Page 77 of Checking Out the Librarian

All the way.

“Are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own dessert or his enemy’s? Now, a clever man would put the poison into his own marscapone—mascaprone—mascarpone—whatever the fuck that sweet white goop is called—because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given. I am not a great fool.” He pointed his fork at Jonathan. “Don’t laugh, it’s not nice. You might hurt my feelings.”

That jump-charged rather than stopped the other man’s snickers.

“I can clearly not choose the tiramisu in front of you.”

“Because it’s mine.” Jonathan reached in the air, wrapped his fingers around Connor’s wrist, and pulled Connor’s fork-hand to the tabletop.

Huh. It had still been in the air.

Jonathan tightened his grip and pressed his thumb on Connor’s pulse.

Exhale.

He fell into Jonathan’s smile, his pointed chin, the span of his cheekbones and the hollow of his throat and just…into Jonathan.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Looking at Jonathan’s dark eyes, the way they sparkled brighter than the facets on their empty wine glasses, was better than anything he’d ever shared with anyone else. Not even that last playoff run in high school could hold a candle to being right here with Jonathan at this table.

This was a stupid and beautiful moment to have a big revelation, it was probably only a jumble of his aching butt, his sweet little wine buzz, and the really nice floral scent from the overhead vines. And Jonathan.

He felt a new and big, actually huge, but oddly not frightening, thing filling his chest, and suspected he knew its name.

Jonathan stared at him, eyebrows raised, clearly waiting.

Connor opened his mouth.

Chill out.

He closed his lips on the stupid, stupid thing he’d been about to blurt out because a guy had spent two weeks with him and instead fumbled for the next movie line. “Uh, whatever, but I can clearly not choose the dessert in front of me.”

Jonathan snorted. “Because you ate it all.”

“Focus, Jonathan. Focus.”

“Believe me, I’m focused.” He let go of Connor’s wrist to raise his water glass. “I’m so focused, we’re absolutely going to do this again when we’re somewhere private and you can wear a black mask and tight black pants, understand?”

“Wait, if I’m the one in the black mask, then I’m Wesley instead of you, and then that means you can be Buttercup and order me around and I get to say as you wish. I can be Farm Boy.“ The ball in Connor’s chest bounced, and it left a glitter cloud—metaphorical, not real, he hated that shit in real life—that billowed into a grin. “Wait, am I already Farm Boy?”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “A day for self-discovery.”

Connor cleared his throat and straightened in his chair, adopting a serious voice and a concentrating frown. Jonathan really deserved the full treatment. “So, you’ve beaten my giant.”

“Should I ask if beating your giant maybe doesn’t mean what I think it means?”

He pointed behind Jonathan. “The bikes!”

Jonathan turned around, and Connor pulled the half-full plate all the way across the table and thrust his empty one onto Jonathan’s side before the other man turned back.

Connor threw his head back and hooted with victory. “Aha! First rule, never get involved in a land war in Asia, but also, never go against a second-grade teacher when snacks are on the line!”

“You fucker.” Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest.

“Your expression.” Finding that look arousing was probably a sign that he was a bad person.