Page 161 of Checking Out the Librarian

Pawsley took a break from the zoomies to sleep on Connor’s chest. Reading with a small warm weight immobilizing him became difficult, but napping became extremely easy. Ribby had also discovered that although Jonathan’s couch remained a no-go zone, sleeping on the rug next to it was ideal.

All in all, he had things to tell Jonathan if he asked what Connor had done besides move from the bed to the couch. He had plenty to say.

Eventually he heard Jonathan’s key, and then he saw his boyfriend, the man he loved who loved him back, return with groceries.

Ribby pranced over to sniff the bags.

Connor remained on the couch.

“Oh, please don’t get up to help me, somehow I’ll bump these bags through to the kitchen without knocking into things, thank you for your support.”

“I already have a task.” He gestured slowly at Pawsley, while Ribby returned to his spot on the rug. “Working very hard.”

“You are all very cute.” And Jonathan’s voice was soft enough that Connor knew it was okay to close his eyes again.

He heard the clanging of a pot or pan being removed from a cabinet, then running water and the tick of the stove starter. Ribby snorted and stood, shambling to the kitchen.

This was a nice life, right here.

Apparently Pawsley didn’t think Connor should continue to enjoy this perfection. He stood abruptly, stretched magnificently, and walked right over Connor’s face.

“Ow, ouch, shit.”

Jonathan laughed from the other side of the counter that separated the living room and kitchen.

“Brat.”

“Oh, did the tiny dumpster cat hurt the big man? And the big man has to call it names?”

“I was referring to you. For laughing at my pain.” He stood and stretched, making sure that his shirt lifted high enough to reveal his stomach. Yes, Jonathan’s eyes dropped.

Connor had found a pair of his own athletic shorts in the laundry bin, but he’d paired them with a slashed tank top that Jonathan presumably wore to clubs. Obviously when Jonathan wore it, it must fall loosely away from his chest and reveal his nipples through the large side openings.

Note to self: go to a club in Portland with Jonathan.

When Connor put the shirt on, the result was the opposite: pecs popping out due to insufficient fabric.

Jonathan was staring, so Connor inhaled and did a side bend. He could always use more stretching. “Want help?”

His boyfriend’s eyebrows wrinkled in toward the center of his nose, and he shook his head. He could watch Jonathan’s silly expressions all night. In fact, he would.

“No, dinner’s easy. Your job is to sit there and praise the chef.” He gestured with the smaller serrated knife at one of the two stools on the other side of the counter.

Connor took his seat, and Ribby rubbed against his leg and looked up with an anticipatory grin. “Silly dog. The chef is chopping veggies. And you don’t get kitchen counter food, remember.”

Across from him, Jonathan snorted, then pulled out a cutting board and a chef’s knife. Jonathan’s weren’t as sharp as Connor’s.

He should take care of that for him. Jonathan might like cooking more if his tools worked better, although he could also spend more time at Connor’s house and use those knives.

They could work together on a peach pie. He’d make a big pot of steaming water so that they could blanch the skins, and when the kitchen got warm and humid, they’d have to take off their shirts. Jonathan would be wearing one of his necklaces with a charm that dangled way below his throat, and his hands would be covered in peach juice.

So pretty.

He saw himself rolling out the crust in slow motion, and Jonathan looking over at him and watching his arms flex and stretch, not that rolling pie dough was particularly hard, it wasn’t laminating croissant dough, but sure, he was flexing, and Jonathan, peachy-smelling Jonathan, was watching.

Jonathan cleared his throat and gave him a look, pursed lips and raised eyebrows, and then thwacked quite loudly at a zucchini.

“Right, compliments.” He cleared his throat. “The chef is, ah, looking very handsome this evening. Like a particularly foamy IPA.”