Kinney rustled his papers in irritation. Gods, he was adorable. Greg wanted to hug him.
As though he could feel Greg’s stare, the professor glanced around the crowded atrium, eyes landing on him. His throat worked. Greg didn’t look away. And for five heart-thumping seconds, Kinney held his stare, his tongue darting over his lips, his eyes dragging down Greg’s T-shirt, over his jeans, all the way to his basketball shoes.
Kinney himself was wearing a neat button-down, its lines following his chest, his black pants clinging to his thighs. And he always wore those oxford shoes, brown leather with black laces, and they were always polished.
The professor tore his gaze away, glancing around them as though he was afraid he’d been found out. Greg looked around, too, half-wondering if someone would notice the knife-edge tension that stretched between himself and his professor. But no one noticed, and it felt as though there were only the two of them in the atrium, him and Kinney, each stripping the other in his mind.
For a moment, Greg wondered what the consequences were, if he walked over right now and kissed his professor. He wondered if Kinney would kiss back, if Kinney would open for him. If Kinney would taste like the coffee he sometimes brought along.
And whether Kinney would get hard for him, bonded or otherwise.
The bell rang shrilly overhead. Kinney jumped, looking up. Greg felt sorry for him sometimes. Whereas the students had grouped themselves into little cliques around the atrium, Dale Kinney stood alone, looking down at his notes, sneaking glances at Greg every few seconds.
So Greg walked over, smooth as he could, trying to impress an omega who had probably seen all the slickest moves.
Kinney met his eyes, gulped, and turned just as the lecture hall doors burst open. A swarm of students streamed out past him, trapping him against the wall.
Greg stepped aside to avoid the human traffic, approaching his professor from behind. And Kinney knew he was close, too, from the way he stiffened, trying to look over his shoulder. Then he looked at his papers, ignoring Greg.
Two steps from him, Greg caught his hibiscus scent, mingled with that telltale birch. He scowled. Kinney was spoken for. He’d seen the professor’s TA walking along the chemistry building corridors, Kinney’s hibiscus scent a faint whiff on her clothes. For two months, Greg had only seen Kinney with June’s scent, had watched as they chatted with each other in the lab.
Why, then, did Dale Kinney always look at Greg like he wanted something more?
“Hey,” Greg said, tapping him on the arm. Kinney tensed, and Greg pulled his hand away. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t worry about it,” Kinney said, looking at his feet.
Inches away, Greg stared at the silvery scar on Kinney’s neck, right over his scent gland. Someone had bonded with him and left that mark. Probably the TA, June. Hot dislike surged through Greg’s veins again. He wished he’d been there first, wished he could’ve stood a chance against anyone else his professor had been with. They were at least twenty years apart.
So yeah, maybe Greg was no longer your typical twenty-two-year-old.
“Can I talk to you in private?” Greg asked quietly, glancing at the students striding past.
Kinney sighed, turning around to face him. In the bright daylight of the atrium, his eyes were forest-green, intelligent, and his lips glistened. Greg wanted to know what they felt like against his own. Wanted to feel Dale’s mouth part against him. Brush over his skin.
“Do you need help with the assignments?” Kinney asked, his nostrils flaring like he was smelling Greg.
A thrill shot up Greg’s spine. He likes my scent. “If I said yes?”
“You’re going to have to shower first. I don’t need your sweat clogging up my office,” Kinney said. Except a dusting of red spread up his pale neck, like he was flustered. Like all the other times Greg had asked him out for coffee. And maybe this was something he wanted, Greg’s sweat in his office.
Greg swallowed, fighting the urge to step closer. “Can I drop by your office today?”
Kinney glanced at the students waiting to enter the lecture hall. “Maybe in two weeks. I’m rather busy at the moment.”
“Fine.”
When neither of them spoke, Kinney turned toward the lecture hall doors.
“Hey,” Greg said.
Kinney paused, looking over his shoulder. And Greg was almost distracted by the sharp point of his nose, the curl of his eyelashes, the soft hair falling over his forehead.
“I know a great coffee place,” Greg said.
Kinney’s gaze snapped away, his tongue darting over his lips. “I-I’m sure you’ll find plenty of friends to have coffee with.”
“If I want to have coffee with you?”
The professor froze for a heartbeat. Then he kept walking, disappearing into the lecture hall, and the dusting of red spread all the way up to his ears.
Greg’s heart thudded. Was Kinney flustered because he wanted Greg, or because he wanted Greg to stop with the flirting? Or did he want out of his relationship, and he couldn’t?
So Greg took a seat right in front of the podium, at eye-level with the professor. Dale Kinney plugged his flash drive into the laptop, pointedly avoiding Greg’s stare. He smelled faintly like musk, like arousal. Greg closed his eyes, desire humming through his body. Who’s the one making you hard? Is it me?
He didn’t know anyone with a relationship like that, an alpha bonded to an omega twice his age. It was something his father would disapprove of. You won’t have a future with him, Gregory. He’s old. Pregnancy past forty bears a risk.
Screw my future, Greg thought, pulling his lecture notes out of his backpack.
Kinney started the lecture when most of the hall was filled. He talked about nanoparticles, the various applications of nanoparticles in biochemistry, and their existing production methods.
Greg had already read the textbook chapters for this lecture. So he spent his time half-listening to Kinney, half-watching the way Kinney moved: rubbing his nose, pulling
