it. “I graduated high school when I was seventeen.”
“That wasn’t one of my questions,” Julian pointed out, and Will laughed.
“Consider it a freebie.”
Julian wasn’t a big fan of the way his stomach was now fluttering, the way a softer, warmer sort of anxiety bubbled at the base of his spine making him want to reach out and touch him. “How,” he started, then stopped himself. How often do you do this, he wanted to ask, but he also didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to spend the week thinking about the dozens of men Will escorted a month—and how they were likely far more intimate than he planned to be. “How do you take your eggs?”
Will’s eyes crinkled again. “If I must, poached. But I’m not a big fan. I got hooked on French breakfasts. I was always so busy, at most I’d grab fruit, maybe a croissant. Someone would always have bread in the lounge though, and there was always cheese. It was such a stereotype, and I loved it.”
Julian bit his lip. “So that part wasn’t a lie. Paris?”
Will’s eyes shuttered, his emotions draining away, and then he shrugged and shook his head. “That part wasn’t a lie. I really did study in Paris.” He licked his lips, his gaze turning out toward the calm shores. The waves were hitting the sand in an easy splash, but he could feel a buzzing on the air like a storm coming. “That’s three.”
Julian ran his hand through his hair. “Favorite book?”
“Fiction or non?”
He considered that for a moment. “Fiction. For today,” he added.
Will bit his lip, and Julian could see the start of a faint blush coloring the apples of his cheeks. After more silence Will let out a groan Julian couldn’t really hear, but he recognized the signs of it. “I don’t want to say.”
Julian’s eyebrows flew up. “What? Why?”
“You’re a literary professor. It’s…embarrassing.”
Rolling his eyes, Julian reached out and shoved his shoulder lightly. “I teach high school literature to a bunch of private school assholes. Believe me, I’m not going to judge you.”
Will bit down on both of his lips, creating a thin line, and Julian braced himself for something common and pretentious like A Tale of Two Cities or Anna Karenina. He blew out a puff of air, then leaned closer and pitched his voice to a rumble so low, Julian fought back the urge to reach out and touch his throat to feel it. “Star Trek, Killing Time.”
Julian froze for a moment. “I…I haven’t read that one.”
“Of course you haven’t,” Will said, then dragged a hand down his face. “It was kind of a gay awakening for me. Everyone thinks I was into Star Trek because space and all that shit but…” He shrugged and flushed a little bit harder. “Kirk and Spock. It was coded in canon, and their love was so…” He trailed off and shrugged. “It was so intense they didn’t need for it to be explicit. And that book taught me that there was romance to be found everywhere and anywhere. My brother got me an original copy, before the publisher forced them to make a bunch of edits. I carry it with me wherever I go. Anyway, what’s your favorite?”
Julian raised a brow at him. “I’m a literature professor.”
Giving him a flat look, Archer shook his head. “You don’t get a pass that easily.”
At that, Julian laughed and shrugged. “Fine.” Licking his lips, he knew what Archer was thinking. Julian was going to say something like Vonnegut, or Fitzgerald. Or he was going to pull some obscure name out of his ass and then go on about how it was underappreciated. “It’s not a book, but an author. She writes historical romance.”
Archer cocked his head to the side. “What’s her name?”
“CS Grace,” Julian said, and he watched Archer’s eyes widen. “Before you start going on about shitty romance…”
“I wasn’t,” Archer said, then cleared his throat and shook his head again. “I wouldn’t. She’s good.”
“You’ve read her?” Julian wasn’t entirely surprised—she’d graced the New York Times for years, but Archer hadn’t really seemed the historical romance type.
“Um.” Archer squeezed his eyes shut and breathed out, his chest rising and falling with it. “I wasn’t allowed to read it, but I know who she is, and I think she’s definitely worthy of being the favorite author of a very well-educated literature professor.” He reached out and gave Julian’s sleeve a sharp tug before leaning back. “Anything else? You have one more question.”
Julian