not until I admit I’ve made the most delicious mistake of my life that that I learn this mix-up is the best thing to ever happen to me.
This man has me reconsider everything I thought I knew about romance.
My only question is, what happens when it’s time to go home?

RUBY

My shiny new clogs are cute as hell, but are also deadly on anything but the smoothest surfaces.
Ask me how I know.
So while I exit the Civic Center light rail station, hustling the last two blocks of my commute, I’m extra-careful to avoid dips in the uneven street and cracks in the sidewalk. Of course I don’t want to wipe out on my way to work, that would suck, but I’m honestly more concerned about scuffing my pretty blue clogs.
What we do for shoes.
The San Francisco Public Library, majestic with its white granite face reflecting in the morning sun, comes into view, and despite my dangerous footwear, I pick up my pace as I thank the universe for the thousandth time for my job there. Even if it does consist of the shittiest of the shit work there is to do in a public library. 
I have no right to complain. So, I’m not. Just stating a fact. 
I’m late this morning. 
While it’s only two minutes after the hour, I don’t like being late for anything, especially my job. So, when I finally burst through the doors and slow down enough to take a deep breath, I’m calmed and reassured by the familiar scent of mustiness and glue and something vaguely vanilla that I’ve been told is released by chemical compounds in books.
If I could bottle it, I swear I’d be a millionaire.
Instead, I’m a working girl who can’t afford to move out of my father’s house. I don’t buy anything that’s not been massively marked down, nor indulge in any sort of entertainment aside from snapping up cheap tickets to see obscure bands no one else will pay to see.
Clogs click-clacking across the tile floor, I make my way toward the staff locker room to drop off my backpack and jacket, avoiding looking at anyone to hide my shame in being tardy. 
But in spite of my slinking, something feels off.
I pass the front desk, staffed by a couple library employees way more senior than me, and when I do, their chatter comes to an abrupt halt. I glance their way, paranoid one of them will say something about my lateness and when I do, they look away, busying themselves with what I know is BS work.
Whatever.
It’s all good until I pass a couple co-workers helping library patrons. They stop their work and look at each other before glancing back at me. Like they’re sharing some sort of secret. About me. That I know nothing of.
Fucking weird. I pretty much keep to myself at this job. I mean, I’m friendly and hard-working, but I don’t share much about my personal life. Not that there’s much to share, anyway.
Just before I get to the locker room, I throw a wave in the direction of the folks staffing the reference desk, where I hope to work someday. Instead of waving back, one of the women lets out a wild giggle before clamping a hand over her mouth, and the other gives her a sharp elbow to the ribs, followed by a kindly, sympathetic smile in my direction.
What I hoped would be some admiration for my new clogs is instead pitying looks aimed squarely at my face, tinged with a level of amusement that makes me want to crawl into the bin of to-be-shelved books and disappear.
My new-shoe-hard-on has been replaced with a limp and floppy sense of dread that something is seriously fucked up, and that I am somehow at the center of it. 
“Ruby. Ruby,” a low, frantic voice hisses.
Matthew, my work BFF and fellow librarian, hurries toward me, waving his hands at waist height. I can’t decipher his weird gestures, so I just throw him a smile, jazz-handing him right back before opening the locker room door to stash my stuff.
“Hey, wait,” he calls.
I don’t listen. 
Instead, I take a couple of steps toward my locker, then stop so hard he slams into the back of me. I stumble forward, bracing myself against the locker door, where a bright yellow post-it note screams at me like a beacon in the night. 
Or maybe a scarlet letter. 
“What the actual hell?” I mumble to no one.
The note, scribbled with what must have been a nice, new Sharpie pen, is easy to read against the yellow background.
Yo, Ruby, I’ve found someone new and better in bed. Regards, Tod. 
I stare at the note, my cheeks burning hotter than the library's ancient radiators. Tod, the IT librarian, has apparently dumped me via post-it. Tod, with his thick glasses and penchant for Star Trek ties. Tod, who pursued me relentlessly for months, showering me with fun facts about the Dewey Decimal System and invitations to LAN parties.
I'd finally agreed to a date out of sheer exasperation—and, if I'm honest, a smidge of curiosity. One awkward dinner led to even more awkward fumbling in the dark. Tod insisted on lights out, probably to hide his Spock pajama, and somehow, I'd found myself in a ‘romantic entanglement’ that lasted three excruciating months.
And now, thanks to his socially inept breakup method, the entire library staff knows we've been ‘doing it.’ 
I can hear the whispers, the ones no doubt shared as I made my way in this morning.
Can you believe it? Ruby and Tod? I always thought she had better taste in men... and cardigans.
My backpack and jacket drop to the floor. I take a few shaky steps forward and rip the note off my locker. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. They’re not sad tears. No, they’re angry tears. Because I am fucking furious.
This is the cherry on top of the crap sundae that has been the last year of my life. After dropping out of college—turns out, interpretive dance wasn't the surefire career path I'd imagined—I was lucky to land this job. But instead of living out my librarian fantasies of recommending life-changing books and shushing rowdy patrons, I am the grunt-work kid.
Shelving books? My domain. Cleaning up mysterious stains in the children's section? Call Ruby. But staffing the reference desk, the holy grail of library positions? Fat chance. Not without that elusive piece of paper declaring me officially educated.
I take a deep breath. I square my shoulders. I won't let Tod and his post-it break me. So what if everyone knows about our sad excuse for a fling? At least I'm not like Howard and Tammy from acquisitions, who think their affair is a secret. Please. Their heated debates about the Oxford comma aren't fooling anyone.
I sear Matthew with a look, and he holds up his hands. “By the time I saw it, the damage was done. Everyone else had already seen it,” he moans. “I thought about taking it down, but figured you’d want to know how and why everyone knows.”
“You’re right. It was the right thing to do,” I say, swallowing my anger.
“I tried to catch you before, but I got caught up with someone looking for an old issue of the San Francisco Examiner.” Matthew looks at me, his big brown eyes filled with worry. “Do you want to talk about it? Hey, I could beat him up. Except, you know, us gay guys don’t really beat people up.”
Sighing, I step over my backpack and walk to the time clock. After entering my information and hitting submit, I wait until the screen displays on duty before I turn to face him. 
“No,” I say honestly. “I don’t want to talk about it. And you don’t have to beat Tod up. I’m going to go hunt him down and shove this post-it note down his throat before I strangle him with his own tongue.”
“Wow. Vicious,” he says with a shimmy. “Can I watch?” 
His eager reply gets a shaky laugh out of me. I take a deep breath, then another.
Get your shit together, Ruby. You have eight hours of work ahead of you. Focus.
I slam my locker door hard, harder than necessary, after stuffing it with my belongings.
“We’ll grab a coffee later,” Matthew tells me, patting my shoulder. “And, Ruby, it’ll be fine. I promise.”
“I know. Thanks.” I give him a slap on the arm as he leaves so he thinks I’m cool and not freaking the fuck out. With a deep breath, I lean my head against my locker door, the cold metal a shocking contrast to the explosive angry heat filling me.
From righteous to horrible in less than ten minutes.
As I march out of the locker room, head held high, a flash of color catches my eye. A brochure is pinned to the bulletin board, featuring palm trees and turquoise waters. ‘Escape to Enlightenment: A Librarian Wellness Retreat in Costa Rica,’ it proclaims in swirling script.
Who knew?
Without thinking, I snatch it down and shove it to my pocket alongside Tod's farewell note. I'll deal with him later. At the moment, I have books to shelve and my dignity to reclaim.
I refuse to give my coworkers the satisfaction of seeing me hurt and angry. Instead, I smooth down my appropriate-for-work black skirt, make sure my blouse buttons are not gaping, and give the new clogs a nod, as if affirming I still love them. With a jut of the chin, I paste a smile on my face and glide out of the locker room like I’m a queen about to greet her subjects.
Her Highness, Ruby Brooks, at your service.
I get a few more stares and whispers as I make my way to the return desk, where I’m stationed ninety percent of the time. Sometimes I work ‘roundup,’ which means I give everyone else their breaks, so I don’t have a set station. Rarely do I get to staff the reference desk, though. My dream job. 
"Psst! Ruby!"
A hushed voice makes me jump, and I almost drop the stack of books I'm reshelving. I turn to find my coworker, Tammy, peering at me from behind a cart of returns.
"I heard about Tod," she says, her eyes wide with gossip-hungry curiosity. Most of the time, gossip is about her, and her not-so-secret relationship with Howard. "Are you okay?" she asks, the corners of her mouth turning down in solidarity with my pain.
I plaster an award-winning ‘I'm fine’ smile on my face. "Oh, that? Ancient history. I'm just devastated I won't get to hear any more of his riveting monologues about server maintenance."
Tammy giggles, then quickly sobers. "But seriously, a post-it? That's cold."
"Yeah, well, what did I expect from a guy whose idea of foreplay was explaining binary code?" I roll my eyes, shoving a non-fiction book about ancient Rome on a shelf with perhaps more force than necessary.
"True," Tammy concedes. "But still, you must be upset. Want to grab a drink after work? Drown your sorrows in some fancy cocktails?"
The offer is tempting, but the thought of rehashing the Tod debacle over overpriced martinis, which I can ill afford anyway, makes my stomach churn. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass this time. I've got a hot date with my Netflix queue and a pint of rocky road. Rain check?" I ask, to be polite.
Tammy nods sympathetically. "Sure. If you change your mind, you know where to find me." Sated, for the moment, with some juicy new gossip, she saunters away, most likely thrilled to know she’s not the only one indulging in workplace romance.
As soon as she’s out of sight, I sag against the shelves, letting a devil-may-care bravado roll off my shoulders like the big phony that I am. I can toss around a snarky, unbothered vibe all day if I have to. But truth be told, I'm falling apart behind the facade.
And my distress is not even really about Tod—good riddance to him and his Battlestar Galactica boxers—or the whispers and judgment of my coworkers. It’s so much more. 
Working at the library this past year hasn’t been exactly easy. I know that getting hired here was lucky, and probably wouldn’t have happened if Matthew hadn’t pulled strings and gone to bat for me. I get it, I do. After all, I quit school. I’m a college dropout. And, unless I go back, working the menial tasks will be all I ever do here. Most days, I don’t let it bother me. But today… well, today isn’t a normal day. 
Fucking Tod and his fucking post-it note.
And now I’m dropping f-bombs like my brother Tyler, the hockey star and center of all that is the Brooks family. If he heard me, he’d be shocked.
Whatever. Give him a day like mine and see if he doesn’t drop a few fucks.
I finally lapse into the soothing rhythm of re-shelving library books. As menial as it is, it’s also strangely satisfying. I forget about Tod and everything else, until Matthew taps me on the shoulder.
“Damn, you need to get your hearing checked,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“Why? What do you mean?”
“I was calling for you and you didn’t hear. Unless you were ignoring me. Were you ignoring me?” 
I shelve my last book and roll my eyes. “C’mon. Let’s go get our coffee.”
We walk past the two coffee shops closest to the library like we always do, to one several blocks away. This way, we can speak without the risk of some nosy-body coworker eavesdropping. As we settle in with matching lattes, Matthew adds two sugars to his and I add one.
“So. Spill,” he says, pursing his lips at me. “You didn’t tell me you broke up with him.”
Sighing, I lean back in my chair. “Because I didn’t.” Humiliation washes over me again. “And if I had, I would have done it privately. Not left a note on his locker for everyone to see. Jerk. Geeky, lights-always-off, bad-at-oral, IT jerk.”
“Oooo.” Matthew perks up. “Bad at oral? Dealbreaker! Ruby, why don’t you tell me these things? I thought we were besties.”
I send him a smirking glance. “Didn’t think pussy-eating was your style. But I’m telling you now and I may just tell everyone. Because, thanks to Tod, everyone thinks I’m bad in bed. But I’m not bad in bed,” I say indignantly. “I may not have a lot of experience, but I know when I’m good at something. And I rocked his world every time.”
Matthew nods. “I bet you did, darlin’.”
We each stare out the window at a passing streetcar, lost in thought.
“Well,” he says shrugging, “you’re better off.”
“I know. But this is so embarrassing. He pursued me, remember? You know that super geeks who work in IT and wear their glasses on a neck chain aren’t my type, but I gave him a chance anyway. I tolerated him. I mean, even though he insisted on the bedroom lights always being off and never rated above a three in the sack, I kept having sex with him. And he dumps me like this?” I bare my teeth. “Bastard.”
“Ugh,” he agrees. “You were doing him a favor. It was one big pity fuck, if you want to get down to it. Honey, you really are better off.”
“Dammit,” I mutter, my eyes filling again.
Matthew makes soothing noises as I grab for some tissues. “Do you just want to go home? I can go back and say you didn’t feel well. You know, cramps or something. No one ever questions cramps.”
I shake my head. “Oh God no. That will just make it worse. Like admitting defeat. Everyone will think I’m heartbroken or something, and I’m not. I’m pissed.”
“Eh, there will be some new drama tomorrow, and they’ll forget all about this,” he predicts. “You know how it is.”
“It’s a regular soap opera. Who knew.” 
“You sure you’re okay, Ruby?”
“I’m sure.” I force my best fake-ass smile. 
Back in the library, as soon as Matthew is out of sight, my smile fades. I didn’t exactly lie to him. I am mostly okay. The sting of the day will fade in time, but I know myself well enough to know how I’ll spend the rest of this shift.
Wallowing. Overthinking. And hurting my own feelings.
Why am I not enough? Not good enough . . . not enough? 
I know I shouldn’t think like this, but it’s hard not to when everything in my life is just so-so. Sure, I have a lot to be thankful for, not least of which is having a job and a place to live. But something is… out of balance.
My mind wanders over the past year, choosing bits and pieces to obsess over, and one word comes to mind—settling. I’ve settled because I don’t want to ask for more. 
While I fixate on my shit, I continue working through my shift, checking in books, putting them on carts to be returned to the shelves. It’s a never-ending job, like a giant loop. Books constantly leave the library, and they constantly come back.
Guaranteed employment for an underachiever like me.
It doesn’t take a lot of concentration, so I can get lost in my thoughts. Sometimes, the tedium is broken up by coworkers dropping by to chat.
 But not today.
Today, I’m being given a wide berth. 
Finally, I head back to the locker room, half afraid of what I’ll hear or see this time. Thankfully though, I don’t encounter any coworkers on the way to clock out. And, there are no messages on my locker.
I reach into my pocket to toss out the note Tod left me and find the flyer for Costa Rica. I’m not exactly sure what a librarian wellness retreat is, but it sounds nice, like it would be full of kindred souls. But it’s happening soon, like in the next couple weeks. And it’s also crazy expensive. I shove the flyer back in my pocket, regardless.
A girl’s gotta have dreams.
* * *