Page 137 of Checking Out the Librarian

SANDWICHES

On Monday, Connor felt the satisfaction of having had the weekend unfold exactly as he’d predicted to Jonathan, with the exception that it had been too hot to finish insulating under the floors Sunday when Jonathan covered someone else’s shift.

Today, he had Ribby and Pawsley to look after, and it was already eighty outside, so he decided to clean his fridge drawers instead of disappearing under the house. Not only did he get to avoid a dark, confined space, he would get a bonus blast of cool air on his shoulders every time he opened and closed the doors.

He knew it was hell on efficiency and his electric bill, but he liked that face full of chill.

A knock at the front door caused him to close the fridge. The fancy kitten food Jonathan had ordered last night must have arrived early, nice. Pawsley was in the mud room behind a closed door, but Ribby was already in the front hall, then back bumping Connor’s leg, then hustling with him to the door.

“Excitable boy, calm down. It’s cat food. Nothing for you.”

That was why he reached for the door handle before he bothered to check.

Tony was on his front porch.

Through the door’s glass insert, their gazes locked.

The fucker looked as fit as ever. His heavy shoulder muscles blended into his big neck, and his beefy catcher arms stretched his T-shirt sleeves. Dark curls stuck out through the snap-back opening of his backwards ballcap. When he knew he had Connor’s attention, he grinned.

No ranch kid funny canine teeth for Tony. He was all suburban upper-middle-class orthodontia and professional athlete polish. Even if his career hadn’t rocketed enough to snag the endorsements that he always hinted were coming, he put himself together like it had.

Seeing that grin used to make Connor feel special, because they shared a secret, but today he felt vaguely nauseous realizing how selfishly Tony had used him.

He opened his mouth to tell him to get lost, but he’d have to yell to be heard through the door glass, and he didn’t want to yell. He wanted to be cool and calm.

Cold, that’s what he wanted to be. He’d be icy, and maybe even do one of Jonathan’s single-eyebrow sneers.

He opened the door less than a foot, enough to deliver his put-down without Tony misunderstanding it as an invitation or letting Ribby escape. “You have to be fucking kidding. I blocked you.”

Tony shrugged, and down-shifted to a leer. “I figured you’re off school. Thought I’d see what you were up to. Maybe snag a juice box for old times?”

Fucker. He’d keep telling himself that’s what Tony was, because it kept being true, it had always been true.

After a moment of staring, he realized Tony’s edges looked less careful. The hair over his ears needed a cut and he’d missed shaving the divot on his chin. His whole face looked less chiseled than Connor remembered, and his forehead shape was subtly different, his eyes more lidded. He was smushy, but not in a cuddly way.

None of that was Connor’s problem. “We’re done.”

“You want me, I know you do. You always do.”

Connor realized Tony wasn’t coming out with the usual how-you-beens and false compliments. “I said no, and that includes the whole fucking range of no, from no, you can’t come in to no, I don’t want to see you. Fuck off.”

“Mac, it’s only ever been you. Only you.” He swayed back and forth slightly on the step.

“That’s your problem, not mine.” He looked past Tony, at his front laurel hedge, which could use a trim even more than Tony’s hair. He didn’t want to see him look so broken, but he had to chase him away.

“I have a boyfriend.” Saying those words made him feel squiggly inside, like he was using Jonathan as a defensive roll instead of claiming him with pride.

Tony’s eyes and shoulders shifted as if he was trying to look into the house. “Is he here?”

“N—” he swallowed the final sound, but it was too late.

Tony’s grin returned, and the way he thrust his head forward stripped his smile of any charming gloss it might have had.

He shouldn’t have answered the door, shouldn’t have answered any questions, and really shouldn’t have answered that one.

“Then he won’t know.” Tony put his hand awkwardly on the door frame, as if he needed support but wasn’t quite sure how far away it was, and his expression slipped again.

Suspicion crept up Connor’s spine. Despite the heat, the hair on his neck might be twitching. “Are you drunk? It’s one o’clock in the afternoon.”