The word comes out without thought, without planning. It just... is. True in a way I didn't know I was ready to admit.True in a way that feels like stepping off a cliff and finding solid ground.
"Oh!" The librarian takes a step back, then another. "I didn't—sorry, I didn't know he was—" He's already retreating, hands up like I'm pointing a weapon at him. Which I'm not. But apparently I look like I might. "I'll just—those books are due back in three weeks! Nice to meet you!"
He practically runs toward the circulation desk.
I watch him go with satisfaction, then turn back to Jason, who's staring at me.
"What," he says slowly, "was that?"
Shit. "I—"
"Are you claiming me?"
Shit. Fuck. "Maybe?"
"Maybe?" He pulls out of my hold, stepping back to look at me properly. There's fire in his eyes now, his whole posture shifted from surprised to confrontational. "There's no maybe here, Ash. You can't get pissy because someone was nice to me but also not want to date me. Pick a lane."
He's right. He's absolutely right.
Pick a lane.
I look at him—standing there in the cookbook section, clutching books about fermentation and wild yeasts, indignant and beautiful and completely right to be pissed at me—and I realize I already have.
I picked it the moment I saw someone else's hand on him and wanted to break every finger.
"Fine," I say. "We're dating."
Jason blinks. "What?"
"We're dating. Exclusively. No one else gets to touch you."
"Are you—" He shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. "Are you serious right now?"
"Dead serious." I step closer, crowding into his space the way the librarian was, except I have the right to be here. I've earned the right. "You're mine. I don't know how to do relationships. I don't know how to be someone's boyfriend. But I'll figure it out, because the thought of that guy putting his hands on you makes me want to commit actual violence."
Jason stares at me for a long moment. His expression shifts—surprise, then hope, then his whole face lights up like I just gave him everything he wanted.
"We're dating," he repeats.
"Yes."
"Exclusively."
"Yes."
"You just called yourself my boyfriend."
"Apparently I did."
"In front of witnesses."
I look around. We've attracted an audience, because of course we have. A couple of moms pretending to browse nearby shelves while clearly watching us. The librarian peeking out from behind the circulation desk. An older woman in the mystery section who's given up all pretense and is openly staring with a delighted expression.
"In front of witnesses," I confirm.
Robin appears from behind the next stack over—definitely lurking the whole time, the scheming little shit—dragging Toby behind him. "Story hour's starting! Also, did you just claim Jason in front of the entire library?"
"Yes," I say simply.
