Page 188 of Checking Out the Librarian

The vitally necessary iced beverages Jonathan ordered in Prineville lasted him for forty of the final hundred and eight miles that remained to Connor’s family’s home.

Being originally from Southern California car culture and having driven through the long-haul parts of that state to get to Eugene, Jonathan had also purchased a backup drink. As soon as he finished the sparkling pink refresher, he removed the empty cup from the console, stuck it in the door, and began the reserve Arnold Palmer.

While this was arguably healthier for him than stress eating, stress drinking did have one major drawback.

Also, this was a lot of sugar. A lot. He should have had cold brew and relied upon caffeine instead of sugar, but he’d been embracing a festive vacation persona, or perhaps just nerves about MEETING THE FAMILY.

Why did he hear that in all caps inside his head?

People shouldn’t talk to themselves with that much emphasis, except in emergencies.

Honestly, he might be having more than one of those right now.

He was a wired guy who really needed to pee before he arrived at Connor’s parents’ ranch. And maybe try some meditation. He, Jonathan Park, was going to have to use a rest stop in the middle of rural nowhere, or maybe a forest service trail head portable bathroom.

His boyfriend had a lot to answer for.

Two hours later, he inched his city car up the gravel driveway that both his phone and the carved sign over the large gate assured him was the right place. That was Connor’s Subaru, so he had indeed made it to the correct ranch.

He checked in with his breathing; it was not great, but probably not audibly loud or fast. He checked his hair in the rearview mirror, and it also looked acceptable. No seeds from the fruit in the pink refresher in his teeth, and he hadn’t accidentally put on a full face of makeup this morning without remembering.

This was good. He was good.

Connor must have heard the car wheels on the gravel, because he sauntered out of the barn wearing a dirty cowboy hat, the fucker.

Jonathan turned the car off, but it dinged to remind him to switch to park first. Fuck. He tried again, correctly this time, and succeeded in turning it off. He was going to have to try really hard to remember the order in which to do things.

Connor reached for the door handle and pulled it open.

Jonathan wasn’t sure about the order to do anything, not even how to exit his own car. He’d never seen Connor look like this, and he didn’t think he’d get over it.

The man blocking him inside the car was wearing beat-up leather leg coverings tied with leather laces across the thighs of worn-pale denim that looked to be stretched near to death. Chaps. Lily was going to sink to the floor in tears when he told her.

In fact, he’d text her that single word, chaps, in all caps, as soon as he could breathe.

“You are looming,” he finally managed to say.

“And you are looking tasty.” The ranch made Connor’s voice gravelly, just like the driveway.

“And we are so not doing this in front of your family.”

“Doing what?” Those big hazel eyes opened wider and tried to look sweet, but nope, not a good liar.

“Whatever this”—Jonathan circled his finger to indicate Connor’s entire being—“thing with your smirky grin and those tied-on leather pieces of sex equipment and this dirty cowboy manly brute Western hero vibe is. We cannot, not until long after I’ve made a good impression. Like two years after.”

Connor’s big grin broke through, and he laughed. “We can play the long game. Fine by me.”

Then he braced a second forearm on the roof of the car and leaned farther down as if he might dive in for a kiss. Jonathan felt the flutters in his chest kick up a notch, if by notch he meant the difference between a toe loop and a triple axel. That type of notch.

“You have to let me out of the car.”

“What if I don’t? Are you going to teach me to listen better?” He did some cowboy jaw sideways shift thing, and no, fuck no.

“Right now, or I’m going to have a melt-down because I drank too many sugary drinks and your thighs are right there like yet another dessert and I can’t handle it, I just can’t, Connor! I need to walk around and breathe!”

“Okay, okay, I hear you.” Connor backed up with his hands in the air, and at the same moment, Ribby dashed from around the back of the house and yapped at the car.

On his feet, out of the car, three hops, shaking out his arms and legs, flexing his toes, flexing his fingers, finding the comfort of his old routine, and then he bent to grab the good doggy, which was his new one.