“It’s just a crush,” Dale said, looking away. He ran his thumb down the silver clip on his pen, watching the other couples at their tables, the smiles on their faces. “It’ll fade. If it helps, you should know you’ll never have a normal relationship with me. I don’t want to cause you that pain.”
“I don’t care about ‘normal’,” Greg said, thinking about the way Dale had leaned into his chest this morning, trembling with the news. Dale had needed someone then. “If you’re worried about my dad, we’ll find a way around it.”
“Very optimistic,” Dale said, his eyes dull with resignation. “If I’m fired, I’m not sure where else I can go. I’m not... bonded. I’m sure my employment prospects will be miserable if I lose my job.”
“You’ll have better prospects if you’re bonded to me,” Greg said. Which was exactly what his father had been telling him. And it sucked that he was saying the same thing to Dale.
Dale chuckled, skeptical but amused. “I guess you have a point.”
“Spend a week with me,” Greg said. “Then decide where you want to go from there.”
Dale swallowed. He rearranged his cutlery on the table, dragging his lip between his teeth. He was interested. And Greg wanted him closer, wanted Dale curled up in bed with him.
“What will I learn in a week?” Dale asked eventually, looking up at him. “You remember that I’m your teacher.”
To be honest, Greg didn’t know, either. Dale was in his forties. He’d know a lot more things than Greg at this point.
But Dale didn’t think a relationship possible between them, and maybe Greg could change that. He had had enough of making decisions based on his future.
“You’ll learn that you’re not just a professor,” Greg said, looking at the lines of Dale’s throat, the slant of his collarbones. He remembered Dale pressed against him last week, when he’d come alive beneath Greg, and that was something Greg wanted to remind him of. “You’ll learn that being old doesn’t make you a bad omega.”
Dale’s throat worked. He looked down at his fingers, hope flickering in his eyes. “Why aren’t you with someone else your age?”
Greg rolled his shoulders. After Tony, he hadn’t wanted to commit. Not when the omegas his age talked about nice homes and skincare products and preparing for their futures. The future couldn’t be trusted.
“I’m not interested in the things they’re interested in.”
“You’re on the basketball team,” Dale said.
“Basketball’s fun. Takes my mind off things.” The urgency of the game distracted Greg from everything else—the split-seconds between snatching a ball and tearing off with it, the focus of shooting, the adrenaline pumping in his veins. And now that he thought about it, maybe he was using basketball as an escape.
The waitress came by, setting down large oval plates of food between them. Chunks of pork glistened on Greg’s plate, drenched with onion-speckled gravy. Around it, fragrant rice sat in a pile, next to juicy corn and a bowl of steaming soup.
Dale lit up, staring at their plates. “Try some. Tell me if you think it’s good.”
Greg unwrapped his cutlery, popping a bite of pork into his mouth. It landed on his tongue in a juicy burst of heat—oregano and garlic and onion, held together by tender pork.
Dale’s smile widened. “I could eat that forever,” he said. “Sometimes, I drop an entire pork shoulder in my crock-pot and leave it to cook through the day. It smells so delicious by the time I get home.”
“You should show me how you do that,” Greg said, biting into another piece. Dale wasn’t kidding when he said this was good. “I haven’t really tried Mexican recipes.”
“Maybe this week,” Dale said, looking down at his plate. His cheeks darkened. “You know, we could turn it into a week-long cooking lesson.”
Greg snorted. “Does everything have to be a lesson?”
Dale blinked. “I... don’t know. I guess I’m still seeing you as my student.”
“I don’t just want to be your student.” Greg lowered his voice. “I want to press you down in bed and kiss you.”
A darker flush crept up Dale’s throat. His gaze dropped to Greg’s shoulders, then his chest and arms, and his tongue darted across his lips. “That still doesn’t make a relationship.”
“We can be friends,” Greg said, his heart racing. He wanted Dale. And whatever Dale wanted to call this, he’d roll with it. “Sounds better?”
“It does,” Dale said, except his gaze lingered on Greg’s body, flickering up to his lips. He was thinking about last week.
“It’ll be better in bed,” Greg murmured.
Dale’s throat worked. He spooned soup into his mouth, that shade of crimson fanning all the way to his hairline. “I, um.”
A faint coil of musk rolled through the air between them, followed by hibiscus, and a trace of honey. Greg wanted to worship him. Dale looked like he hadn’t enjoyed himself in a while, with his shoulders hunched, his eyes jaded.
Maybe they could start exploring tonight.
Greg let silence lapse between them, not reaching over, not touching Dale. Dale squirmed under his stare, his gaze darting between his own food, and Greg’s hands.
Dale wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t saying no. He was fighting his own desire, and in that moment, Greg saw the loneliness that surrounded him.
Dale had a couch in his office. He slept there sometimes. He didn’t seem to have anyone to go home to, and Greg could’ve kicked himself for not noticing this earlier.
“We don’t even need to fuck,” Greg said. Sex didn’t solve everything; he shouldn’t be focusing so hard on that. “Go out with me. Watch a movie. Come watch my games. Stuff like that.”
“And if I...” Dale bit his lip. “If I want to?”
“Want to what?” Greg smirked. “Watch my games?”
“That too.” Dale folded a corner of his napkin. “All of those. I mean, it... doesn’t hurt to try. If we’re careful. I guess.”
Greg polished off the last of his food, his body thrumming with anticipation. When he’d gotten dressed
