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Victor bit his lip and shrugged. “Not really. We met at a party for his sister-in-law last year. I didn’t realize he owned this team until I started booking things for my honeymo—for this trip.”
Honeymoon.
Christ on a fucking cracker, this guy was supposed to be on hishoneymoon? He wanted to know what the fuck happened. Oh God, had his fiancée died? Was this some sort of tragic way of remembering her?
No. No, he’d called her an ex, hadn’t he? And anyway, Victor didn’t seem that kind of heartbroken, so Oliver decided they needed wings and beer so he could get this poor fool to open up a bit. At the very least, he didn’t want to step in it repeatedly if this tragic bastard was traumatized.
The hostess returned a minute later with a slightly harried expression, and she didn’t say anything except to follow her, snagging menus as she started toward a set of stairs. Oliver immediately noticed the hesitant, tired look on Victor’s face and the way he squared his shoulders as though he was preparing for the climb, so Oliver jumped in front of him.
“No stairs.”
“But the owner’s table—” the hostess started to ague.
“I have a busted knee.” Out of his periphery, he could see Victor start frowning, and Oliver had a feeling he was going to get another earful, but honestly, it was worth it if he could make this night a bit easier for the man.
The hostess seemed a bit frazzled, but eventually, she took them to a table by the window that had a view of the little manmade lake, and she gestured to the two seats. It was smaller than the average tables, but Oliver wasn’t about to complain.
“This works. Thanks.”
She set the menus down and walked off, but before Oliver could reach for his chair, Victor was there, pulling it out for him. His cheeks heated with the first blush he’d had in years—being an escort took away a lot of his pride and his shame—and he sat.
“Wow, I don’t think anyone’s ever done that for me.”
“Please tell me you’re not going to call it emasculating,” Victor said quietly as he took his own seat.
Oliver laughed. “Honey, you should see the lace underwear I’ve got on. Trust me, I’m not that kind of boy.”
Victor made a soft, choked sound. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“I love silk and lace,” Oliver said, knowing he might be playing with fire, but he doubted it. There was something about Victor that seemed hungry and curious. And maybe not experienced, but definitely not unaware of his own attraction.
It was obvious in the way his gaze kept lingering on parts of Oliver’s body that the casual observer rarely noticed. Like the side of his neck, and his hands, and his lips.
Oliver tried not to smile to himself as he picked up the menu and drummed his fingers on the laminated edge. “So…do you want some suggestions?”
“Yes. I’ve never eaten hot wings before,” Victor said simply.
Oliver wanted to call him a liar, but he could tell this man was telling the truth, and it made him laugh. “They’re total peasant food, but even if I get rich and famous one day—which I won’t, because history professors do not become rich and famous—I’m still going to eat my weight in hot wings when I have a bad night.”
“No oneeverhas?” Victor asked.
Oliver’s brows dipped. “What?”
“You said history teachers don’t become rich and famous. Is that really true?”
“I don’t…” Oliver stopped, then laughed again. “I mean, I guess famous is subjective. If every historian in the world has read your textbook, you’re probably technically famous, right?”
“Exactly,” Victor said like he’d won an argument.
Oliver rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that counts. Unless you have a bunch of random famous historians in your social circle.”
Victor’s cheeks colored that pretty pink again, and he shrugged. “Most of my social circle is in law and finance.” He made a face like he was disgusted and added, “Or politics.”
Oliver offered a sympathetic noise as he glanced down at the menu. The wing flight for two looked good, and he decided he’d get that if Victor let him. “Are you a politician? Is this going to be some huge scandal tomorrow? Out on the town with a queer grad student.”
Victor laughed softly, his smile genuine and almost heartbreaking. He shook his head and sat back, crossing his arms. “You couldn’t pay me to even consider it. Not that I need the money.” He smiled at his own attempt to joke, and Oliver couldn’t help a small laugh, even as Victor sighed and his smile fell away. “My ex’s father is a senator.”
“I’m not gonna ask who he is, considering there’s a good chance he’s one of the guys trying to make my life a living hell right now.”
