Page 65 of Checking Out the Librarian

“It’s a league. We have five more regular season games and then playoffs.”

Staring and conversing through the mirror felt more connected than he’d expected, and he allowed his lips to curve. “So, just like hockey.”

Connor fake-glared. At least, Jonathan assumed it was fake. “Better than hockey. We’re outdoors with sunshine and good food. Also, do you know how many separate skills are required for baseball? We have to catch, throw, bat, understand strategy⁠—”

“I’m confused. Don’t you play softball? Are they different?”

He watched Connor’s mouth open and close in the mirror, and then Jonathan gave up the struggle to maintain his composure and laughed so hard the back of his head bumped into Connor’s shoulder.

“Hey. None of that ridicule.” Connor’s hands bracketed Jonathan’s hips and he used his bulk to box him against the counter. “Please say you’ll come again.”

“I need to research how to keep the book I was supposed to track things in.” He lowered his chin and looked through his eyelashes at their reflections. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to draw happy little penises hiding in trees.”

“Did you do that?” Connor’s voice dropped. “That sounds—” He stopped, and his mouth opened and closed.

Dirty talk didn’t seem to be one of his competencies. In the pause, he flexed his fingers on the grooves where Jonathan’s legs met his torso. With those large hands weighing on Jonathan’s hips, dirty talk was completely unnecessary.

“Umm, that sounds bad? I know what, you could read that Cat Sebastian book, the baseball one. Goes down very easily.”

Jonathan choked back a snicker. Maybe Connor struggled with dirty talk, but he scored well on puns and innuendo.

“So will you come?”

They locked eyes in the mirror. He couldn’t answer whatever Connor was really asking, because he didn’t know. This was all new, and while he had a clear idea about the next thing they were going to do, he had no fucking clue about what tomorrow would hold.

Connor’s stare hadn’t wavered while he waited for an answer.

Jonathan wrinkled his nose and pretended to misunderstand the question. “Not unless you shower first.”

“Join me?” He still didn’t look like happy-go-lucky Connor.

“I suppose you need me to perform quality control on your body soap usage.”

“Suppose I do.”

After soap had been applied and rinsed, and a suitable pause while hands and mouths had been applied, then more rinsing, they left the lukewarm shower. Connor crouched to rub a towel along the back of Jonathan’s right leg, from his ankle to the back of his knee. “So have I convinced you to come to Thursday’s game?”

“Ugh, you’re rushing me.” Jonathan had to brace himself with one hand on the counter. He wouldn’t describe his knees as wobbly, but the shower had been hot and they’d stayed a long time. Maintaining proper hydration was a constant challenge around Connor. “Trixie specifically said not to rush me. I remember that.”

Connor jerked his gaze up to Jonathan’s. “Dude, I just sucked your dick for like twenty minutes. I was definitely not rushing you.”

“Well, that’s a flattering exaggeration, so thank you.” It had felt like barely three before he’d been overwhelmed, unmanned, undone, verklempt. Jonathan ruffled Connor’s wet curls with the hand towel he’d used on his own hair. “So, what was Trixie going on about with the chill-out warning before the game?”

And that should not have slipped out of his mouth.

Connor looked at the floor. Jonathan suspected he wasn’t actually concentrating, because rubbing a leg with absorbent terry cloth wasn’t a brow-furrowing, jaw-clenching task.

The silence stretched.

Connor took a deep breath. “She thinks I’m kind of not good at dating. I haven’t done much of it, just a lot of hooking up.”

Jonathan straightened from the counter. “Wait, you don’t know how to date either? You?”

Connor’s chin snapped up and their gazes connected. “What do you mean, me?”

“You’re so good at it.” Jonathan waved the small towel. “You bring me coffee, you cook, you have ideas of things to do. You must have done this a lot.”

“Nope.” Connor rose from the floor and retrieved the flapping cotton from Jonathan’s hand, shaking it out and neatly aligning the edges before he turned to the rack.