Chapter 24
Jeremiah
Isat in my truck, surrounded by packages still waiting to be delivered, staring at my phone like it was some hospital monitor beeping the life out of me.
But it wasn’t beeping. It wasn’t blinking. The dumb typing bubble wasn’t dancing or wiggling or doing a darn thing.
Theo hadn’t even read my message yet. It had been three whole minutes.
God, I was a sad puppy.
Then the dots began to dance—and so did my heart. A massive smile flared on my face as I waited for his words.
How could one man turn my whole world upside down with little more than the flick of his thumbs?
The more I thought about that question, the naughtier it sounded.
I’d never felt Theo’s thumbs.
Or tasted them.
Or had him tease my head as it leaked gooey goodness—
Theo: Unless you count a hundred texts used for high school research papers, nope. I need a comfy chair, a glass of dry red wine, and a first edition of anything that doesn’t involve sixteen-year-olds, STAT. Not that my little gremlin would give me a moment’s peace, but a boy can dream, right?
And just like that, my heart was full. It wasn’t simply that Theo texted back, though that was essential to letting me continue my workday.
It was also how he responded. It felt as though he was continuing the most natural conversation in the world, one we’d started years earlier and only now made sense.
It was also how he texted in complete sentences, whole paragraphs even. Charles Dickens would’ve been proud. In a day when most of those he taught barely spoke in complete words, it was funny and sweet that his little thumb worked so hard . . . just for me.
And . . . back to his thumbs.
God, I wanted to feel—
Theo: You still working? Tear any shirts today?
I actually laughed out loud at that . . . and at how my uniform pants tented at the thought of Theo’s thumbs wiggling in just the right way. Was I sick? Did I need therapy? Was there even a therapy for whatever was wrong with me . . . and my dick that clearly had a mind of its own?
I let my head fall back on the headrest and grinned, enjoying how silly and giddy just hearing from Theo made me feel.
Then I realized I’d made him wait for a response.
That would’ve driven me insane, waiting for the dots to wiggle.
I let my own digits fly.
Me: I haven’t seen Cuddles yet. She’s coming up, though. Wish me luck.
Theo: You’re a brave man.
Me: Did I tell you Mrs. Chen is having surgery?
Theo: No, but she did. You two getting close? Should I be worried?
I laughed and fumbled my phone. It slid under the seat so far I had to climb out of my truck and lean over to fish it out.
Me: Nothing to worry about there. I’m kind of into this guy.
Theo: Oh? Really? He must be pretty special to catch your eye.
Me: He’s kind of a nerd, but in the best way ever. Maybe I’ll introduce you sometime.
Theo: Ha. Thanks . . . I think.
Me: So, about Mrs. Chen. She asked me to look after Cuddles while she’s down for the count.
Theo: Really? Wow. This gets better by the minute. Mind if Debbie and I watch? Hell, I want to film it for posterity. They could make dog training videos about the vicious breed that is the Golden Retriever. They’re nasty, evil little buggers with all their fur and slobber and licky kisses.
Me: I think I hate you.
Theo: Hate me over dinner.
I blinked at the screen, caught between chuckling at his humor, grinning at the stupid cuteness of our conversation, and amazed he wanted to see me again, though I had pulled off a pretty amazing date with the downtown bookstore thing.
Me: Name the time and place, and I’m there.
Theo: My place. Friday night. Bring a toothbrush.
Holy shit.
Bring a toothbrush?
Did that mean—?
Theo: Debbie has a sleepover down the street for another girl’s birthday party. I’ll be all alone in this big house with my big, empty bed. It’s a king size, by the way. Lots of room. Very comfy for, you know, sleeping . . . if you’re into that sort of thing.
I slapped my palm against the steering wheel.
“Shit! Ow. Fuck,” I shouted, not really caring about the sting in my palm because the tent in my pants was growing again.
Me: Are you seriously asking me to spend the night? I just need clarification, because I can be a little thick sometimes.
Theo: I’m counting on you being thick Friday night.
My mouth fell open. Theo, my sweet, innocent librarian, was coming on like a sexual freight train.
Then I realized he was probably still at his desk, in his library, and my pulse began racing even faster.
I wanted to type something witty, something that would make him laugh and think about me all day long, but all I could think of was:
Me: Hope your toothpaste is minty.