Second, Martin hadn’t balked at the mention of a boyfriend.
What an interesting development.
“You can call him? Seriously, there’s no rush to leave. The light’s bad for me to keep working anyway. I’m going cross-eyed.” Apparently, Martin’s sad face and the sudden prospect that he might be gay were enough motivation to lie. Seb had hours of potential working time left, but not letting Martin wander off was suddenly more important.
“I can’t call him. My phone died,” Martin said.
“Use mine. Please. You’re doing me a favor. I’m too pretty to go blind before I hit my thirtieth birthday.” More lies. He had hit thirty, knocked it out of the ballpark, and already run the bases.
Martin’s eyes slid over his face. Seb preened before waggling the phone in his direction, but Martin shook his head. “I don’t even know his number. It’s programmed into my phone, but I have no idea what it is.”
“His loss. So what do you want? Chinese? Pizza? There’s a Thai place down the street that has amazing garlic pork. I’d offer to cook, but I’d probably kill us both and burn this place down in the process. In the interest of self-preservation, I’ll buy us dinner.”
Martin sat down heavily on the couch and leaned back, hands over his eyes. “This town is determined to make me fat again.”
As he stretched, the hem of his hoodie rode up, stopping just at the waistband of his jeans. Another quarter inch would reveal skin, and Seb found he wanted to see it. Whatever Martin was, he was not fat. Lean, possibly even wiry. But not fat. Seb watched intently as the shirt pulled up a bit farther, exposing just the thinnest line of skin and a swirl of dark hair. Then Martin exhaled, and his clothes settled into place again. His gray eyes blinked open in time to catch Seb staring.
“I don’t think you have to worry too much about your weight.”
Martin’s cheeks went pink, like he knew what Seb had been doing. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Seb laughed as he flipped through his phone to find the take out menu he wanted, trying to ignore the way his pulse had picked up. “Were you a fat kid growing up?”
“I wasn’t a skinny kid. Not fat, just soft. But then I went to college. That’s when I got fat.”
Seb looked him over once more. The individual parts of him—long arms, crooked nose, sad eyes—weren’t specifically attractive, but put together, something about him was compelling.
“Clearly, you got not fat again.”
Martin’s palm trailed over his hoodie, across his stomach. Seb was suddenly intrigued by what the body underneath all those clothes might look like, but then Martin’s hand dropped, and he glanced away again. He was holding something back, and Seb couldn’t put his finger on what it might be. He left it alone and ordered dinner.
The nice thing about living in a small town where ribs and beans were considered the height of gourmet: Thai takeout was fast. Fifteen minutes later, boxes of garlic pork and pad thai covered the space Seb cleared off from the working table. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually sat down to have a real meal in his apartment. Making a fuss over dinner when he lived alone was a lot of work, and his table was usually full of materials. Better that way. Eating formally at the table brought back too many unpleasant family memories.
“How are things downstairs?” he asked as they poked at their food with chopsticks.
“Fine. It’sbusier than I thought it would be. For a bookstore.”
“I think Mrs. Green makes as much money renting the space as she does selling books.”
Martin nodded, looking glum. “There are a lot of groups. I’m not so good with people, especially when it’s a lot of them.”
“That must have made teaching challenging.”
Martin stabbed at his plate, the chopsticks moving up and down without picking anything up. Seb pieced together the little bits he knew. Dr. Lindsey, illustrious professor, living with a brother and hiding away in a used bookstore. At no point during the day had Martin brought up his research or his credentials, and that was usually the first thing fussy academics like him wanted to talk about.
Witness protection, maybe?
“Can I ask you a question?” he said. Martin squinted up from his meal. Seb laughed, remembering his earlier joke to Cass, and held up his hands. “Fair enough. Butcan I?”
“I guess.”
“What are you doing here?”
Martin froze mid-chew as his cheeks went pale. Seb didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable, but too many little things didn’t add up.
“You invited me?” Martin said once he’d swallowed.
“What? No. Not here. I mean—” He waved his arms around him. “Here.Seacroft. The bookstore.”
