Page 34 of Checking Out the Librarian

He’d done that to more than one woman in less than five minutes. If he wanted a trifecta, he should phone his sister from the parking lot. That would be par for the day. No, that would be what, a double bogey?

“Oh.” Jonathan’s voice was softer, so Connor kept going.

“We teach second grade. We were picking up books to figure out what to request for next year from our classroom supply grants.”

Jonathan’s lips parted. “Now I feel stupid.”

And he looked gratifyingly unhappy about it, too. Connor couldn’t stop his grin. “Welcome to my life. I spend fifty percent of my waking hours with seven-year-olds. Friends roll their eyes when I use the word poop.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes.

“I did it again, didn’t I.” He glanced at the counter between them, surprised to find that he’d placed his hands on it.

He didn’t need support, his knees were functioning as usual, but the unyielding surface provided enough grounding that he knew where he was, in the library, and what he was doing, embarrassing himself in front of a handsome, smart guy.

At least his arms were doing their bit and keeping him from collapsing on his actual face.

Jonathan rested his fingertips on the end of Connor’s fingers, in the space between the first and second knuckle. It was nothing sexual, barely a touch, but Connor couldn’t stop looking.

Today Jonathan’s nails were a dark burgundy, one of those iridescent colors that looked gold at a certain angle. He wanted to lift Jonathan’s hand and move it so that he could lose himself watching the color change, but mostly he wanted to press it to his face and sink into whatever he could get.

“I’m sorry. I assumed you had been lying to me.” He removed his fingers as quickly as they had arrived, and then he shrugged. “I should have, I don’t know, asked. My fault.”

Connor wanted to reach across the desk and rub his thumb across Jonathan’s lower lip until his mouth relaxed into softness, but this was the library. The other librarian cleared her throat and greeted someone who had been standing behind Connor. Jonathan jerked into motion, clacking his keyboard loudly.

“I’ll let you ah, get back to work.”

The look Jonathan gave him was possibly regret, maybe hope, or maybe goodbye, but he had no intention of leaving until he figured it out, so he drifted to the fiction section. He could find a Lee Child book, skip the automatic checkout terminals, and ask Jonathan for help. That way they could talk again.

Glancing out the front windows, he saw Ribby imitating a hilly pancake cooking on the warmth of the courtyard concrete. When his dog was off-leash in proximity to a park, a field, a playground, or a yard, Ribby remembered he’d once been a running machine, but being tied to the library hitching post on a sunny afternoon, after having spent an hour in a park, was the retired and relaxed Ribby.

Eventually he found a Jack Reacher thriller he didn’t think he’d read, and a Cat Sebastian romance he knew he hadn’t, and slowly approached the desk Jonathan staffed. Even in the children’s area, the checkout terminal would work for any books.

The young female librarian who had coughed and snickered through his earlier conversation was gone, replaced by an older woman who appeared to share significant DNA with principals and head coaches.

“Welcome, may I help you?” Jonathan’s voice was crisp and impersonal, but his eyes looked at Connor through his lashes and then flitted to the other librarian, which made Connor confident she was the boss. Best behavior required.

“I need help checking these out.” He put the two paperbacks on the desk, We Could Be So Good on top and facing Jonathan. The two men embracing on a New York City fire escape was eye-catching, and the title said exactly what he needed Jonathan to understand.

He nudged the books closer to Jonathan. “I forgot my library number.”

“You Should Be So Lucky.“ Jonathan raised his chin without dropping Connor’s gaze. In the pause, Connor inhaled, but Jonathan was too far away. Too far. “That’s the sequel.”

“I’ve read it. It’s about baseball.” He’d liked that cover, a blond baseball player and a well-dressed, dark-haired reporter, a lot. Had maybe more than once pictured himself as one half of that equation.

“Out of order? Who does things in the wrong order?”

“Last weekend someone told me Dan Savage said—” Connor managed to stop his mouth, because even he knew not to remind Jonathan of a sex columnist’s advice while in his workplace. They absolutely could not discuss the proper order of dinner and fucking while in the library. Hard nope.

Jonathan flipped his hair away from his face and there was almost a grin. Almost.

The boss cleared her throat, and Jonathan erased the tiny smile from his face. “Do you have your library card?”

“Sorry, I lost it.” He’d actually memorized the number and pin, along with his credit card numbers, license, and lots of phone numbers. A useless superpower in the age of smartphones, but his nonetheless.

“Of course. What’s your name, sir.”

“Connor McMillan.”