Page 17 of Full Service

Everly’s mouth turns down, and he takes a step back. “Yeah. Of course. I’ll just go. I’m sorry you were disappointed.”

He looks so forlorn that I stop him with a hand to his arm.

“Wait, it’s not…it’s not you. It’s me. I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

Everly’s eyelids flutter. “But I liked dancing for you.”

A small whimper escapes me, and I feel my body grow tense. “It was wrong of me to show up here.”

“I don’t mind. I really don’t. I like that you liked it, that you like watching me.”

“I do,” I admit and then shake my head. “But nevertheless, I need to go. Home. To my fish.”

His chin meets his chest and then he peers up at me. “Okay. But just know that I’m glad you came tonight.” He hands me back my coat and then turns to head back inside.

I want to tell him that I’m glad I came too, but that would be a lie. I’m not glad. I feel like a fool and worry that this is going to affect our working relationship.

That he’s going to tease me relentlessly with that smile, with that ass, and I won’t be able to live it down. So I just watch him go in silence.

But when Monday rolls around, he acts like none of it ever happened. Like I didn’t cream my pants watching him dance on stage. Like I wasn’t ogling him and behaving like a pervert.

“Hey, Dr. Sinclair,” he says softly as he enters my office. It’s the start of my office hours, and I’m feeling like I spent the weekend drinking. Not that I did. No, I spent my time ruminating on the fact that I’ve turned into some kind of stalker creep.

And I also spent an inordinate amount of time jacking off in my room. I did not do it in the living room where Vertebrata could see. She’d shame me, I’m sure.

She has standards and I’m not up to par.

“I brought you a coffee. A toffee nut latte actually.”

“You don’t need to buy me coffee.”

“I know, but I like it, bringing you little presents.”

That is completely inappropriate and I should reject the offer, but the drink does sound lovely and I’m nothing if not a pushover.

I take the cup from him and stare at the opening, worried that if I glug it down I’ll burn my tongue again. But he shakes his head and explains, “It’s not too hot. I knew I’d make it here on time so I got it a normal temp.”

My lips curl around the opening, and I take a small sip, letting my eyes close at the taste of sugar this early in the morning. It’s glorious. I don’t usually let myself indulge like this.

“This is detrimental to my body, just so you know. I can’t drink stuff like this and look the way you do.”

His eyes slash to my chest and then back up to my gaze. “You look just fine to me.”

I don’t move a muscle, not wanting to encourage this, any of it. I need to behave.

There’s an eight percent chance I’ll behave.

“I mean, you’re a bit older than me…” His words trail off. “How old are you, by the way, Dr. Sinclair?”

“Too old for you,” I say, and he lets out a small laugh.

“Nah, I don’t believe in that shit. No one is too old for another. Unless it’s like creepy pedo shit, then that’s nasty.”

I arch an eyebrow at him, and he leans forward.

“So, come on. Tell me. I’m twenty-one. How old are you?”

I should not engage, and yet my mouth decides otherwise. “Thirty-five. Almost thirty-six.”

---