Page 180 of Checking Out the Librarian

Gravel crunched as Jess hustled behind him. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“That song thing, so bad. And me coming out is in fact supposed to be about me. That’s how it works.” Moths and unnamed flying things clustered around the light over the door.

Jonathan didn’t like bugs much, so would he want to come to the ranch?

“Also, musicals? Not this gay dude.” He pointed at himself. “I like baseball. And sometimes cooking shows. But no singing. I don’t sing.”

“Hear me out, what about Damn Yankees?“ The back door light illuminated her finger guns. “Or You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown?”

“I don’t even understand what you’re asking.” The door was, as always, unlocked. He found the light switch and saw the old side-by-side white panel front fridge his parents had moved out here about six years ago. The thing was small, maybe from the early nineties, and he was pretty certain it would be chugging along in its boring way after civilization ended.

“Those are musicals about baseball.”

“How do you know this? How?” There were a satisfactory number of choices in the garage fridge, same as last night when he and his father had grabbed two cans and stood by the fence talking about not much. His parents weren’t letting him down in any form tonight, and definitely not forcing him to drink the type of beer that slugs took death plunges in.

“I know things.”

“I know beer. Here.” He handed her a can of IPA brewed in Hood River.

They went back to the picnic table and talked about horses, teaching, and Jonathan.

By the time Connor was finally alone, he’d had a long day, a lot of emotions, and two beers. Should have stopped after one, like Jess did, but she was drinking slower than he was, so he’d started (and finished, he could admit that) a second.

Because they didn’t really have separate data service out here, he couldn’t get too far from the house Wi-Fi if he wanted to have good video quality with Jonathan, so he stood in the dark shadows of the back of the house with his spine pressed against the siding. This particular wall was the spot where no one but him had an open bedroom window and he could, if he kept his voice low enough, not be overhead.

“Hey,” he said to the screen.

“Hey you.” Jonathan sounded sleepy.

Connor could see the black straps of a tank top skimming across his shoulders and pictured how it would frame his arms and chest. Thought about tangling his hands in the ribbed fabric—in his imagination it was softly ribbed black cotton, he liked ribbed cotton a lot—and pushing it up Jonathan’s torso and dipping his mouth to Jonathan’s stomach.

“I told them.”

“Oh. Oh.” The man he loved scrambled to sit up, then the screen changed from the vague sense of Jonathan in the pale illumination the phone had thrown, to the warm golden tones cast by the bedside lamp. Faint lines showed where the pillow had pressed against his face. His hair was a mess, sort of like Connor’s insides, and all Connor wanted to do was rake his fingers deep into it and hold Jonathan’s face while he kissed him.

Then he’d pull Jonathan on top of him and let the weight settle his heart, chest to chest, thighs between thighs, Jonathan pinning him in place while they talked. Jonathan knew how to be still, maybe because of years of training to hold a pose on the ice, whereas Connor’s sports had all been bouncing around in ready position.

He needed Jonathan’s stillness pressing into him, but video was all he had tonight.

“How did it go?”

“It was good.” He laughed quietly. “It was, yeah, it’s been a long day, but it was really good. My sister kind of did all the work, actually.”

He thrust his hand through his hair. Cool air from the river was spreading up the banks and the temperature had dropped enough to be perfect. No humidity out here in the arid eastern mountains.

“A couple months ago she made them switch churches to one that’s not all love the sinner, hate the sin, and if I had a guess, I bet she’s been talking rainbow love is love shit.”

“Is she…?”

“No, I told you she found the softball team championship photo online. But I think maybe she guessed before? Or something. And my parents were pretty good. Awkward, but like, regular awkward. Nice.”

He should have nursed that first beer longer instead of getting a second. Then he’d be able to tell Jonathan all about how his Mom had been coaching his Dad, and how his sister was like a snarky sidekick, and make it all clear and funny.

He’d be able to come up with movie references and they’d laugh, but the extra drink had made him blurry. The connection between his mouth and his head was sub-optimus prime right now. Sub-optimum prime. Subprime. “Suboptimal!”

“What was?”

“Oh, nothing, it was all good. That was just a word in my head.” He missed Jonathan so much. “I had two beers. With Jess.”