But Dale was agreeing now, cautiously, his expression a mix of hope and fear, and Greg wanted things to work out between them.
So he reached over, stroking his fingertip over the back of Dale’s hand. Just to remind Dale of his promise, and the heat of his touch.
Dale swallowed, his nostrils flaring. He wanted more.
All Greg had to do was wait. Then they’d go to one of their homes, and Greg would treat Dale the way he deserved to be treated—carefully, and with spine-arching pleasure.
At some point after that, when they were both sated, they’d discuss the baby further.
10
Dale
When Dale had dragged himself to El Asado an hour ago, he hadn’t thought he’d be bringing Greg home.
He hadn’t known what to expect, when his stomach had been twisted up into knots, his thoughts clamoring around the new life in his belly. He was pregnant. He was carrying his student’s child, all because he’d given in to his heat last week.
A tiny part of him marveled at the baby. Nineteen years ago, the doctor had said, It’ll be best for you to adopt. Charles hadn’t wanted an adoption. He’d thought it beneath his status. His parents had said, If Dale can’t conceive, how can he even be a good father? How is he even a good omega?
Haunted by their words long after he’d left Drakestown, Dale hadn’t even dared to consider an adoption. Slowly, he’d stopped wishing for a baby.
And now that he’d finally conceived, the baby turned out to be his student’s. A little voice in his head whispered, You should be ashamed of yourself.
Neck-deep in guilt, he’d found himself at his favorite restaurant, across the booth from Greg Hastings. They’d talked a little about the baby. Then Greg had suggested they stay together for a week, and Dale’s mind had flooded with the implications of that.
A week with Greg? In the privacy of his apartment? He wouldn’t be able to keep his clothes on.
Dale gulped, heat curling through his belly. He wanted to be Greg’s. Wanted Greg to taste him. All of him.
Greg traced circles on the back of Dale’s hand. Then he slipped his fingers around to Dale’s wrist, rubbing right over Dale’s scent gland. Dale’s throat went dry.
For two months, he’d begged June to mark him, so he had an excuse not to say yes. Now, Greg’s fingers made love to Dale’s wrist, a slow touch on sensitive skin, and Dale’s self-control evaporated like water on desert sand.
“You shouldn’t—shouldn’t be doing that here,” he breathed, his heart thudding. Any of the restaurant’s patrons could look over, and maybe they’d be able to tell how old Dale was. How young Greg was. They’d think Dale was buying Greg’s interest with money, or something equally terrible.
Greg glanced at the windows. “What if we do this outside?”
The sky had darkened, and Dale could barely make out the gleam of streetlamps on the parked cars. His stomach flipped. “It’s still visible to the public.”
“Then you want to continue in private,” Greg murmured, massaging Dale’s scent gland. He circled it, rubbed right over it, the ball of his thumb callused and firm. Pleasure hummed down Dale’s nerves. He slid his hand away, biting down a moan. Greg smiled.
I need to stop this. It’s not right. Dale signaled for the bill. The waitress gave him a thumbs-up.
“There are countless omegas waiting in line for you,” Dale said, pushing his half-finished food away. It was his favorite dish, but tonight, he’d lost his appetite. He wasn’t hungry for pulled pork right now.
He was hungry for Greg.
“You probably know their names better than I do,” Greg said. “I don’t know the other students all that well.”
“I...” Dale’s gaze fell on the forgotten notebook on the table. Crap, we got distracted. He rubbed his face, groaning. “We were supposed to talk about the baby.”
“We’ll talk about the baby after.” Greg watched him with dark eyes; there was no question what the before would be. Dale swallowed.
The waitress breezed by with the bill. Dale tugged his wallet out, handing her his credit card before Greg could. The waitress thanked him, stepping away.
Greg frowned. “I was supposed to get that.”
“Well, I’m your professor,” Dale said.
“Stop that. I’m your alpha.”
Dale’s heart missed a beat. “You’re not,” he said, even though I’m your alpha sent a surge of heat down his body. “We’re not bonded.”
“We don’t have to be bonded,” Greg said, glancing at Dale’s wrist.
Except Dale wanted to belong. Wanted an alpha. It was nice of Greg to offer to pay, nice of him to be concerned about the baby.
Dale said nothing, tucking the notebook back into his satchel. The waitress returned. Dale signed the receipt. Then they stood up to leave, Greg waiting by Dale’s seat, offering his elbow.
“You really don’t have to,” Dale said, slipping his hand into the crook of Greg’s arm. They weren’t a couple.
But he appreciated the old-fashioned courtesy of that gesture, stepping alongside Greg as they left the restaurant. Greg wasn’t an ordinary student. The shadows in his eyes never truly faded, and he seemed wise for his age. Seemed to desire Dale a lot more than Dale would give himself credit for.
As they left, Dale kept his head held high, expecting someone to recognize them, or sneer about this unusual pairing. Except no one did. They were safe here.
It was only when they stepped into the parking lot, the front door closing behind them with a jangle, that he let his breath out. The late March air brushed cool over his skin.
“That was surprisingly easy,” he said, removing his hand from Greg’s elbow.
Greg followed him to his car. “We’re alpha and omega. No one will care.”
“I’m older than you,” Dale said.
Greg rounded on him, eyes flashing. “I’ve told you twenty damn times—age doesn’t matter,” he growled, inches between their lips.
Then he kissed Dale, hot and hard, and Dale melted against him. Greg’s
