Cal poured the dregs of the coffee from the pot into his mug and wondered for the fiftieth time that evening why the hell they just didn’t have these meetings in the coffee shop down the block. As tiresome as faculty meeting could be, they were a thousand times worse when the coffee ran out.

“Looks like I’m a little late.”

Cal shrugged. “I think you’ll be better off with a fresh pot.” He smiled up at the Film Studies teacher whose name he could never quite remember. Probably because his brain shorted out every time he looked at him. The guy was far too pretty to be working in a place like this. Maybe it was the John Lennon glasses or the layering thing he did with the plaid shirt, sweater vest, jacket combo that he managed to make look sexy, or the thick fingers that looked like they could crush walnuts.

Cal started to reach for the filters to replenish the supply but his hand only succeeded in getting a handful of those very digits that had reached out just before him. He smiled awkwardly but Film Studies didn’t seem to mind. “I got it. You should finish your coffee before it gets any colder.”

Cal smiled awkwardly and leaned back against the table, cradling the mug to his chest. “Thanks. It would be a lot easier if we could get a Keurig or something.”

Film studies laughed. “I’d vote for them updating the registration software before a coffee machine I’m afraid.”

Cal had to agree with that. “You have a point. I couldn’t get into it at all yesterday.” He idly looked around the room, wondering how long it would take to get through the evening’s agenda.

“Took me most of the morning to get into the damn building,” Film Studies muttered under his breath as he scooped coffee grounds into the machine. “Did you know they changed the passcode on the door to the east parking lot?”

Cal shrugged. “I get the bus in but I think I did see a memo about that.” Not that he felt bitter about having to take public transport. Selling his car had been his choice. Same as moving to a cheaper place to live. Same as saying yes to Harry when he asked if Cal wanted some work.

Cal shook the thought away. His mind drifted back to the matters at hand and also to the fact that Film Studies was taking a little longer than absolutely necessary to get the coffee machine working.

He glanced over and was surprised to see the guy was blushing a little and fussing with a pile of napkins. Cal frowned and looked away, trying to think of something to say. In the end, he didn’t have to.

“That show that Ellery was going on about earlier? I have tickets.” Film Studies—Greg! Of course, it was Greg. Why was that so hard to remember?—sounded a little nervous, like he didn’t quite want to commit to what he was saying.

Cal wanted to tease you sure about that? but he definitely didn’t know the guy well enough, so he went with, “You should have said before. Would have been nice to see Ellery shutting the hell up about how hard it was to get in like he got the golden ticket or something.”

“You wanna go?” Cal blinked twice before he turned. Greg looked even less sure about that than he had done about having the tickets. “With me, I mean.”

Cal had to swallow before he asked, “Like a—a date?”

Greg shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be. It’s next Monday at 7.30 so if you wanted to get dinner before, I guess…”

It was Cal’s lucky day. For about a second and a half before he remembered that he was going to be a little tied up that night.
His face must have shown it as Greg stopped talking. He looked fricken adorable, even when he was embarrassed. It crossed Cal’s mind that he could theoretically cancel his appointment with Ben. Move it to another night. Perhaps if it had been anyone else he might have. But in the moment, it seemed crazy to pass up an hour with Ben even for a night with Greg and those fingers.

Later, he’d wonder what the hell he’d been thinking. That he’d been idly fantasizing about what Greg looked like under that sweater vest for a while now and that he’d totally screwed his chances of that ever happening. Or of ever getting to see that show.

But right then, all he could think of was how he missed the feel of Ben’s hands on him, the sound of his voice, his scent, and the drag of his stubble, and how he couldn’t pass that up. Not even for Broadway.

“Sorry, Greg. Thanks for the offer. I just—”

Greg smiled sweetly, clearly a little disappointed. “Don’t worry about it. I should have known you’d be seeing someone.”

Cal could have corrected him; clarified. But then people were taking their seats again and the chatter was dying down and Cal didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.