Avoiding me is only inflaming my desire to dig myself deeper under his skin, and pretending that his well-studied, perfectly articulated and immaculately executed lecture was too boring to keep me awake has done the job.
As I suspected it would.
His footsteps are heavy behind mine, and Cade is an inch shorter than me but still tall, and his build is leaner than mine but muscular and trim. All of that is not to say that I’ve been checking him out for five years because that’s obvious, but I note his size because those footsteps do not match up with Cade. But I know it’s him.
He’s pissy and huffy, and I’ve only seen him this way a few other times.
When he lost the bid to teach literary theory two years ago, he kind of threw a fit not unlike this one. I stop in my tracks and catch an eyeful of him, cheeks cherried with anger, fists clenched, jaw tight. He doesn’t bother to look at me, and it only etches my smirk deeper. He reaches our office door before I do, and I can’t help but snort when he pulls it closed behind himself—glaring at me as he does.
I open the door, pretending that I haven’t noticed his mood, and close it, tugging the shade down to cover the peek window. He’s at his desk, digging papers from his bag when I roll my knuckles against my palm, cracking them.
He flinches.
“Great lecture,” I tell him, rolling my other hand in my palm, cracking those too.
He hates when I pop my knuckles, and I really only do it when I want to get his attention. It’s a bad habit I’d always wanted to quit, but once I realized it bugged him, I did quit. I still pull the habit out of my bag of tricks when he hasn’t glanced my way in too long, or when he’s paidso much attention to his students and not me. This morning, the knuckles go unnoticed.
He slants his eyes toward me, tipping back in his chair, arms stacked over his chest like an angry principal about to lay down the law. “Oh, was it? You think so?” The absolute irritation rattling the consonants of every word has my cock hard behind my pants. I fight the smirk twitching behind my lips and nod.
“Oh yeah. Really good. Good, good stuff.” It actually was a great lecture. Excellent, even. Cade’s style is more Ovaltine-drinking old man with a sweater vest and a monocle (maybe I should get him a monocle?) than mine, but he’s absolutely a gifted instructor. Almost like he was born to read, analyze, then teach everyone else how to do the same. I don’t even like literary theory, but I learned a few things today. He said a lot of stuff, and I catalogued it all, all while thinking about what Cade looks like completely naked.
It’s not the first time I’ve tried to envision that. The first time, it was non sexual, and I had just witnessed him buff a spot on his leather shoes for thirty minutes, only to toss them because they were “clearly unsalvagable.” At that point, I started to wonder if he has those weird, old timey calf straps that hold your tall socks up, and if he wears a smoking jacket at home, and a sleeping gown and hat at night.
There’s been lots of other times. How could there not?
“Did Meadow tell you that?”
I shake my head, my lips nearly bursting from the laughter pressing against my mouth. “No.”
“Who told you that it was such a great lecture?” he asks, partially mimicking my words, irritation shining in his eyes. His blue, clear like the water in Thailand, eyes.
“No one. I was there. Remember?” I smile, a huge, toothy, flirtatious smile. The smile I use when I’m trying to pick people up when I’m out.
The chair smacks the back of his head when he sits up, slamming his palms to the desk, the photo of him and his sister falling over. “You were asleep!” That little vein on his temple bulges, and what I’d give to lick my thumb and stroke the pad of it down that purple ridge, calm him, soothe him.
I take the peer review papers out of my pocket, which nearly gives him a heart attack. “That’s how you treat the review paperwork?” He shakes his head. “Why did you come if you weren’t going to take it seriously?”
I give him my most confused look. “I took it seriously.”
Cade rights the framed photo. “You slept.”
I toss him the papers, the black ink peeking through the back in one place, the exact place Cade eyes. “See?” I poke, watching his eyes drift over the bled-through ink.
Cade just blinks at me, clutching the folded papers in one hand, the other adjusting his glasses. I get to my feet and tuck my things into my bag, pull the door open and peer back at him, a little floored to discover he’s been watching me.
“Have a good day, I’m heading out.” Packs more of apunch if I leave now, even though I’ll be holed up in Tara’s office.
Then I leave, not wanting to be in the same room with him when he finally opens that note. If he’s mad now, he’s gonna be really mad soon.
I love working him up.
Tomorrow should be fun.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
CADE
