6. Kent

SIX

My damn lower back spasms, and I arch slightly, trying to stop it. The combination of colder-than-typical temps and, well, the excitement from last night causes my muscles to revolt. I try to ignore it, but it nags me like an itchy label in a new shirt. Shreya opens her laptop and Geoff grabs a bottle of water. They talk about things I'm not familiar with. Megabits and gigabytes and terabytes, oh my! With the four of us in the room, a loud humming of chatter gurgles. If Vincent and I are going to get anything done, this isn't the place. And we need to talk about last night.

"Let's go to my office," I suggest, nodding toward the exit. The main office has five doors around the perimeter. A copy room, the nurse's office, a bathroom, the conference room, and my office. I stand to leave, and Vincent follows. If we're going to work together over the next six weeks, we need to sort out what happened. Him on his knees. Staring up at me. Sucking my dick. Calling him a "good boy." Oy. But the way it ended gutted me. My big heart gets invested too quickly. Clearly, not everyone prefers middle-aged Jewish guys who look like Santa's little brother.

I stand in the doorway, wait for Vincent to enter, and turn my attention toward Helen.

"Hold my calls, please."

She nods, jots something down on a notepad, and returns to her computer.

Besides a desk, my office has a small round table with four chairs. I typically meet with children or parents here, saving the conference room for larger meetings. Low shelves line the window, and a family photo with Corrine, Gillian, Louis, and Lia sits beside one of Sweetums sprawled out on a bench. The sun cascades over his long, thick orange fur, and I swear he was posing for me when I snapped that photo.

Vincent enters, and I close the door behind him. When I turn around, he hasn't budged an inch. He's facing me, and breath from his nostrils blows against my beard.

"You didn't tell me …" I begin, but his index finger covers my lips.

"No shop talk. That was the deal. But well, clearly, now we need to chat," he says. The harsh fluorescent lighting creates a glare on Vincent's head, and I squint when the light catches my eye.

"Sit." I pull away from him and nod toward the table.

"Wait. Please."

His lips find my neck—small pecks tickle across the tendons. He asked me to leave. Didn't want my number. Why is his mouth on my skin? I lean against the back of a chair. My fingers grip the fabric, attempting to keep myself upright. Blood surges to my groin, and I tilt my head slightly, giving him better access. My back twitches and I wince. We need to discuss the situation. Last night. This morning. All of it.

"I don't have a toothbrush. I mean, I could get one. The nurse has some."

His lips crawl to my ear, and his hands paw at my back.

"We have some students who don't regularly brush at home, and she takes them each morning to practice dental hygiene."

"Are you talking about clean mouths to turn me on?" he whispers into my ear, the heat sending chills up my spine. I move backward and stumble on my heel before Vincent grabs at my sweater and catches me, holding me close.

"No. No, I honestly, I'm rambling," I say.

His mouth lands on my neck, and his warm, sweet breath enters my ear, constricting my chest.

"Why are you so fucking sexy?" he purrs.

"Me?"

"Keep your mouth closed. Okay?"

I nod. Vincent's lips dance across my face, my beard prickling at this touch, until his mouth lands on mine and he pauses. With his eyes closed, his long, brown eyelashes come into full view. I keep my gaze on him. I need to see this.

Carefully, he takes the tip of my bottom lip in his teeth. A hand lands on my pants and cups my package. He lets out a little moan.

"You had something buttery for breakfast."

"A croissant," I whisper with a smile. "From this bakery a few blocks from my place. The couple is French. They visited Maine one summer and never left. France's loss is our city's gain. And my stomach's."

"Shhh."

Once again, his presence sends blood rushing to my cock, filling his hand through my pants. Vincent's mouth leaves mine, and he buries his face in my neck, clutching me.

"I'm sorry," he says, removing his hand and collapsing into me. "I didn't expect to see you. Here. And well, I kind of go haywire around you." He covers his eyes with a hand. "I thought if you kept your mouth closed …"

Having Vincent here. In my office. Close. My heart flips. I wrap my arms around him, gathering him up, trying to hold him tight enough to squash all his insecurities, at least for a moment.

"Let's sit," I suggest.

Letting him go, I move to the chair closest to the window. Vincent follows, taking the one across from me. He settles into his seat and glances at the table—crumbs from my breakfast. The French make the flakiest croissants. The smell of butter assaults my nose when I'm almost a block away, and I imagine an entire stick baked into each delectable treat. Rushing to our meeting, I neglected the mess. I grab a tube of wipes from the shelf and quickly wipe down the table, catching the crumbs in my hand as the scent of lemon bleach fills the room.

"Maybe we should have talked about work." I drop the crumbs from my palm into the trash can and grab some sanitizer from my desk.

"Yeah, maybe."

"I don't want to put you on the spot," I say, returning to the chair. The aroma of alcohol from the sanitizer, still wet on my palms, mixes with the bleach from the wipe, and I'm not sure it could smell any cleaner. "Maybe I'm out of practice, but I thought things were going well. Um, you asked to suck my …"

"I know. I was trying to take a risk. Be brave. I wasn't myself. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," Vincent says, and his hands move to cover his face. "Been so abrupt about you leaving, I mean."

I lean across the table, not making contact but bringing my hands closer.

"What happened? You seemed to be … enjoying yourself."

"I was. Absolutely. Most definitely enjoying myself. I just, I mean, it's not usually how I behave. Most of my first dates don't make it past the check. I'm not really sure what happened."

"Vincent, look at me. Please."

He moves his hands to his lap, and our eyes meet. Framed by those alluring lashes, there are tiny amber flecks in those hazel depths.

"I know you've been on many more dates than I have," I say, pushing my glasses up, "but I'm guessing we both fall into the novice category."

He chuckles and adds, "That's one way to put it."

When Vincent looks at me, his face softens, and I can glimpse the scared boy inside the grown man sitting across from me. The urge to connect. To encourage Vincent. A light floaty sensation overtakes my chest—there's a hopefulness percolating inside me.

"All this stuff." I grab the container of wipes and hold it up. "The napkins. The wipes. You know they're just distractions. It doesn't matter. I mean to me."

"Stop being so sweet. You're making this more difficult."

I'm not trying to confuse him. We need to stop whatever this is. It's not professional. Sure, he's sexy. With those broad shoulders and shiny bald head, my dick was harder than it's been in a long time. No pill required. Corrine would get a kick out of that. Wanting me to talk to him, unsure of what to say but craving to understand what tickled his fancy. Not knowing what I was doing, but he clearly got off on the attention—being called a "good boy." Vincent seemed to enjoy it, and my cock throbbed at the praise–feedback loop. This isn't how first dates are supposed to go. Not mine, anyway. Have dinner. Make small talk. Shake hands. Maybe a hug. Go home.

Unlike other queer dating apps, SWISH caught my attention because Gillian assured me it's for more than hookups. I have a propensity to lead with my heart, and yet there I was, after my maiden voyage, back at his house with my dick in his mouth. Oy.

"Listen, we have to work together for at least the next six weeks," I say, remembering why he's here. "Why don't we forget about last night? It never happened." I glance around my office. Helen tries to keep my mess in check, but small piles of books, folders, papers, and a few stray empty cans of seltzer give away my propensity toward sloppiness. As much as I'd love to get to know Vincent better, this isn't the time to become distracted. "My job hinges on this software implementation going smoothly."

A hint of a smile wanders onto Vincent's face. Would I love to revisit the scenario in his bathroom last night? Obviously. But getting this software up and running comes first. The school's reputation and my job depend on it.

"Deal?"

Vincent nods four times, a blink accompanying each one, and replies, "Deal."