23. Not a Duke #3
“Nope, you don’t.” The tote handle was definitely too small. Connor couldn’t get it far enough over his popping-big-shoulder-muscle to let it rest in place.
“Well, if I knew what you were talking about, I would. Also, the letter J is not my name.”
Connor gestured between the two of them and smiled. “You, me, pets, coffee, stuff. Take your pick. None of it’s a big deal.”
Those golden eyelashes flicked down and back up and their gazes locked.
“Go with the flow. That’s what I do.”
“My hair has flow. I do not. And this is a lot of responsibility.” Although a slightly shaky voice was better on the emotional progress scale than overwrought or waspish, his tone was definitely too revealing. His pulse was also bit alarming. “And bills. It’s a lot of bills.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? I don’t!” Because his left hand was supporting Kitten’s pouch, he waved his right hand in the air. The coffee cup decreased the speed and drama of the gesture, but it should still convey his point. “Everything is really happening very fast. Too fast.”
“I get it. I do. During the school year I have to take care of other people’s kids five days a week, keep them from putting each other’s or their own eyes out while also teaching them to do shit like read, so I get it.”
He was so stupid.
Of course one kitten was easy to a man like Connor, who was a real grown up and clearly had been for quite some time, and Jonathan’s over-reaction was a joke. He couldn’t even function more than twenty-four hours with a kitten without a breakdown, he was never going to be good enough for Connor.
“Hey.” Connor plucked Jonathan’s empty cup from his hands and tossed it, along with his own, into a garbage can, before gently halting Jonathan and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
He curled Jonathan to his side at an angle, and Jonathan knew that was because he meant to avoid crushing or waking Kitten.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel worse. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand up Jonathan’s back and lightly gripped his neck.
It was a comforting reversal of how Jonathan often held Connor’s wrist or neck, and he tilted into Connor until he felt Connor’s lips at his temple. He recognized the kissing that was about emotion, not eroticism, one of Connor’s fluttery everyday, anywhere kisses.
They were another thing that made Jonathan’s stomach clench because he didn’t understand them, had always thought it was some conspiracy of neutering the sex out of kissing, but now he was getting the why of these lips-to-temple or lips-to-cheekbone moments and that made him even more stressed.
“Hey, are you heading back to your apartment?” Connor murmured. It sounded like more than a yes or no question.
Jonathan froze.
He’d wished for this last night. He’d told himself he could ask Connor over. It was the next step, and it was weird not to.
Connor’s fingers tunneled into the hair at the base of Jonathan’s skull. He let his head collapse into the comfort of Connor’s shoulder. This was what Connor liked. This always quieted Connor, and now Connor was using it on him.
He remained silent inside Connor’s arms.
“I’m not doing anything,” Connor continued in an unusually low, modulated voice for him. “It’s Sunday. I was only going to maybe check in the crawl space and see what other work I still need to do under there, and believe me, that can wait. So.”
Jonathan had never asked Connor to come up to his apartment, although Connor had been in the parking area. Jonathan was the worst boyfriend ever to be hugged.
Kitten shifted against his chest, and he swayed a tiny amount to get him to settle in place, but his throat was too clogged to say what he should. You could come over for a while. Want to have a late lunch at my place. I need to get Kitten home, but you could stop by later?
Any of those. All of those.
He said nothing.
“Or you could come over to my place?” Connor finally offered.
He dropped his arms and gave Jonathan space. His eyes looked like Ribby’s. Hungry pleading Ribby. “Both of you?”
“I want to. I really want to.” He couldn’t speak louder than a whisper.
He needed to say yes. Connor wouldn’t want him if he couldn’t be better than this.
“But?”
“Kitten’s not like Ribby. He’s not all hardened to life and willing to go happily to his big bed downstairs. I have to keep him close. Don’t make me choose.”
“Oh, Jonathan.” He stroked his palms up and down the outside of both of Jonathan’s arms. Up and down. “Nope, I won’t make you choose.”
“You’re laughing.”
“No, not really.”
“Liar.”
“Yes, I’m lying. But I’m not laughing at you.”
He believed that.
“I got myself a complicated boyfriend, didn’t I?” Connor’s smile was reduced to a small curve of closed lips, but it wasn’t a frown.
“I don’t mean to be! I don’t!”
“Shh, I didn’t mean—” Connor snuggled Jonathan right back in the same spot against his chest.
“I’ll be better!”
Connor leaned his forehead against Jonathan’s. “What do you always say to me?”
Jonathan looked into the warm hazel eyes, so close that he felt dizzy.
“Breathe, Jonathan. Just breathe.”
He did.
“You’re not chasing me away.”
He breathed.