Baxter jolted awake, his eyes flying open and looking straight into the none-too-friendly face of Professor St. Croix. What the fuck had happened? All around him, people were laughing, and it was aimed at him. Then it sank in. Oh god, he had fallen asleep in class. And St. Croix must've busted him. Baxter had no idea what the man had asked him, but he was clearly expecting an answer.

"Erm…yes?" he said hesitantly.

St. Croix’s face darkened, his blue eyes stabbing Baxter. Okay then, that had been the wrong answer. How could he have known? He'd been asleep. Dammit, how much trouble was he in? St. Croix was not someone to mess with.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he said. "I dozed off for a second."

St. Croix shot him another piercing look, then stepped back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "That was more than dozing, Mr. Lafelle. You were asleep to the point where I feared you’d start snoring any second." More laughter erupted around them. “But we’ll talk about this after class. I pray you can stay awake till then."

St. Croix turned around to stalk back to the front of his class, Baxter watching him with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was already on the verge of failing several classes. He couldn't afford to fail this one as well.

And it wasn't like the class was boring, because it wasn't. St. Croix had a storytelling gift, and Baxter loved listening to him. It was just that he’d worked a late shift yesterday at Rocky’s, the gas station and convenience store where he had a few shifts each week, and then the graveyard shift had called in sick, so he'd stayed two hours longer until his boss had found a replacement. Tired wasn't close to describing how he felt. Hell, exhausted didn't even cover it. It was a bone-deep weariness, the feeling like all you wanted to do was crawl in bed and stay there for a week.

He needed to cut back on his hours and make sure he got some sleep. And after that, he needed to spend some serious time studying. But where would he find the time or, more importantly, the money?

During a quiet hour in his shift yesterday, he'd done a little calculating, and he was still woefully short on his next tuition payment. He couldn’t afford to cut back on his hours. Hell, he needed another job, but between his classes, his shifts at Book Alcove and the ones at Rocky’s, he barely managed enough time to do his coursework. And to eat and sleep, though the first was more of a luxury anyway with how tight he was on money.

It was why he kept working at Rocky’s, because Danny, the owner, allowed him to drink soda from the fountain and eat the food they couldn't sell anymore. He lived on expired hot dogs, burgers, and stale remade sandwiches, with the occasional bowl of soup or chili thrown in. And sodas, lot and lots of sugar. Without that, he would've gone hungry months ago. Probably right around the time that Robert had left.

And, he had once again circled back to the day his whole life had gone to hell. He didn't deserve it, Robert, to have that much energy devoted to him, and yet Baxter couldn't help himself. He knew about the stages of grief, having gone through them after his father had died of a heart attack two years ago, and he hadn't gotten past the stage of absolute rage for what Robert had done to him. At some point, he would hopefully manage to find peace with it, but for now, he was satisfied with staying blazing mad. If nothing else, it gave him the much-needed energy to get through every day.

He managed to stay awake till the end of the class, slumping in his seat as the other students filed out. The last one to leave shot him a sympathetic look before she closed the door behind her, a small consolation.

St. Croix walked over to him and lowered himself on a desk across from Baxter. Baxter was pretty sure that one of the reasons why the man's classes were so popular was that he was hot as fuck. Granted, he was old, or at least, much older than would be appropriate for the students, but that didn't diminish the fact that he had this magnetic air about him that was hard to resist.

He was maybe two inches taller than Baxter’s six-one, with a slender build, but he had this distinguished, graceful look about him. He oozed exclusiveness and style out of every pore, and Baxter couldn't even explain what it was. Maybe it was the silver streaks in his dark, wavy hair. The man always kept it a tad too long, so it curled around his ears and neck. Of course, the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin didn't hurt either, nor did his vivid blue eyes. The man was the epitome of a silver daddy, as Denise, Baxter's best friend, had described him.

He was single, that much the students knew, but other than that, information about his personal life was scarce. Not that Baxter had any interest in knowing more about him, obviously. The man was his teacher, his professor, and that was it. Granted, Baxter's gaydar had started pinging like he'd won the jackpot on a slot machine when he'd first spotted him, but luckily, the man was an arrogant ass. That helped in keeping it professional.

"You were sleeping in my class," St. Croix said.

Baxter raised an eyebrow. "Yes," he said, not wanting to repeat the obvious.

"Would you care to explain yourself?"

He debated it, picturing himself explaining the glorious mess that his life had become to this man that was the perfect example of successful, put together, elegant. The contrast couldn't be bigger, and Baxter had no desire to humiliate himself even further.

"I should've gone to bed earlier," he offered, figuring that was as close to the truth as possible. He should have, but he couldn't have, and wasn't that the summary of his life right now?

"Yes, Mr. Lafelle, you should have. This is the second semester you’re in my class. You should know by now I don't tolerate tardiness or lack of respect, and I think we can both agree that falling asleep in my class is a prime case of disrespect."

He took it personally, Baxter realized. This wasn't a perfunctory handing out of discipline against an infraction, this was something that ran much deeper. But that, Baxter decided, was not his problem. Whatever insecurities or butt hurt fueled St. Croix’s indignation, it was not something Baxter wanted anything to do with.

"I do apologize for falling asleep, Professor, but I disagree it's disrespect. It's a case of me being tired, nothing personal."

St. Croix’s eyes focused on him, and Baxter resisted the urge to squirm. "Your coursework so far doesn't convince me you're enjoying my classes either."

"They've all been satisfactory grades," Baxter pointed out. "It's not like I'm failing."

"Satisfactory indeed, and how telling it is you’d be content with that. There’s a wide margin between satisfactory and excellent, Mr. Lafelle. Might I suggest you try to inch away from the small distance that separates your satisfactory from an outright F?"

For some weird reason, tears burned in Baxter's eyes, but hell if he would show this arrogant piece of shit he'd gotten to Baxter. The man had no idea what Baxter was going through, how hard he was fighting to keep his head above water. Easy for him to judge, what with his fancy car, his undoubtedly nice house, his exclusive brand-name clothes. Hell, the man even smelled expensive, a whiff of his cologne drifting toward Baxter. His watch cost more than Baxter spent on the rent of his trailer. No, he wasn't explaining himself under these circumstances, let alone defending himself.

He raised his chin, forcing himself to meet St. Croix’s eyes. "I'm doing the best I can, Professor, and if that isn't good enough for you, I’m sorry, but that's your problem. Now, kindly tell me whatever punishment you've cooked up for me falling asleep, so I can leave. I have somewhere I need to be."

For two or three seconds—though it felt like an eternity—St. Croix stared at Baxter, his eyes widening in what seemed like shock, as if he couldn't believe what Baxter had said. Then he rose, his eyes finding something else to focus on.

"Very well, Mr. Lafelle. Consider this your final warning. If you fall asleep in my class again, you won't like the consequences."

It was weird and twisted, but his tone did something to Baxter. It wasn't dismissive enough to be disinterested but had enough of a hint of caring to make it feel like he wanted Baxter to do better. And as he made his way out of the classroom, Baxter wondered what it was inside him that made him want to please St. Croix.

Outside, Denise was waiting for him with a worried expression. She placed her arm through his as soon as she spotted him. "How did it go?" she asked. "I heard you fell asleep in class."

"I did," he groaned. "So fucking humiliating. But I worked till two in the morning, and I wasn't home till an hour later because of the snow. And this morning, I had to get up early to clear the snow around my trailer so I could get to class on time. I had what, four hours of sleep?"

Denise shot him sympathetic look. "Did he punish you, St. Croix?"

That word punish did funny things to Baxter, conjuring up images of him on his knees with the professor… God, no. That was wrong on so many levels. He really should stop watching that kind of porn, especially when he was already so fucking tired. It clearly affected his brain.

"No, I got off with a warning. But I need to find another job."

"You need to stop working at the bookstore," Denise said, holding up her hand when Baxter wanted to protest. "I know, you love that job. I get it. But you have to be practical. You can't keep working there with how little old Willie pays you, no matter how much you love it. Face it, Baxter, you need something that pays better."

Baxter accepted it from no one else but her, knowing she meant well. "From your lips to God's ears," he said. "I need something that will pay my tuition for next semester. I looked at my finances yesterday, and short of whoring myself out, I don't know how I'm going to make it."

Denise came to a sudden stop, jerking Baxter's arm to spin him around. "Please tell me that's a joke."

"The whoring myself out? Yeah, I guess. Maybe?"

Her eyes grew big. "You've considered it?"

Baxter shrugged. "Can you think of anything else that I could do in the sparse amount of free time I have that would pay my bills? It's just sex, you know. And as we both know, I enjoy sex."

Denise put her hands on her hips, a posture that meant she had something she needed to get off her chest. "You haven't had sex with anyone but Robert for years. How the hell would you know if you liked it with somebody else? It's a big step from being in a committed relationship to becoming an escort."

She had a point there, Baxter thought. Maybe he should try to have some one-night stands, hook up a few times, just to see if he enjoyed sex as much as he remembered. After all, it had been six months since Robert had moved out, and he hadn't gotten laid since. First, it had been because he'd been too upset, too emotional. And after that, he simply didn't have the time. He was lucky if he had the energy to jerk himself off, let alone do the amount of grooming necessary to score dick.

He bent over and kissed her cheek. "Good point. I haven't decided anything yet, no worries. I promise I will talk to you first, okay? Now, how's Nick doing?" he asked, referring to her boyfriend.