“Baby,” Boothill whispers with desperation like an impatient child, fingers tracing circles on the wooden table and wishing it was your skin instead. You know what he’s about to say, he’s been whining about it all this damned time.

… And maybe Boothill gets that, so he sighs in defeat, slumping on his chair. “Can’t ya at least just take ‘em home or some’n? We don’t need to stay here if ya already have yer books n’ all that…” He’s gone to the point where his expression was pleading more than frustrated.

The library definitely wasn’t where this cowboy ever thought he’d be. He blames you, you and your studious self and maybe a bit of himself too. He just couldn’t say no to you, even if you dragged him to the one place he hated most. Still, he needed to bargain. “Please, baby, I swear I’d do anything— We could go for ice cream before heading home, my treat??”