Page 75 of Checking Out the Librarian

Unfortunately, it was clear to him that at this moment, here, on this bike, his appreciation of Jonathan’s show-offy high-kick felt more like an idea someone else might have than a possibility he could act upon.

It was still uncertain whether he would ever again be able to use any body parts located between his knees and chest.

“Now, come along,” Jonathan said.

Connor heard his own moan, an unintentional sound that made him think his body wanted nothing to do with what his brain was dictating had to be done. “Wait, I have to think about it.”

“Connor.”

“I will do this, give me a moment.”

“I’ll order you a whole charcuterie board of your own when we get to the winery. You won’t have to share.”

He let out a long breath. “No olives.”

“If there are olives, I will eat them for you.”

“They can’t touch.” He was pretty sure he could unstraddle—destraddle—distraddle—the bike. For charcuterie.

“I understand.” Jonathan rolled his eyes, but it looked more like a reflex than mockery.

Only two weeks since they had met, but he already knew what Connor liked, seemed to remember every snippet Connor had shared, and was the first man who had ever tried to take care of him.

On Tony’s random, unannounced appearances, he’d been nothing like this. He’d mistaken Tony’s booty calls for need, but standing on this gravel driveway, Connor remembered how for three visits in a row, Tony had ordered loaded pizzas from his favorite college pizzeria with those horrid canned black olives, even when Connor had wanted to cook. Tony had laughed each time Connor had picked them off.

He’d clearly been nothing to Tony, not even worth changing his pizza order for, but Jonathan was pretty quickly becoming everything.

“I can do this.” He took a deep breath. “I can.’

“I know you can.”

Twenty minutes and two carafes of water later wasn’t enough recovery time, but at least Connor could sit without audible agony, even though his over-sensitized but simultaneously numb buttocks could feel every tiny perforation in the black metal seat.

He stared at the vines that climbed the trellises and hung from overhead beams, shading the patio and creating a retreat he would happily build in his own yard, if he could get home. Jonathan’s car and its bike rack were an unfortunate twenty-four miles back through rolling wine country fields and roads, and then they had a twelve-mile drive back to Eugene.

Who had that kind of energy. Not him. And also, he didn’t know what the vines were. And even more also, his ass hurt too much to care.

“Here. This is for us.” Jonathan set a tray on the table. It held six glasses sized for cortado espresso drinks, but instead of coffee, three contained half-pours of red wine, and three held white.

“And this is for you.“ He pulled a slightly crushed palm-frond patterned seat cushion from where he’d clutched it between his arm and his body.

Connor blinked. He wasn’t going to cry. He didn’t ache that badly. Only his legs and butt hurt, cycling hadn’t affected his chest or throat. It hadn’t.

“I finagled it from the manager’s office, so you better continue to look sufficiently sore and useless to justify the sad faces I had to make.”

He tried not to let his voice shake. “Not a problem.”

“You don’t need to look that distraught. Our food is coming.”

He’d let too much show on his face, which was not a new problem, was in fact his forever-problem, but maybe he shouldn’t worry about it. Jonathan was absolutely into him, no matter what Hank or Trixie said he should or shouldn’t do.

Jonathan liked him, Jonathan liked spending time with him, Jonathan had introduced him to his friend Lily yesterday at the parade, Jonathan wasn’t keeping him a secret because Jonathan wasn’t Tony, so Connor didn’t need to bluster or clown around him.

Or hide. He could get emotional over a smushed chair cushion and it would be okay.

Jonathan’s finger brushed over the tip of Connor’s nose. It smelled like soap, like he’d washed his hands while he’d been inside. This touch was maybe, he couldn’t be sure, but maybe, a huge public display on Jonathan’s part.

He hoped his eyes told Jonathan that he would welcome more. Connor didn’t need to be a goofy guy friend right now; he could be a messy boyfriend. He could be himself. And right now himself was very sore and perhaps a bit emotional.