38. Tied-On Leather Pieces of Equipment
TIED-ON LEATHER PIECES OF EQUIPMENT
The vitally necessary iced beverages Jonathan ordered in Prineville lasted him for forty of the final hundred and eight miles that remained to Connor’s family’s home.
Being originally from Southern California car culture and having driven through the long-haul parts of that state to get to Eugene, Jonathan had also purchased a backup drink.
As soon as he finished the sparkling pink refresher, he removed the empty cup from the console, stuck it in the door, and began the reserve Arnold Palmer.
While this was arguably healthier for him than stress eating, stress drinking did have one major drawback.
Also, this was a lot of sugar. A lot. He should have had cold brew and relied upon caffeine instead of sugar, but he’d been embracing a festive vacation persona, or perhaps just nerves about MEETING THE FAMILY.
Why did he hear that in all caps inside his head?
People shouldn’t talk to themselves with that much emphasis, except in emergencies.
Honestly, he might be having more than one of those right now.
He was a wired guy who really needed to pee before he arrived at Connor’s parents’ ranch. And maybe try some meditation. He, Jonathan Park, was going to have to use a rest stop in the middle of rural nowhere, or maybe a forest service trail head portable bathroom.
His boyfriend had a lot to answer for.
Two hours later, he inched his city car up the gravel driveway that both his phone and the carved sign over the large gate assured him was the right place. That was Connor’s Subaru, so he had indeed made it to the correct ranch.
He checked in with his breathing; it was not great, but probably not audibly loud or fast. He checked his hair in the rearview mirror, and it also looked acceptable.
No seeds from the fruit in the pink refresher in his teeth, and he hadn’t accidentally put on a full face of makeup this morning without remembering.
This was good. He was good.
Connor must have heard the car wheels on the gravel, because he sauntered out of the barn wearing a dirty cowboy hat, the fucker.
Jonathan turned the car off, but it dinged to remind him to switch to park first. Fuck. He tried again, correctly this time, and succeeded in turning it off. He was going to have to try really hard to remember the order in which to do things.
Connor reached for the door handle and pulled it open.
Jonathan wasn’t sure about the order to do anything, not even how to exit his own car. He’d never seen Connor look like this, and he didn’t think he’d get over it.
The man blocking him inside the car was wearing beat-up leather leg coverings tied with leather laces across the thighs of worn-pale denim that looked to be stretched near to death. Chaps. Lily was going to sink to the floor in tears when he told her.
In fact, he’d text her that single word, chaps, in all caps, as soon as he could breathe.
“You are looming,” he finally managed to say.
“And you are looking tasty.” The ranch made Connor’s voice gravelly, just like the driveway.
“And we are so not doing this in front of your family.”
“Doing what?” Those big hazel eyes opened wider and tried to look sweet, but nope, not a good liar.
“Whatever this”—Jonathan circled his finger to indicate Connor’s entire being—“thing with your smirky grin and those tied-on leather pieces of sex equipment and this dirty cowboy manly brute Western hero vibe is. We cannot, not until long after I’ve made a good impression. Like two years after.”
Connor’s big grin broke through, and he laughed. “We can play the long game. Fine by me.”
Then he braced a second forearm on the roof of the car and leaned farther down as if he might dive in for a kiss. Jonathan felt the flutters in his chest kick up a notch, if by notch he meant the difference between a toe loop and a triple axel. That type of notch.
“You have to let me out of the car.”
“What if I don’t? Are you going to teach me to listen better?” He did some cowboy jaw sideways shift thing, and no, fuck no.
“Right now, or I’m going to have a melt-down because I drank too many sugary drinks and your thighs are right there like yet another dessert and I can’t handle it, I just can’t, Connor! I need to walk around and breathe!”
“Okay, okay, I hear you.” Connor backed up with his hands in the air, and at the same moment, Ribby dashed from around the back of the house and yapped at the car.
On his feet, out of the car, three hops, shaking out his arms and legs, flexing his toes, flexing his fingers, finding the comfort of his old routine, and then he bent to grab the good doggy, which was his new one.
He could handle Connor if he only looked out of the side of his eye while he gave Ribby welcoming neck scritches.
“You’re a good doggy. You’re not wearing cowboy clothes, no, you’re not. You’re not distracting me, you good doggo.”
Outside of the air-conditioned car, the heat and sun were immediately relentless, and his fitted white T-shirt started to stick to his back, but at least it wasn’t humid. His hair wouldn’t restyle itself from relentless humidity like it always had when he lived in New York.
He’d worn battered jeans and his best white T-shirt because he assumed Connor’s parents were, like a lot of their generation, fans of Born in the USA. The positive associations with the album cover could work in his favor.
He hadn’t anticipated the effect on Connor.
“Fuck, you look hot.” Connor had some sexy cowboy enhanced version of his bedtime voice going on. And the damn boots made him loom even taller. Not fair. Not not not fair.
“I figured I could stick a red bandana in my back pocket and be Bruce Springsteen.” He popped his ass from his position partially crouched to pet Ribby.
Mistake. Or not. Because then Connor nudged Ribby away and hauled Jonathan up into his arms and Connor had his big hands right there on Jonathan’s butt while he lifted and spun him.
“How about if I’m the bandana.” And Connor was still twirling. “I missed you.”
“Connor! Put me down!”
He smelled like sweat and different soap and what must be leather and hay and he didn’t know what else, but it was so much that Jonathan wondered how Ribby lived with this many smells around him. He wanted to wiggle away, but he also wanted to bury his face in Connor’s neck and lick him.
Ugh, so maddening. And that stupid giant sexy hat was stopping them from kissing.
“But you’re here!” Connor did some weird move where he bumped the brim of the hat on Jonathan’s head and then whipped his chin up in order to flick his hat back, leaving an endearing red line across his forehead.
“Fuck it.” He wrapped himself all the way around Connor, as wrapped as wrapped could be, legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, and leaned into the inevitable.
Yes, this is a kissing book. Even librarians like Jonathan who had definitely never obsessed over Princess Bride knew that line, because it had inspired a million special displays.
Connor kissed him right back. He hadn’t shaved and his upper lip scratched Jonathan’s.
He was going to have a problem really quickly with that stubble. A pants problem. Wait, there already was a problem. “Stop, ouch, your buckle is—”
“My buckle? Or my buuuckle.” Connor’s voice dropped as he stretched out the last word.
“The metal thing that isn’t fun at all, that buckle.”
Ribby quit circling and tried to stick his face between them but ended up nosing Jonathan’s butt, which made everything weird.
Connor sighed and lowered him until his sneakers reached the ground. “Darn. I wanted you focused on something else.”
“The other thing isn’t nearly as hard and poky.”
“You kill me.” He spread his palm wide over his left pectoral and grinned. “Strike through my heart.”
“Whatever. Time to do this?” Because the bike rack blocked his trunk, Jonathan opened the back door to grab his suitcase, but Connor was in the way and holding out his hands. If he grabbed it, he would realize how much Jonathan had packed for a three-night trip. “I can carry it myself.”
“I know, but you’re a guest.” He took Jonathan’s hand with his free one, pressed it to his chest, and then spread his hand out to cover it.
“And if I don’t have something to do with my hands, I’m going to be touching you.
My mother’s inside trying to be subtle, but that won’t last much longer, and my dad and Jess are out with the herd. ”
He was absurdly happy to have his hand trapped between Connor’s chest and palm. The soft denim shirt was hot and damp to the touch, but he didn’t mind one bit. “I’m glad we’re easing into this.”
“You’ll be alright.” Before Connor finished his sentence, Jonathan heard the front door close and turned to see a middle-aged woman on the porch. Her timing was so impeccable, Jonathan realized she must have been watching for the suitcases, like a signal. Or at least not not-watching.
She resembled Connor, a bundle of wavy gold hair pulled back in a ponytail, with a lot of it springing around her face, and a smile that reached all the way across the flower beds.
“Hi there!” She waved and started to descend the steps.
“Hello!” Jonathan waved for a moment and then quickly opened the front passenger door and grabbed the cute basket he and Lily had scoured Eugene gift stores to assemble.
It was perfectly arranged, three dish towels with screen-printed images of the Western Meadowlark, the Swallowtail Butterfly, and a bowl of pears, all state symbols adopted by Oregon.
He’d also included a package of cute sponges shaped like the state of Oregon, a candle made from Willamette Valley-grown herbs and beeswax, dish gloves with fake fur cuffs that were to die for, and a little box of dark chocolate salted caramels and another of espresso chocolate truffles, both made in Eugene.
Maybe the sponges and dish gloves were weird? But they looked cute in the basket, and the sponges at least rounded out the Oregon state theme.
He shouldn’t have chosen dish gloves. He felt his breathing speed up again.