“I saw that. He blew me a kiss as he walked out.”
Seb smothered a laugh. Even after he’d told Kenneth not to be an ass, he couldn’t help himself.
“I’m sorry if he—He was a jerk at lunch. I’m sorry about that.”
“You’re sorry?” Martin pushed his chin forward. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened before I left my job so you could turn around and tell your friends. I’d hoped I could trust you more than that.”
“I didn’t—I mean you can—” Seb floundered, while Martin’s eyes flashed with anger.
“He knew an awful lot about me.” His voice was low. “Where I worked, what I studied. I guess he got all that from you.”
Seb pursed his lips. “I only gave him the basics.”
“Witness protection?”
Okay. Maybe a little more than the basics.
“Did you tell him why I lost my job, or did you let him assume I was sleeping with my students like you did?”
Seb’s pulse picked up at the hurt on Martin’s face. The witness protection joke seemed harmless enough in his apartment, but Martin was clearly upset. “I just said you’d left. But I’m sorry.” He meant it. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Martin crossed his arms over his chest. Instead of his usual plaid shirts, today he wore a dark henley. It stretched tight over his shoulders, proving once and for all there was some muscle on his lean frame. The worst part was Kenneth might be right. Seb seemed incapable of ever saying the correct thing around Martin, but, mixed up in his desire to take care of him, Seb also felt more than a passing attraction to the nervous professor.
“Is your father really Philip Stevenson?” Martin asked, and Seb’s musings cut off abruptly.
“Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately? He must be—”
“A pompous jerk who is only interested in spending time with the people he deems worthy of his interest and presence? Basically, yes. I haven’t made the cut for years.”
Martin frowned, probably as he tried to reconcile the legendary Dr. Stevenson and his entourage of tweedy admirers with Seb’s words.
“It’s fine.” He clapped Martin’s shoulder, relieved when Martin didn’t move away or brush him off. Maybe he’d earn some forgiveness after all. “He’d like you. He just doesn’t like me.”
“I saw him speak at a conference. He talked about representations of nature in post-World War II Italian literature. I thought it was interesting.”
“No doubt. How long ago was that?”
“About three years ago?”
“Then you’ve seen him more recently than I have. I haven’t spoken to or seen my parents in over four years.”
“Why not?”
Seb sighed, brushing his hand down Martin’s shoulder. “We had a difference of opinion. About everything.”
“That must have been hard.” Martin’s eyes, dark with his anger a minute earlier, went soft, and Seb had to focus to keep himself from bristling. He didn’t want Martin’s pity, but he would take Martin’s forgiveness.
“I’m sorry. About Kenneth.”
“It’s fine.” Martin shrugged and went back to the cash register. Seb followed after him, because it wasn’t fine.
And also, now he was thinking about it—thanks again, Kenny—with Martin walking in front of him, the professor really might have a nice ass. His baggy khakis made it hard to be sure, but there was just enough shape to catch Seb’s attention. His pulse fluttered as Martin bent behind the counter—and, yes, most definitely, definition appeared under the fabric as the pants shifted and stretched tight with his movement.
Martin stood up again, and Seb had to clear his throat and tug at the collar of his T-shirt to collect himself. Now was not the time to be propositioning the professor, as much fun as it sounded.
“I found something.” Martin held out a cream-colored book.
