Page 49 of Checking Out the Librarian

“That is what I was thinking about.”

“Coffee?”

“No, you and your…” He fluttered his hand in Connor’s direction. “Wants? Needs, perhaps?”

Connor’s eyebrows moved, both of them, inwards. “I don’t understand.”

“I was thinking about how much you appear to like it when I tell you to do things. You appear to really like it, shall we say. And I shouldn’t abuse that and perhaps I need to do research to make sure I don’t harm you. Accidentally.”

Connor stared at him, lips parted and eyes wide, and Jonathan was completely unable to interpret his expression. It could be shock, it could be awe, it could be nausea. “That’s…Wait, do I…Am I?”

“I don’t know, Connor, are you?”

“What?”

Jonathan closed his eyes. “Save me from this. Change the subject. What were you going to ask me when I was so rudely considering your feelings and needs?”

Not waspish. Do not sound waspish. Not over French toast, not sober, not without cocktails and annoying house music to take the blame.

“I was saying that I have a softball game tonight. You could—” He pressed his lips together so hard they folded inwards. “Sorry, that’s a lot. I’m a lot. Maybe next week, next Tuesday?”

Jonathan ignored Connor’s self-editorial comments. The man had rather loose boundaries between his brain and his mouth, which Jonathan shouldn’t find charming, but Connor’s consistent failure to perform the expected role of single gay man somehow emerged as captivating.

Gay men didn’t see each other every night after merely two hookups. It wasn’t done.

And yet.

“I have the closing shift tonight, noon until eight.” He looked at the time on his phone. “I need to leave soon to get home and change.”

“That’s too bad. That’s, yeah, too bad.”

“I do not work Friday night. Tomorrow.” Jonathan glanced up from his remaining bites of French toast, saw Connor’s tentative smile, and then looked back at his plate. Even discussing tomorrow felt crazily committed. They should be talking about next week. Who made plans for the next day?

“Ah! That would be…” Connor’s voice trailed away. “Oh, I’m umping.”

“I feel like I should know what that means, but what it sounds like right now cannot possibly be what it means.”

“Baseball referee. I’m an umpire for a youth tournament this weekend. I also do soccer ref work in the summer for extra money to take trips.” He patted his stomach, as if it would vibrate, but it did not. “And the running around lets me eat extra pancakes.”

“I see.” They both had lives. Jonathan wasn’t available tonight, Connor wasn’t available tomorrow, all of that was reasonable and normal. He wasn’t a pound puppy needing to be adopted.

“I’m not scheduled for Saturday night. Tournament barbecue, umps not required.”

Jonathan assessed the silence that fell between them. It wasn’t precisely uncomfortable, but also, it wasn’t a reading nonchalantly level of ease. He gathered that Connor, in a belated fit of self-awareness or perhaps self-preservation, wasn’t going to say more unless Jonathan gave some hint of his availability.

“I also am not scheduled for Saturday night.” That was the truth, and the truth was polite and appropriate, but nothing more.

A flare of hope shouldn’t be working its way through his body and raising expectations about seeing Connor in two days, because it was ridiculous, bordering on absurd, perhaps even staring into the abyss of needy, to have expectations for a Saturday night after nothing more than two hook ups and two breakfasts.

“That’s a yes for Saturday, then?” Connor’s eyes crinkled at the sides.

Jonathan shrugged and nodded at the same time. “If you want it to be.”

“I’ll be pretty beat after doing four games during the day, though.”

“And I’ll be tired after a ride with my cycle group.” He too had a busy weekend already planned. It wasn’t like he didn’t have options.

“So.” Connor turned his head to the side and looked at him consideringly. “What should we do?”