“Was he a vampire?” Annie let go of his collar and shot him a concerned look.
Dylan took off his jacket and sat down, blushing furiously as he reached into his backpack for his laptop and thermos.
“No. He was not a vampire.”
Annie kept looking at him, expecting details.
“I met him at the clinic where I got my mole removed.” Dylan couldn’t bring himself to actually look at Annie as he explained. Before she could ask questions likehowandwhen, he blurted out, “I’m going on another date with him the day after tomorrow.”
Annie bit back whatever she’d been about to say.
“Did you have fun?”
Dylan turned and looked at her. Annie’s expression wasn’t teasing or light, and he got the distinct impression that if he answered anything other thanyes, Annie would track down Dr. Schaffer and dismember him.
It was nice to know he had friends who cared.
He thought back to the experience of Dr. Schaffer tying him up and fucking him, the memory feeling like a fever dream, and smiled.
“Very fun.”
Annie studied him for several long seconds, searching, but then she grinned. “Good for you. It was about time you got some.”
“Shut up,” Dylan mumbled, laughing quietly.
Their professor chose that moment to walk into the room, and the idle noise filling the auditorium immediately died down.
* * *
After class, he and Annie split up with a plan to meet for lunch the next day. With no more lectures or discussion groups until after noon, Dylan decided to go off campus and get some reading done at one of the cheaper coffee shops in the area.
It was a chilly day, just above freezing, and Dylan had to tuck his hands into his pockets to keep them from going stiff as he walked down the sidewalk.
When he reached the coffee shop, Dylan was relieved to see that it wasn’t too busy. There were several tables and chairs still available, including a purple monstrosity of an armchair by the window that was Dylan’s favorite.
He ordered an extra-large coffee with milk, dumping in two packets of sugar and a dash of cinnamon before taking a seat. Grabbing his laptop from his bag and setting the coffee within easy reach on the table in front of him, he got to work.
As the clock ticked closer to lunch and the coffee shop started to get a little busier, Dylan kept an eye on the available seating. As long as there were still places to sit, the staff didn’t mind him staying after he’d finished his coffee.
He was debating getting up to order himself another cup when someone cleared their throat next to him.
“Is that seat taken?”
Dylan looked up, his heart skipping a beat at the huge figure next to him. If it hadn’t been for the voice being different, he would have thought it was Dr. Schaffer. The stranger was dressed in a two-piece motorcycle racing suit, the top unzipped down to his chest, the sturdy leather hugging the man’s muscular thighs like a second skin.
He held a full-face helmet tucked under his arm, and in his hand he held a cup of coffee. Dylan recognized the cup – it was the same extra-large that he’d been drinking from – but in the biker’s hand it looked tiny. The man’s gloved fingers curled around the cup, making it look like something from a children’s playset.
Dylan moved his gaze up to the man’s face, taking in a wide jaw and dimpled chin, and realized that the suited-up biker’s face was familiar.
It was the guy he’d crashed into right before his appointment last Friday.
“No,” Dylan said, flustered. He sat up a little straighter and moved his empty cup to his side of the table. “It’s all yours.”
The man’s wide mouth lifted in a grin. He bent down and put his cup on the table, after which he tugged off his gloves and put them inside his helmet. He unzipped his racing suit jacket all the way down to his groin, peeling the tight leather off his body and tossing it over the back of his chair.
“Thanks.” The man sat down, his muscled body making the chair look small. Instead of wearing regular clothes under his motorcycle leathers, he wore some kind of skin-tight bodysuit. Dylan couldn’t identify the stretchy black material, but the way it clung to his thick arms, bulging pecs, and wide shoulders was sinful.
The man put his helmet and gloves down on the table and picked up his coffee.
