Page 154 of Checking Out the Librarian

Connor looked at him and their gazes locked.

If Jonathan was frozen, Connor was dust already blowing away. There was nothing left to him.

Do not, under any circumstances, bump the drinks table. Half the glasses were huckleberry juice, and half cranberry, so that they’d have a lovely pink and blue presentation. And a few plain soda waters, naturally. And a few with both juices, which created a lovely purple.

Never let anyone say Jonathan Park couldn’t plan an inclusive party.

Jonathan Park could do anything.

Anything.

Except be good enough to keep a boyfriend. Except be enough.

“Drinks are ready, everyone!” His voice sparkled like the soda, of that he made certain.

With one grand Joan Crawford gesture, he could sweep all these drinks and all this work to the ground while he demanded to know what mistake he’d made. Did he not learn enough softball terms? Hadn’t he appreciated the cooking? Did he not suck enough cock? What could he improve before the next time he wanted to ruin his makeup over a man? What?

Connor inched closer. He was so pale, he might be translucent.

Jonathan raised his arms, the ones Connor had called pretty when what he meant was convenient. “Let’s toast for the champions of Eugene’s Summer Fast Pitch Softball!”

The team oohed and ahhed over his display. He was good at making pretty things, good on the surface of things, but pretty was never enough.

“Jonathan.” Connor’s voice was low and urgent and Jonathan did not care. Extremely did not care. “I can explain. I can.”

Of course he could.

He moved to the cake table and reached for the knife, amazed to see that he held it steady. Personal growth, well done. “Would you like a piece?”

Connor stretched an arm across the folding table for him, not for cake. Then he must have sensed something that Jonathan didn’t think he was broadcasting, but who knows what signals his face was giving, because Connor snatched his hand away.

It was only a cake knife and wasn’t actually threatening. It was merely in Jonathan’s hand. He was certain his expression was as opaque as MAC lipstick, but he guessed the knife wasn’t stuck in the cake, either.

So. That.

“Please.” Connor’s voice sounded rough, like something blocked his throat, but Jonathan had zero fucks to give.

“Later.” Like after-Armageddon later. “This is a party.”

The catcher-ex-sort-of had been at Connor’s, and he’d concealed that, so he’d probably lied about being sick, too. All so he could hang out with a professional baseball player, someone who made millions of dollars and understood these stupid three balls four strikes or whatever rules.

Someone with whom he had more in common.

His chest was really tight, and his heart was doing weird things. He needed distance, maybe even a trans-continental amount of fucking distance.

“Here.” He thrust two cake-filled plates at Connor. “Take these to the refs. The umps. Whatever they’re called, whatever baseball players call them.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the two people wearing black pants standing a bit down the fence from the celebration.

Connor’s eyes glistened, shimmering pools Jonathan refused to look into, but then he nodded and turned to do what Jonathan had ordered. Of course he did.

As soon as Connor stepped away, Jonathan slipped past the celebrating team and their friends.

Softball Abby told him the cake looked delicious, and he smiled at her and agreed, as if he’d had anything to do with it. Softball Danny thanked him for something, no idea what, as he kept walking. Lily called his name and waved from the group where she was chatting, but he couldn’t lift his hand to reply.

Hank and Emma, the cutest couple in the world, even if they were best friends with that lying-sucking-jerk Connor, turned toward him, but he was moving faster because he had to be gone before Connor finished delivering cake.

He would erase himself from this life he’d let himself want. They were all a smear to Jonathan as he grabbed his bag from the ground, grabbed the cat carrier, screw the folding chair, he couldn’t take the time to pack it and wouldn’t sit in it again.

He’d let Connor into his life, into his apartment, into his heart, but none of that meant he could say, “Sure, Connor, I look forward to hearing why you betrayed me,” in a stupid calm voice.