I shake my head, committed to the act of fake emailing as I type my grocery list in an open notepad document. “Nope.”
He gets to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. At the door, I think he’s going to pause to say goodbye, so I look up. He nods toward me. “You’re wearing different clothing than before.”
Fuck. I hadn’t thought of that, nor had I ever imagined that Noah Ryan would know or remember what I wear. “I spilled something,” I tell him, the lie making my cheeks flare.
“On your entire outfit?” One dark brow shoots to his hairline, and my eyes drop to the doorknob, which he grips tightly, his fingers flexed, full of strength. My gaze lifts to his. “Yeah, I… made a huge mess.”
Guilt colors my throat and cheeks, and Noah’s lips twitch before he steps out and pulls the office door closed behind him. I face my screen, and work through the unexpected drop in my belly that I’m left with when he goes.
I make sure to add Ben and Jerry’s to my list.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
NOAH
Two days of stonewall.
Two.
He hasn’t been this uptight and quiet since his first week here five years ago. But everytime I come into the office and Cade’s already here, I find him conveniently on a work call, in a student meeting, or engrossed in a stack of essays with his EarPods in.
He’s avoiding me.
Cade is smart. But it is my deepest belief that he is completely inexperienced in life when it comes to relationships and even friendships. Which means he doesn’t realize that by avoiding me, he’s opened a large window into his psyche.
The kiss frayed all of his already loose andwild ends. The review was meant to show him that the kiss was absolutely serious, and thatI’mabsolutely serious about him.
The EarPods tell me that he isn’t comfortable admitting any part of that. Not yet. But I’ve caught the tail end of lingering looks. I’ve also never seen those same, wanton and lovelorn eyes linger on anyone else. No females. No other men.
Just me.
Even though I’m an English professor, there’s a scientist in me telling me that while I do have the situation figured out, a test would be sound. To verify.
Cade is working in the writing center today, meeting with the peer tutors. It’s about an hour of his time he gives them twice a week, when they run through their challenging papers and questions passed to them from other students. He sits patiently, sipping his coffee from his favorite cart, and guides them.
I stop in front of the blue door that is six down from ours. It’s open, but she’s on the phone, so I lightly knock and mouth, “can I?” I motion to the empty chair in front of her desk, and Tara nods, returning to the receiver pressed to her ear, held there by her shoulder. Her fingers scatter over her computer keys as she multitasks in a way that I think only women can do. “That’s fine. The grant should cover those expenses. When I hear from the Education Department, I’ll get back to you.” A rumble seeps through her receiver, and she nods. “Uh-huh. Sure thing.” She rolls her eyes as I lift an essay off her desk and thumb through it. “Sounds good. Alright then. Take care.”
“Whoring yourself for grant money?” I tease, still thumbing through this actually pretty good essay about Beowulf. I toss it back to the pile.
She opens the top drawer of her desk and retrieves a black lacquer comb and starts tugging it through the ends of her hair. “You know it.”
I stack my feet on the edge of the chair across from me, and smile. “I need… a favor.”
She rolls open a tube of bright red lipstick, and expertly applies it to her lips without a mirror, all while talking to me. “What kind of favor? And you know if I do whatever it is which I obviously will, then you owe me. For real this time.” Bright green eyes pinch down on me.
“What? I’ve never owed you and not come through. That’s not my style.”
She sighs. “I said no to sharing my office when Dr. Pratt wanted to put Cade in here, remember? You begged me to say no. Told me you’d buy me a fancy espresso machine if I said no.” She glances back to her single-cup Keurig, where a piece of duct tape dangles from the side. “And look. Does that look like a fancy coffee machine to you? Or does that look like my mother’s second generation refurbished Keurig?”
I wince. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you one.” I’m not lying when I say it is unlike me to forget paying back favors. “I think the moment I got what I wanted, I kind of got… sidetracked.”
Tara slips her feet back into the pumps waiting under her desk. “I get that. Cade is adorable.” She wrinkles hernose. “But I’ve never seen him with anyone. Like, ever.” She snaps, spine straightening.
I don’t want to surmise his sexuality with anyone but him, not just because it’s not my style to discuss serious elements of people’s personalities behind their backs, but also, I know Cade wouldn’t like it.
I find my happy medium with a shrug and a smirk. “Your new espresso machine, with all the fancy presses and steamers, will be here in two days,” I assure her, then add, “but today, I need you to ask me to dinner.”
