Page 129 of Checking Out the Librarian

There was no question in Connor’s voice, so Jonathan didn’t have to answer.

“I guess that was a lot to wake up to.” He broadened his petting zone to include all of Jonathan’s back, long strokes that moved the silk up and down his spine and shifted the hem farther on the back of his thighs.

Jonathan could feel the air cooling his legs, but he wanted Connor to keep rubbing his back and talking in that low voice, so he didn’t squirm his way under the covers.

The pause felt significant.

He was supposed to take a turn saying something, that was how conversations worked. Both people spoke.

“I feel stupid.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t joke about your equipment until day after tomorrow, promise.”

This, he could handle. Banter was a relief and a refuge. “Thank you. I’ll need at least that long to recover my dignity.”

Connor shifted his attention to the hair at Jonathan’s nape, inserting his fingers against the flow and squeezing as he stroked up to the crown of Jonathan’s head, big fingers spread wide. The secret alchemy of Connor’s hand transformed him into a kitten.

Jonathan wasn’t going to ask what else Connor had already petted this morning, because now he had a cat and he knew that no one could actually wash their hands a thousand times a day, but also no one could ignore the soft fur on Kitten, which was also true of Ribby. So. Connor petted the animals, then petted him, and attempting to assert otherwise was a fiction.

“How about if I take Ribby for a walk, and you stay in bed a bit longer? I already gave Pawsley a bottle, and I put him in the litter box. He made a little pee and a tiny poo and then he flung some litter around like he’s supposed to.”

They were so fucking domestic, Jonathan’s stomach hurt. His eyes hurt. He was this two-men-and-their-pets now. Most of the time it was wonderful, but right now the humiliation he’d caused himself hurt. “Kitten.”

“Mmm, sure. And I’ll come back with a coffee and a treat for you.” Connor bent forward and rested the weight of his chest on Jonathan’s back, the way Jonathan did to him when he went in verbal circles, and the care felt reassuring. His tantrum hadn’t driven Connor away.

He could make a stupid mistake like yelling at Connor on the first morning he stayed here, and Connor wouldn’t leave. “Thank you.”

“I’ll take your keys, so you don’t even need to get up. I don’t think inert metal is equipment, so I should be safe.”

“Oh, fuck off. You promised me two days.”

“I lied, sorry.”

“Now you’re really baiting me. Monster.”

Connor’s lips did that brushing across skin thing on the back of Jonathan’s neck, making him shiver. “But you make it so easy. When I see that big yellow softball coming right in the zone, just hanging there, I have to take the swing.”

“You should bring me a drink.” He tried to think of something as ridiculous as he deserved. “A cherry vanilla matcha latte with oat milk. That.”

He could make himself an espresso later, but he wanted all the sugar this morning. His mother and his coach had spent a decade convincing him that food couldn’t fix his moods, and they were the biggest liars he’d met, so he was going to drink and eat through this mood until it was gone.

“And a lemon blueberry scone from Big Bun Dance.”

“Noted.”

Personal growth through hand-delivered carbs.

After their first drinks and scones, after Jonathan had fried eggs and shown Connor how to use the espresso machine for their second coffee, and after Connor had agreed Italian engineering was not for amateurs and he would not behave like a child with a pair of fabric shears, but would entirely respect the machine, after all that, Jonathan had to go to work.

It was one of his noon to eight p.m. days, so they wouldn’t see each other for dinner.

Connor took Kitten home with him and Ribby, because the miniature cat had become too feisty for a full day at the library in the cross-body bag, but also too small and needy to be home alone so long.

Jonathan wasn’t jealous, but Ribby had hopped in the gated back of Connor’s Subaru, and Kitten and all his accessories had been placed in the front, and Jonathan was certain they were all going to have treats while he worked.

Until he and Connor reconvened, he tried not to micromanage, obsess, perseverate, virtually hover, or otherwise harass Connor. He was working, and Connor was fully competent. More competent than Jonathan, in fact, because he had a pet and he taught small people.

Instead of hassling Connor, the thing he could do on his break was make an appointment with the therapist recommended by a queer-friendly referral service. If he did that, then scrolling Connor’s photos would be a reward, not an obsession.