Page 140 of Checking Out the Librarian

The loud chunk-chunk of ice falling into the tray made Connor jerk, but he didn’t drop the second sandwich. His kitchen was really cold, like freezing, so he glanced at the fridge, but the door was closed. It wasn’t that.

He wished he could put this thing that he’d built in front of Tony without looking at him, but he had to leave the counter and cross the kitchen. Tony had returned to the chair and propped his elbows on the table, head resting in both hands, like he was beat. Like he was ripped up inside.

Him.

He had no idea what he’d done to Connor’s life.

Fuck him.

“Here’s the fucking sandwich.” He stretched his arm out so he didn’t have to get too close when he thunked the plate in front of the man he didn’t even know anymore. “Eat it and get out.”

It didn’t sound like his own voice, or maybe his ears were out of alignment with his mouth.

Some time passed.

He watched from a spot next to the mud room door. The mud room was a good, safe space for Pawsley to roam and bat around Connor’s cleats or attack Ribby’s toy basket when Connor couldn’t watch him closely. Pawsley was safe back there.

That was important. Pawsley was tiny and fragile, and Connor had to keep him safe.

He wasn’t going to let Jonathan’s pet see or be seen by Tony.

Tony ate slowly.

Ribby joined him by the door, probably because Pawsley was back there and couldn’t come out until they were alone again.

Tony chewed like a fucking glacier. No, global warming meant glaciers were melting faster than he chewed. Connor felt Ribby’s fur under his fingers.

At one point Tony stood to refill his water, crossing the kitchen and heading for the sink.

Ribby yipped until Connor loosened his hold, but he didn’t leave Connor’s side.

Ribby’s fur was velvet where he pressed against Connor’s knee. Ribby was good. Ribby was too good for Connor.

“Are you sober enough to drive?” He seemed a lot better than Connor would have expected from that porch performance, like maybe he hadn’t been that drunk.

That tracked.

“Yeah, I can drive.”

Connor didn’t want to examine that too deeply. Every minute that ticked past was closer to the end of Jonathan’s workday, to him coming over for Pawsley, to him meeting Tony and Tony ruining everything. “You need to go.”

“Need your bathroom.”

“Same place.”

While Tony was behind the closed powder room door, he and Ribby hustled into the front hall to wait. He heard the flush, then the sink, and then the bathroom door opened.

Tony stalked toward him.

Acid burned in Connor’s stomach when he saw that the other man had finger combed his hair, maybe put some water on his face, because he looked more put together than when he’d arrived.

He registered the moment Tony’s gaze settled on the sneakers Jonathan had left in the hallway, the white ones decorated with cartoon bears carrying shopping bags and coffee cups, because his face sort of cracked before it rearranged itself into a look that, if he’d seen it on the field, he’d know meant Tony intended to throw down to second.

“Does he carry a purse, too?”

White hot rage blurred Connor’s vision. “Fuck you. You don’t get to⁠—”

Tony was coming at him. Tony blocked out everything with his shoulders and his big sun-tanned face, his wet mouth open like a cave and his dark eyes narrowed in a glare.