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Jonesy squints down at the last form in front of him, filling out the easy questions first, then circling back to the ones that don't come as quick.

He hums and bites his lip.

He scoots his chair back so he can slouch down in it and then leans back so two legs are off the ground.

He taps his pen against the table in time with the Bon Jovi song he rocked out to on the way in.

“Need some help?” the HR lady asks from across the table. She's smiling but she's also checked the clock a few times since he started filling out the forms. Like it's the dying minutes of an OT that just won't die.

“Nope,” Jonesy beams, scribbling down his final answer, combing his fingers through his flow and slipping his snapback on, snaps forward.

HR Lady smiles back and takes his paperwork, flipping through the stack. Her smile gets more strained around the edges when she looks at the last page.

Jonesy wonders where she bought that lipstick because it is baller.

“So, for your emergency contact…” she starts carefully.

“Yeah, that's Reilly, buddy,” Jonesy tells her, excited just thinking about Reilly. He's going to pick him up in the Jeep after and then they'll go for ice cream.

“Right. Wonderful,” she agrees, clearly super smart since she's on board with what a beauty Reilly is already. “You've put that name down as the first name and last name by mistake.”

“That's not a mistake, buddy,” Jonesy tells her, happy because they're still talking about Reilly instead of all those questions about books. Who knew getting a job at a library meant so many questions about what he's read. “That's Reilly’s name. He's a beauty.”

“His first and last names are both Reilly? His name is Reilly Reilly?” The HR Lady looked a little judgey, but, like, she was trying not to show him she was judgey.

“Nah, bro, like, it's his hockey name. Like Biz Nasty or Stretch or Segs or Lil Miz or Nostradamus. They don't need any other name.”

“Okay,” she said, putting the stack of forms down in a neat pile. “Do you know his given name? Just for the record. Like a stats sheet.”

“Uhh,” Jonesy said, thinking really hard to years of rosters and promo materials and what they were called by that one billet mom that had those weird boundaries like not wanting to sleep with them both at once. “Nope.”

“He's your emergency contact and you don't know his full name?”

“Yup.”

“You know his date of birth and social security number and not his full name?”

“Yup.”

“And it says here that the nature of your relationship is that he's your spouse.”

“Yup!”

“And you don't know your spouse's full name.”

“Yeah, buddy.”

The HR Lady didn't look convinced so Jonesy flexed his guns a bit.

“Okay,” she decides after a bit, shuffling the papers into a folder with his name on it. “I guess that's fine then.”

“Sweet! Let's get books deep and, like, bang bodies against those library cards with lots of jam.”