Page 195 of Checking Out the Librarian

Out ahead, he could see Connor’s father already surrounded by large black cows, and Jess and her horse off to the side nudging a few others toward the main group.

While they were far enough away for privacy, Connor spoke again. “I don’t need to meet your family unless you want me to. I’ll do what you want, meet them, not, whatever. Your call.”

This was going in that kind of direction for both of them, then. He felt a little throat-punched, or at least this is what he imagined throat-punched felt like, but it wasn’t in a bad way.

It was good, but it was also too early in the morning to feel this fucked up.

Oh crap, Connor’s posture had down-shifted, and he realized he hadn’t answered. “Thank you. I don’t know what I want yet, but I believe, I mean, I know, that you’re in it with me. Whatever I want, it includes you.”

Connor twisted his shoulders to grin across at him, and he knew he’d answered correctly. Maybe not perfectly, but right. “I want you. Just you.”

His breathing was, well, incredibly regular. Penny the Palomino was big and lumbering between his thighs, but he felt surprisingly at ease. He touched base with his heart rate, which seemed to be chugging along as steadily as Penny. He was not in the middle of a freak-out or even, apparently, in the beginning of one.

“Hey, you.” He grinned back at Connor. “You’re my boyfriend, did you know that?”

“How’s it feel to be in a committed relationship?”

“It feels fine. Better than fine. I’m happy!”

“Me too. Strange that way.”

“Fuck, I’m speaking in exclamation marks.”

And Connor laughed.

40

PROM, YAY OR NEIGH?

Because Connor knew Jonathan would take longer to get ready for Saturday night, he’d volunteered to take the last shower, which meant that everyone else was waiting in the kitchen when he came thundering downstairs.

He hadn’t had a chance to see dressed and gorgeousified Jonathan in private first, and that was clearly a newbie mistake.

Jonathan wore a Western-cut shirt in a brilliant red that spoke to Connor of glossy cars he couldn’t afford and Christmas displays at stores where teachers didn’t usually shop. Black stitched outlines of poppy flowers decorated the yoke so that the red fabric naturally colored in the petals. The shade contrasted spectacularly with Jonathan’s hair in dark layers around his ears and cheeks.

Scarlet.

Connor’s brain finally caught up with his eyes and supplied the word for the shirt color. Jonathan also wore dark, tight jeans that flared over a half-decent pair of black boots someone had found. The buttons down the front of his shirt were gleaming onyx to match the pin Connor had given him for his birthday.

And the pin was thrust through Jonathan’s collar. The silver strands wrapped the stone and called Connor to touch them and then touch Jonathan’s lips and his dark-winged eyebrows, touch every piece of him.

He was supposed to speak, but it felt like his own collar had tightened around his neck. He tugged at it, even though his fingers told him he hadn’t accidentally buttoned it all the way to the top. Midnight blue with a white yoke and blue stitching, pressed to stiffness, that was his dress shirt.

He was going to get stiffer than his shirt if he kept looking at Jonathan, if Jonathan kept looking at him.

“Don’t you two look like the flag, red, white and blue!” His mother did a terribly mom-like bop over by the counter.

Off to the side, his father looked at his sister. “Two cars? Or three? How late you planning to stay out?”

They were covering for his inability to be a normal guy saying normal words to his boyfriend.

He eased closer to Jonathan, slowly, like his boyfriend was a colt that might stumble away because there was a bit of that nervous tight look back around his eyes and mouth. Connor let his thumb and one finger pinch the fabric on Jonathan’s cuff, just that tiny touch. He needed to say something but the only word close at hand was scarlet, and that wasn’t the type of word someone blurted out in a kitchen.

He swallowed. “You look nice. Really, really nice.”

“Nice is almost never my goal, Connor.” Jonathan’s voice trembled.

He leaned as close as he could get to Jonathan’s ear without touching him and recognized the light smell of Jonathan’s citrus-scented smoothing oil.