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Both Levi and Anthony give me independent reproving looks. I’ve had just about enough. “Excuse me, I think that’s my student behind you. Levi! Good morning!”

Anthony turns and Levi looks up and smiles placidly at us. “Professor Saint-Jacques!” he says, ignoring Anthony’s presence. “Crazy running into you here. It is nice to see you out of your clothes.”

I look down at the T-shirt and jeans I opted for, and decide to let that one pass. “Levi, this is Dr. Anthony Davis, in Anthropology.”

Levi smiles coldly at him. Anthony turns back to me and gives me a funny look, like he’s not sure how this “date” is going. “How about we go up to the second floor and check out the cookbooks? I’m sure there’s something there you can look for.”

“The magazines would suit you better,” Levi drawls. “They’re cheaper, for one, and by definition, they’ll feature more seasonally available food items. In addition, they’re mostly designed for home cooks who don’t own a quesadilla maker, fondue set, or fresh fenugreek.”

Anthony turns back around, but Levi just gives him an innocent look and returns to his book.

“That sounds like a great idea, actually,” I say. “Let’s go check them out.” I stand. “Levi, it was great to see you. Make sure you have chapter 6 down for class on Monday.”

He nods and flickers his gaze to Anthony. I follow Anthony toward the magazine displays, but even though Levi is buried in his book, I still have the feeling that he’s watching me like a hawk.

The magazine racks are at the back of the store, and there are a set of armchairs in front of them. I select one of the cooking magazines at random and leaf through it.

“How about this?” Anthony says. “Do you know if any of them have special dietary restrictions?”

“One vegetarian.”

“Make one good side dish that can double as a main course, then,” Anthony answers. “Hmm. This beef thing looks good.”

I look at it uncertainly. “Yeah,” I answer. I’m embarrassed that it looks way past my abilities. But I’m too embarrassed to say that out loud. It will make me panic. “Let’s put a sticky note on it so that I can go back to it later.”

“You came with sticky notes?” he asks as I produce them from my jeans pocket.

“This is important. I have to come prepared.” We settle down, paging through the magazines. The recipes are making my eyes cross. What the hell are potatoes dauphinois?

“Hi,” Levi says, suddenly appearing next to me carrying a stack of books. “Dr. Davis had a great idea, and I just really torpedoed it. It made me feel guilty. So I went up to the second floor and pulled some cookbooks for you. You were right, Dr. Davis. This has a much wider selection of recipes.”

I stare in horror at the stack that he places on the side table next to me. There are at least ten of them. Several thousand pages now loom at me. I look at Levi, but he is turned to Anthony, the very picture of contrition.

“Thank you, Levi! We’ll go through them. Well, as soon as I run to the bathroom.” Anthony stands and smiles at me. “Be right back.”

The second he’s gone, I turn to Levi. “What the fuck are you doing?” I whisper at him.

Levi pivots and walks right up to the edge of the chair, so that his shins butt the fabric. I lean back. He nudges my legs apart gently and towers over me. “Why, Dr. Saint-Jacques, did you just swear at a student?”

“I fucking well did! Before this moment, I had maybe a hundred recipes to decide between. Now I have a thousand. This is full-on analysis paralysis. It is actually a thing.”

“But surely you know what you want to do, more or less, don’t you?” he asks with a smile.

“I don’t know what I’m doing at all! I’m completely lost and I’m going to make a fool of myself.” The panic starts to grip me.

“Bastien,” he says.

“And how the fuck do you scallop a potato?”

“Bastien.”

“It sounds painful. Do you just put it into like a seashell mold and hope for the best? Or do you put some kind of stuffing in like a truffle, or…”

Levi puts his hands on the arms of the chair and leans over me. “Baby boy.”

I freeze. The spiral about the upcoming meal stops and a new and much more dangerous spiral starts. My breath catches. The blood roars in my ears for a few seconds. He’s so close that if I give in, I can kiss him. I can feel the heat from his skin on my lips. I shrink into the cushions, inadvertently pushing my legs further out like I’m offering them. The warmth from his legs radiates into my inner thighs and travels directly into my cock. If I scramble up, my face will be against his. And yet, I do try to stand up, even though I’ve got a lapful of magazines. The result is that I arc my whole torso toward him like a bow, like I’m offering myself. The magazines begin sliding onto the floor. Levi puts his hand on my stomach, and I make a sound between a whimper and a gasp as he pushes me back into the chair. I land heavily, my cock tenting so much I’m afraid I’ll leave a wet spot on my jeans.

Apparently, sitting still is definitely the lesser of the two evils. I swallow heavily and try to catch my breath. “Listen to me, baby boy,” Levi says softly. “I can make all of this better for you.”