Page 131 of Checking Out the Librarian

Bullshit. Utter bullshit, because all these years, until Jonathan, he’d been stupidly holding out for Tony to give him the smallest speck of something more.

He’d overlooked everything Tony withheld—attention, curiosity, support—and accepted everything he dished out—jabs about training second graders being like training new pitchers, no wait, ha ha it wasn’t—because he’d been flattered.

If a major league player couldn’t quit hitting it with Connor McMillan, that had made him one degree of separation from the Bigs. He’d been flattered, and shallow, and although it was fucking terrible to admit this, maybe he’d even been jealous that Tony had made it, and if Tony kept coming back then somehow that made Connor’s own not-making-it feel less bad.

So stupid.

His fretting must have transmitted to Pawsley, who shifted on his chest. He breathed slowly, willing the kitten to keep napping.

It took having Jonathan come into his life to realize that something more wasn’t clinging to big-league dreams based on nothing at all. Something more was morning coffee with a person you liked, laughing about your pets, and sending stupid texts.

Something more was Jonathan.

He finished the satisfying little swipes on his phone.

There. Blocked, asshole.

Gone for fucking-ever.

He absolutely was done with Tony.

27

USING THAT WORD

The next day Jonathan dragged himself to opening shift while Connor minded Kitten a second time.

When Jonathan returned shortly after four o’clock, a tired cat needed to nap in his new bed, a giant felt taco that Connor had bought when Jonathan wasn’t looking and stuck in the mud room, and an energetic Ribby needed a romp in Skinner Butte Park along the South Bank path.

Jonathan hadn’t expected to be hiking after work.

He’d anticipated lounging in Connor’s yard among the blooming hydrangeas and watching a shirtless blond giant wield sharp tools to perform manly gardening tasks, so now he was hiking in shorts designed for a very even tan, and a cropped pale blue T-shirt with a bunny barista.

At least he hadn’t chosen to wear black, so he would be visible if he became lost.

He was too fabulous for the forest, but he didn’t think it was the mismatch between his sartorial choices and their activity that was making Connor tense.

“You’re my boyfriend, right?” Connor had stopped behind him on the trail.

When Jonathan turned around, he realized a breakdown was imminent, he was just surprised by whose it was. “Is that what we’re calling this? Are you really using that word?”

“I am. I think. I mean, yes, I am.” Connor’s voice rose. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Internet influencers could redefine his hands on hips stance as a power pose until they keeled over, but Jonathan would always say, or think, that he stood with his arms akimbo. There was no need to update a classic phrase. “Please, why?”

“But how much do we have in common? I mean, you do think it’s enough, don’t you?”

“What is bringing this on? Is the pollen count addling your brain? Or is it my ass and legs in three-inch inseams? Seriously, Connor, what’s going on inside your head right now?”

He looked at the ground instead of answering.

The woods were also silent, and Jonathan realized he wouldn’t talk to Kitten in that tone of voice, so why had he deployed it at Connor?

Mistakes like this were why he shouldn’t be anyone’s boyfriend. He was a self-involved prick, and he didn’t know how to be the right person for someone else.

He should try. He could try.

Cosplay a better person, he reminded himself.