Page 159 of Checking Out the Librarian

That was definitely a loosening of the arm around Jonathan’s waist, and a cat-like arch built in Connor’s spine, so he kept petting and kept talking.

“That bastard lacks imagination, Connor, completely lacks imagination. Just like you told me in Portland. He’s one of those people that can fuck right off with his lack of imagination. His lack of everything!”

“He cut his head. There was a lot of blood. And broken glass.”

“Oh.” That’s what had been on his shorts.

His mind felt like a math problem with two trains running at each other on the same track. On one train, he was petting Connor’s back and making sarcastic quips and Ribby and Kitten were with them and everything was maybe, possibly, going to be okay; on the other, Connor was covered in blood and broken glass was all around and he couldn’t breathe and his heart was in danger of stopping. He had no idea what to do because he couldn’t stop the collision.

But if Connor, the one who Tony had done this to, could talk and breathe, then he could, too.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that alone.”

“I gave him my T-shirt and called the ambulance.” Connor hiccupped again, this one quieter and hopefully less painful. “He kept begging me to drive him, but I wouldn’t. I feel like a shithead.”

He should check whether John Wick had ever used a skate blade on an opponent. Keanu was part Asian, like him, and at this moment he could definitely do John Wick things to this Tony. Definitely. “You were not a shithead. Not at all.”

Impossibly, Connor’s torso got even heavier on Jonathan’s legs. The weight felt reassuring.

“The ambulance took him away.”

“Did they ask if you wanted to call the police?”

“Police? Why?”

“Connor.” Jonathan said his name in that slow, steady tone he’d mostly been using, and it felt almost as good as the fingers fluttering in his hair.

He’d like this hair thing to happen on the regular, but without the crying and bad parts, just the hair-petting part.

“He assaulted you.”

“That’s, no, I pushed him.” He closed his fist around the linen of Jonathan’s pants. “I’m the one who hurt him. Oh, fuck, what if he sues me or something?”

“I guarantee he will not do that. He’s in the closet, isn’t he?”

“Right, you’re right.” He unclenched his fist from the fabric and nuzzled deeper into Jonathan’s lap. Jonathan’s scent, the only thing he could smell, made him feel better. “This must be why Ribby sticks his nose in people’s junk.”

“I don’t think so?” Jonathan sounded puzzled but didn’t stop sifting his hair.

Now he understood what Ribby experienced daily when Connor rubbed his ears.

“And what you did was self-defense, Connor. Because he assaulted you first.”

“What? No.”

“Yes, it was. He assaulted you. Self-defense.”

When Tony had grabbed him and tried to kiss him, that’s what Jonathan meant. That.

Assault.

That.

“Oh.”

Jonathan bent down to wrap his body around Connor’s, and he wondered if they could stay here forever, with Jonathan’s lips on the back of his neck and Jonathan’s forehead nestled in his hair and Jonathan’s arms draped over him. He could be the cheese in the middle of slices of Jonathan, pressed between Jonathan’s thighs and Jonathan’s chest, buttered and toasted until they melted into one gooey crispy delicious snack. This would be a good sandwich.

“You did right, Connor. Your ex was very wrong, he had no right to do that, but you did everything you could. You did everything right.”