This had to be some kind of joke, Baxter thought as he stood frozen to the spot, staring at Professor St. Croix. There had to be a different explanation than the one that pushed to the front of his mind, the one whereby some incredibly awkward screwup of fate they were each other's dates. It couldn't be. Men like St. Croix didn't need a dating app. Men like him didn't need to pay for a date in the first place. And men like him shouldn't have to be searching for…

It hit him, the nature of the requested service on the app. He was looking for a boy. Oh. My. God. It was mind-blowing and yet made total sense at the same time. Not that Baxter knew the first thing about any of it. He'd googled for a good two hours before deciding to apply for this particular job. He'd figured that if it wasn't his cup of tea, at least he'd get paid well since it was a job with multiple sessions over three weeks. Something about having to practice for some kind of event in L.A. He wasn't sure what that was about, but it had sounded safe, even if it was a little kinky. Plus, hello, free travel to L.A.? Yes, please. Valentine’s Inc. did a background check, so he trusted their process of eliminating the biggest weirdos.

James Ryan. Of course. He'd googled that name, curious to see what would pop up, but it had resulted in too many hits. But now the reference hit him, the main character in Saving Private Ryan. Well, that was it, wasn’t it? The final proof. It was St. Croix. Holy shit. Now what?

He finally managed to move and walked closer to St. Croix, who stared at him with absolute horror. Baxter wasn't sure if he should sit down or not. Surely, this meeting would be over within seconds, right? St. Croix was his professor. There was nothing left to say. He couldn't blame him, even if the disappointment of losing out on that much money weighed heavy on him.

"Why…" St. Croix started, then stopped and shook his head. "No, not here. Not where everyone can see and might recognize us. We need to talk, Baxter, but not here."

Baxter's heart jumped up that the man wanted to talk. Did that mean there was a chance they were gonna go through with this? He doubted it, but it was worth the try. "Okay, sir," he said. "Where?"

St. Croix drained his coffee cup, then tapped it a few times on the table while watching Baxter. "We really shouldn't do this."

"I know, sir," Baxter said.

The professor put his coffee cup down and rose, then put on his coat. All that time, Baxter stayed where he was, watching and awaiting St. Croix’s decision.

"Did you drive here?"

Baxter nodded.

"Meet me at my house?"

Baxter was surprised it came out a question. It felt more like a request, one he wanted to oblige. "Yes, sir."

Something dark sparked in St. Croix’s eyes. "You don't have to call me sir all the time."

"You don't like it?" Baxter asked, confused.

"Oh, I like it a lot. I don't think you realize the effect it has on me."

What was that supposed to mean? Was St. Croix flirting with him now? Baxter couldn't make sense of it. "I'll call you whatever you want me to call you," he said.

Those sharp blue eyes darkened even more, and for a second, Baxter feared he'd said something wrong. "Oh Baxter, the things you say. You and I really need to have a conversation."

"I'll follow you," Baxter said.

St. Croix nodded as he buttoned up his coat. "Fourteen Fairview Avenue, in case you lose sight of me. I'll open the garage for you and park outside myself, so no one will see your car."

"Yes, sir," Baxter said.

The man stared at him for a few seconds more, emotions flashing over his face that Baxter couldn't interpret. "Drive safely," he finally said before walking out.

It took Baxter a few seconds to gather his wits and follow him. It was a good thing St. Croix had given him his address, because they were parked on opposite sides of the street. By the time he'd pulled out and made a U-turn, St. Croix was long out of sight.

Fairview Avenue was a nice neighborhood, not that Baxter had expected anything else. They were all older houses, as he called them, nice ones with a wraparound porch, a front yard, and an enclosed back yard for the most part. St. Croix’s house was painted a light blue, an American flag flying from the white porch. A large, sprawling oak tree dominated the front yard, and Baxter had no trouble imagining how beautiful it would look in the summer.

He inched past the Subaru that was already parked, half on the grass and half in the driveway, and carefully entered the garage. His old, beat-up Toyota felt horribly out of place in the neatly organized space, but it couldn't be helped. He got out and just as he wondered how he was supposed to get into the house, a door opened and St. Croix appeared. He pressed a button to close the garage door, and Baxter made his way over to him. When he spotted the shoe rack next to the door, he took off his shoes, then removed his coat and hung it on a coat rack.

St. Croix didn't say anything as he held the door open for him, and Baxter walked past him into a hallway. The first thing he noticed were the beautiful hardwood floors, all gleaming and rich brown.

"Go on in," the professor told him.

He spotted a laundry room, then what looked to be St. Croix’s study, before entering the kitchen. It was spotless, dark wooden cabinets towering all the way to the ceiling, with stainless steel appliances that looked brand-new. He frowned, wondering if St. Croix actually cooked here. If he did, he had to be meticulous about cleaning after himself.

St. Croix pointed toward the most complicated coffee machine Baxter had ever seen. "Coffee?"

Like he was going to say no to coffee like that. "Yes, please. Thank you."

"You're so polite," St. Croix remarked as he turned the machine on.

Baxter shrugged. "My parents were big on manners."

St. Croix cocked his head. "Were?" he asked, homing in on that detail.

"It was mostly my father, sir. He passed away two years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Were you close?"

The familiar wave of sadness rolled over him. Luckily, that coffee machine made it impossible to be heard, so he took advantage to force back his grief.

"Yes, sir. He was a wonderful man. He never finished high school and worked himself up in the tire factory where he worked. When he died, he was a quality control manager."

"And your mom?"

"She's still alive, but she moved to Florida after my father passed away to be closer to her parents, who have retired there. My grandfather is in a nursing home, and my mom wanted to be near him."

"No brothers or sisters?"

Baxter shook his head. "No, sir. Just me. My mom was told she couldn't have kids, so it was a miracle she got pregnant with me in the first place, she told me."

St. Croix handed him a small cup with coffee that smelled like heaven. "Don't wait too long to drink it. It cools off quickly."

Baxter followed him as he walked into the living room, then lowered himself on the chair the professor pointed out. He took a small sip of the coffee and moaned as the rich flavor hit his tongue. Oh my god. That was the best coffee he'd ever tasted. He couldn't resist another sip, though he took it slowly, sloshing the coffee around in his mouth before swallowing. Another moan escaped his lips, and when he opened his eyes, St. Croix was staring at him intently.

"Good?" he asked.

"Orgasmic," Baxter said, then felt his cheeks heat at his unfortunate choice of word, but St. Croix merely smiled at him as if the answer pleased him.

They both finished their coffee in silence, and Baxter put his empty cup on a coaster on the table. St. Croix had taken up a seat on the couch and was now leaning back, one arm spread on the back of the couch, his eyes never leaving Baxter.

"So," he said. "You want to be my boy."

If that was meant to shock him or something, Baxter wasn't playing. "So," he said, "you're looking for a boy."

St. Croix smiled, his face breaking out of his stern expression. "You have a smart mouth," he said, and it sounded like a compliment, as if it pleased him.

“Is that a good thing?” Baxter wondered out loud, which widened St. Croix’s smile.

“Up to a certain point.”

“And if I go past that point?”

St. Croix’s eyes studied Baxter. “Then you’ll discover what I mean by punishment.”

Baxter swallowed. “You’ll spank me,” he said, remembering his research.

“Does that idea appeal to you?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been spanked. But we’re not here to make me happy, are we?”

“Why are you here, Baxter?” St. Croix asked, and once again, Baxter turned the tables on him.

“Why are you here?”

“Are you going to keep mirroring my questions?” St. Croix asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“No, it’s a genuine question from me. I don’t understand. You’re…” He gestured at his professor, searching for the right words to describe him. “You’re successful, attractive, intelligent. I don’t understand why you of all people use an app like this when you clearly don’t need it.”

“Has it occurred to you I feel the same way about you? Why would you sign up for an app like this?”

Baxter reasoned it was meant as a compliment, but apparently, St. Croix—and he really should start calling the man something else in his head—hadn’t connected the dots yet that Baxter’s position in the app was a different one. But he saw it on the man’s face when it registered.

“Oh,” St. Croix said. Then again, “Oh.”

“I’m not looking for a date or a partner,” Baxter said, opting for brutal honesty. If they were gonna do this, the man needed to know. “It’s a job for me. And speaking of jobs, I need to know if you’re just keeping me here to be polite or if we have any chance of working this out, because if not, I need to call my boss and see if I can work a shift today.”

St. Croix frowned. “I thought you only worked at the bookstore on Saturdays.”

“I also work at Rocky’s, the gas station on Main Street, a few days a week,” Baxter explained.

“That’s a lot of hours you work when you’re a full-time student,” St. Croix said. “Why would you even want to fit in a third job with Valentine’s Inc.?”

“Because it pays extremely well,” Baxter said. Plus, it resulted in free meals, but he wasn’t about to mention that. He still had some semblance of pride left.

“No wonder your academic results have suffered. You’ve taken on way too much, Baxter. You should focus on your studies.”

It wasn’t the first time St. Croix had said something similar, and this time, Baxter was done being polite about it. “Do you really think this is by choice? Are you that naive to think that if I didn’t absolutely have too, I’d work this much? Step out of your rich ivory tower for a second, Professor, and mingle with the commoners. If I don’t manage to find a way to make my next tuition payment, I’ll have to drop out of college.”

St. Croix froze, his eyes going dark. “I don’t understand. Why did you apply here if you knew you couldn’t afford it?”

“Because I could afford it until my boyfriend of five years decided to leave me, right when it was my turn to get my degree. I worked my ass off for all those years to pay for his fucking law degree, and the second he passed the bar and scored a high-paying job in Boston, he left me. I had already been accepted here and never even applied for financial aid because I wouldn’t need it. And now that I do, I have to wait till next year because all the financial aid is gone. There’s nothing left. So please excuse me, Professor, while I do what I can to keep my head above water.”