Page 56 of Checking Out the Librarian

Jonathan could picture him in a pose similar to the one he’d adopted last night on the picnic blanket, legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, thighs emerging from his shorts hem and begging to be straddled. In the privacy of Jonathan’s apartment, Connor could recline while wearing more minimal clothing than a public park required, and Jonathan could do the straddling rather than merely think about it.

The image helped Jonathan continue to avoid eye contact with Ribby, although he could hear the chuffing sounds coming from a chest cavity that might be comparably sized to his own.

Please, don’t let it be bigger.

Like the first time he’d stayed here, a sweaty, hideously garbed Connor clomped up the stairs and arrived with coffee. This time he kept the familiar World’s Best Teacher mug and instead offered Jonathan a red one decorated with two truly atrocious cartoon anteaters, a little one wearing a tutu and a larger one sporting a gray old-lady bun and dangling reading glasses. A speech bubble proclaimed learning is pretty.

“Not pretty great? Just pretty? And is that a female-coded anteater teacher? An elderly female. And you are…” He studied Connor from his broad shoulders to his bulging thighs. So much flushed skin, so much blond hair, so much muscle. “Very much not female.”

The coffee was too hot to gulp, so he took a sip. “Why does this exist?”

“Parents of a kid in my class last year gave it to me.” He sipped serenely from the simpler mug. “For Christmas.”

“Ugh. I hate people.”

“I know, right? Isn’t it ugly? And the sentiment is terrible, too.”

“I am telling you, this is neither beautiful nor even particularly useful, given how many other mugs you have, so you should not keep it in your home. You should not.” The temperature was now ideal. “That’s advice from William Morris, not from me.”

“It does have one special use that I kind of like.”

Jonathan glared at the mug. “What could it possibly be good for?”

Connor waited until Jonathan looked at him again. “Teasing you.”

He glared. At least, he tried to glare, but it was good coffee and this morning Connor’s workout shorts resembled Eighties basketball shorts, not the absurdly long modern ones, which did keep drawing Jonathan’s attention.

Connor smiled. “I wasn’t sure if they let their kid choose it, or what.” He nodded at the mug Jonathan had lifted for another sip. “I thought they liked me, but then they gave me that filled with hard red and white peppermint candies, like they had raided the dish at the register of a restaurant while the owner’s back was turned. And their kid was definitely not on scholarship.”

He set his coffee on top of a stack of books sitting on the bedside table and then wrestled Ribby off the mattress. “Not when Jonathan is here, go on, get down, you lumpy blanket. Down.”

Jonathan fixed his gaze on the liquid in his mug. He didn’t want to watch Connor hug and shove the large dog because he might not be able to stop himself from asking Connor to wash his hands. “Was the kid a sarcastic bastard, or just the parents, to give you that?”

Connor sniffed his T-shirt, then removed it before he flopped onto the pillow where Ribby had put his paws. His hair, which he appeared to have finger-combed into a state of fluffy disarray rather than a half-mashed, half-swirled mess, rested where a moment before there had been a dog.

And a dog butt.

Jonathan would also not focus on that. He would stare deeply into Connor’s eyes and admire the flecks of gold and brown and green that gave swirls of color to the hazel.

“She was a sweet girl who wore cat ears all day for months. Good reader.”

This was excellent coffee, hot and smooth with hints of nut, and worthy of his focus. As he sipped, he was aware of how the sheet puddled on his lap, because Connor had shifted on his side to face him, and let his gaze settle on Jonathan’s bare chest.

Connor absently stroked Jonathan’s closer arm, which wasn’t holding the cup, gliding to the edge of his tattoo but not touching the ink, then retreating. Watching Connor’s blunt fingers, so strong and tanned against his own arm, was hypnotic.

Someone should speak.

What had they been saying?

“I was a good reader.” That was the thread they’d abandoned. “And also a sarcastic bastard. They go together quite well.”

“As well as peanut butter and chocolate?”

Jonathan shuddered and must have made a face.

“What?” Connor pushed himself upright. He could move far too fast for the morning. “Are you saying you don’t like peanut butter and chocolate?”

“I like them both.” He took another sip. “Separately.”