8. Using Words #3
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.”
“I need to see your ID.” Jonathan’s eyebrows drew down. “We have more than one in our system.”
He had once received a three-pack of watch batteries for the other Connor McMillan in town, and he damn well hoped the personal pleasure product that had never arrived at his own address had pleasantly surprised a different Connor rather than a porch pirate.
While he pulled his wallet out of his front pocket, he said, “I’m the one on Harris Street. ”
Jonathan glanced from the driver’s license to Connor. “I see. Yes.”
“If you’re having trouble finding my account, this might help.” He thrust a scrap of paper he’d taken from the recycle bin by the free computer terminals at Jonathan. “It’s, ah, another piece of my contact information.”
He glanced at the older woman while Jonathan reached for the books. She narrowed her eyes at him and her lips turned down.
“If you need it to check out these books, I mean. That’s all.”
Jonathan’s lips twitched as he looked between the ten digits of Connor’s phone number written on the square of paper and Connor. “Very helpful, thank you.”
Connor watched the dark burgundy polish on Jonathan’s fingernails flash across the keyboard as he tapped. Jonathan didn’t give him an opening to continue conversing, merely pushed the paperbacks across the counter and thanked him.
That left him no choice but to turn and leave.
Outside, he unhooked Ribby’s lead from the railing. “We’re going now, bud. Did what I could.”
At the corner, he paused for the light to change. His car was parked on the next block over, but he didn’t want to go home. Maybe he should buy groceries, even though he’d done that yesterday.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, setting his heart to thumping like Ribby’s tail.
Unknown number
I’m off at four.
It must be Jonathan, and he’d used Connor’s real cell phone number, not the app.
He could feel his face breaking into a huge grin. The driver waiting to turn right after he crossed was probably angry, but the walk man sign was unimportant now.
Unknown number
Do you need me to tell you who this is?
Connor
Jonathan?
Is that an invitation
Unknown number
If you’re around, it is.
Connor
I am. And Yes I’ll wait
For you
I mean where
I’ll stop
Unknown number
Wait at the café across the street. Read quietly until I get there.
Connor breathed in and out while Ribby leaned a shoulder into the side of his leg.
Wait. Read quietly.
The morning had been emotional, but Jonathan’s instructions settled over Connor like a heavy blanket.
He felt the sun warming his neck, and pictured himself a half-hour in the future, sitting with an empty iced latte and a dog sleeping at his feet.
He would look up from his book to see Jonathan walking toward him.
He would stand and give him a swift brush of lips across his cheek like people who dated people did, super casual but intimate. Then, they would sit down together.
He and Jonathan.
Connor
Yes I’ll do that