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"So you admit he's good-looking?"
"I never said he wasn't." And hell, after seeing him naked, you'll never hear me say otherwise.
"Great. So we're on the same page, then," Trevor says.
I lean my hip against the counter and slowly sweep my gaze across the room. It's late afternoon, so it's starting to get quieter. This is the time Branum normally comes in.
And yep, there he is, sitting in what's become his usual spot, a small table with a direct line of sight to the front counter. He's wearing a red-and-black flannel shirt over a white tee. His messenger bag is flung open on the table, books and papers scattered about in front of him. I wonder what he's studying.
And yep, like always, he's looking this way.
This way, notatme.
Important distinction.
"Same page?" I turn back to my boss. "What are you talking about?"
Trevor turns so his back is to Branum and lifts a hand. "You're a cute guy." He lifts his other hand. "He's a fucking mountain god sent from the heavens above." He smooshes his palms together and rubs them like they're sticks and he's trying to start a fire.
I tap each of my fingers against my thumb three times before coming out with, "Anyone ever tell you your worldview of the complexities of gay relationships is highly nuanced?"
Trevor smiles. "Anyone ever tell you that you're not as good at deflecting and playing dumb as you think you are? Come on. Tell me the truth. You know he's here for you, right?"
"He's here to read. Or study, by the looks of things."
"He's here to check out the stunningly cute, new-in-town librarian. Trust me. I know."
"How?"
"PJ, darling. I've worn my tightest, most butt-hugging pants all week. I've sauntered and shimmied around that man every time he comes in. And has he dragged his eyes away from you to me even once during that time? N. O. Fuck the books, and fuck reading. It's you. That man is here foryou."
Well, when he puts it like that.
"I have books to shelve," I tell him. "And for the record, you have a great ass, and I'm sure someone, someday soon, will appreciate it."
Trevor makes the fingers crossed gesture, and I set off on my way. My trolley is perfectly organized as always, enabling me to start at the far end of the general fiction section and move through the books row by row until I reach history.
I'm easing the trolley around a corner into the next aisle when two teenagers break apart and scurry away. I chuckle to myself. Is it wrong that it warms my heart a little that teenagers are still making out in libraries?
Can't say I ever had that experience growing up. Hard to find time to make out with someone when you're dodging bullies and getting picked on mercilessly every day. High school was a nightmare. My sexuality and my mental health issues collided, and it wasn't fun. I was literally counting down the days until it was over and I could get the hell out of there.
Most kids leave small towns for the big city.
Not me.
I knew the noise, the rush of traffic, the crowds of people would be too much chaos for me to handle.
I lived in a couple of other small towns, but it never really worked. But from the moment the Greyhound dropped me off on the main street in Thickehead, it felt right. There's something magical about this place and the people who live here. They celebrate diversity and difference. Maybe that's why I gelled with it so quickly.
I'm returning books, lost in my thoughts, and I'm not really paying attention, so as I turn, I run smack bang into someone.
A very tall, very solid someone.
A strong, calloused hand grips my right bicep, preventing me from toppling over.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."
"It's fine. You didn't." I straighten and pat down the front of my shirt. Branum pulls his hand away.
