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“But infinitely more boring,” Oliver pointed out.
Victor’s smile widened just a bit. “What will you do when you graduate?”
Oliver damn near got whiplash from the change in topic, but it was an easy one to answer. “I want to get hired at the community college that feeds the university so I can get my PhD on the cheap and become a fancy, bow-tie-wearing history professor that all the kids trash-talk on the rate-my-professor website.”
Victor’s gaze cut down to his hands, which were folded in his lap, and he sat with that for a while too. And this time, Oliver didn’t interrupt him. “Thank you,” Victor said into the quiet space that had settled between them, “for an amazing night.”
Oliver nodded. “Listen. If you want to do this again—”
“I do,” Victor interrupted like he couldn’t help himself, “but you and I both know it would be a terrible idea.”
Oliver couldn’t argue with that, but he wasn’t willing to let it go. He had too much fight in him. “Okay, but consider that if you’re going to pay some shitty, ableist company to cart you around town, you have a better option.”
Victor laughed, the sound almost in spite of the frown marring his brow. “What are you saying?”
“That I’m in the service industry. That we get along pretty damn well, and I liked spending time with you. So, if you want to hire someone, hire me. I’ll take you to all the best places. I bet you’ll even forget this week was supposed to be your honeymoon.”
“You already succeeded at that one,” Victor told him very quietly.
Oliver’s heart started to hammer against his chest. “Just…tell me I’m wrong, that I’m a worse idea than wandering around on your own, and I’ll drop it.”
Victor’s fingers twisted together, and then he shifted to the side, and Oliver watched as he drew out his phone and tapped on the screen. A moment went by, then another. Then he passed it over to Oliver without meeting his gaze.
“You’re not wrong. It’s not a worse idea. I don’t know if I’ll call, but…if you’re okay with that, put your number in.”
Oliver took the phone and saw the empty contact screen, and he didn’t let himself second-guess tapping his number in. He wanted to send himself a message before Victor took the phone back, but he knew that wasn’t what Victor was consenting to, so he held his breath as he passed it back over.
He watched as Victor’s long, delicate fingers played along the sides of the device before tucking it away.
“How do you normally part ways?” Victor finally asked.
Oliver blinked in surprise. “You mean with a client?”
Victor nodded.
With a small laugh, Oliver shrugged. “It depends. I left my last client standing on the street because he told me he wanted to spit on my face.” The words just came out. Normally, Oliver wouldn’t have said that to anyone. He glanced out the window, unable to meet Victor’s gaze. He knew, deep down, Victor wasn’t judging him, but he was afraid to take the risk and see it play out in his expression. “Normally, I remind them how to rebook with me, and then I just…go.”
“That sounds lonely.”
Oliver’s chest ached. “It can be. Mostly, I’m just happy to get rid of them. Typically, the men who book my services aren’t men I want to be friends with.”
“What does that make me?”
Oliver glanced over at him, and his breath caught in his throat. Fuck. He was so beautiful, even under the ugly, harsh parking lot lights that made every crease and wrinkle obvious. “That makes you an anomaly, Victor Bennett. And I really hope you call me. I don’t want this to be a goodbye.”
Victor didn’t respond, but the look of longing in his eyes was enough for Oliver. At least for that moment.
Eventually, Victor reached for the door handle and opened it. He used his hands to help his legs out of the car, and Oliver could tell by the way he braced himself to stand that he was tired—which made him a bit weaker. But Oliver didn’t offer to help.
He just sat there and listened to the bang as Victor shut the door, and he did his best not to stare as he walked away.
He sat until Victor was totally out of view, and then he drove home in a near daze and got into his apartment without being consciously aware of it. The silence, which was usually so comforting, now felt like the heaviest weight as he stripped down to his lace panties and curled up under his sofa blanket.
His hand drifted down against his better judgment, but he didn’t feel any guilt. He secretly hoped that Victor had gone home to do the same thing. His eyes shut as he grazed his dick, which had been half-hard since the hockey arena, and he stroked a firm touch over the fabric until he was plump and needy.
His breath hitched as he pulled the elastic down, the panties cradling his dick just above his balls. He took a breath, then started stroking himself, fucking his hips upward into the circle of his fist. He hadn’t been expecting to come tonight, not even with his client. He was great at faking orgasms, and he rarely felt like rubbing one out after a date.
But right now, everything was upside down and inside out.
