My face flames. “I was worried he was.”
Noah laughs, and I tug my bag on, blinking at him. “Why did you laugh?”
He smiles, and braces his hand on the desk next to the podium. The tips of his fingers dust mine, and neither of us acknowledge it, nor do we pull away.
A brush of fingertips is the most bold thing I’ve ever done, and that, I know, is quite sad.
“You just… you make me laugh, Cade.”
Cade. I love the way my name sounds on his lips. Celebrated, special even. Still. I don’t understand what about me is so funny to Noah. “How?” I refrain from bracing my hands on my hips, but mostly because I don’t want to take the tips of my fingers away from his.
His eyes flit between mine, and for a moment, I think his breath catches. But then he says, “You never see whensomeone is burning for you, even if it’s right beneath your nose.” His tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth, and so help me, I look at it, and I follow it as he traces the curve of his cupid’s bow, licking his lips. “Even if it’s been beneath your nose, longing for you, for years.”
My mouth is dry. My glasses start to fog from how hot my skin has become, but I yank them from my face before Noah can notice, before I can get completely embarrassed. “Ethan’s only been in my class one other time. His freshman year,” I counter, but his eyes stay on mine, his lips stay parted, and the air remains charged, humming with unsaid truths and undiscovered touches.
“Hm,” Noah finally hums. “Well, Ethan likes you. He likes you a lot.”
Well I like you. I like you a lot.
But I can’t say that. I don’t say that. But the eye contact, the slow drag of his fingertips up my fingers, over my knuckles, and on my palm, have my brain utterly scrambled. I pull my hand back, and grip the strap of my bag. “Well, I’m not gay.”
I don’t—I don’t know why I said that. Even more, I wasn’t even thinking it. It just toppled out, as a barrier. And for some reason, embarrassment circulates in my veins out of nowhere.
Noah pulls his hand back and steps away from the table. Students from his class are slowly filtering in. Those four words hang between us as Noah stares at me, for once, out of quips and comebacks.
I glance at the few students filling the seats, nod myhead to say hello, then look back to Noah, who clearly hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. “Have a good lecture, Professor Ryan.”
A moment later, I find myself in the hall, anxiety clawing at my chest.
Noah pops out, surprising me. “Hey, we’re still good for Kat’s wedding tonight, right?” He shakes his head, grinning in a way that makes my breath hitch. “I mean obviously you’re going to your sister’s wedding but… it’s still cool if I come by? That we go together?” He shakes his head again. “I’m still invited?”
I shrug as if my entire body isn’t in flames. “Of course.” I smile. “My place at six.”
He nods, and returns to his lecture. Somehow, my anxiety is gone.
I standin front of the mirror, adjusting the black bow tie for the third time, the satin fabric cool against my throat. The tux fits like it was poured over me—but that’s what a custom tailor job affords. My dad taught me that—a good tailored tuxedo or suit changes the shape of a man. The sharp lines hug my shoulders, the crisp white shirt a stark contrast to the heat already building under my skin. Tonight is Kat’s wedding, but all I can think about is the fact that Noah is on his way here.
To my house.
To pick me up like this is some kind of date instead of two colleagues attending a wedding, casually.
The doorbell rings, and my pulse thrashes. I pad through the house, trying to ignore the way my blood feels thicker, hotter. I open the door.
And there he is.
Noah stands beneath the porch light in a tailored, midnight-black tuxedo that makes every inch of him look carved from sin and moonlight. The jacket clings to his broad chest and the lean, powerful lines of his torso, the pants falling perfectly over his strong legs. His dark hair is styled back, a few rebellious strands curling at his temple, and those molasses colored eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that steals breath from my lungs.
Fuck.
He’s beautiful. Devastatingly so. I’ve always known Noah was attractive—objectively, the kind of man who turns heads—but now it’s different.
The realization I came to with Kat the other night, and seeing him now… He is a gut-punch of raw want that leaves me gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. Heat floods my veins as I take him in, my eyes raking over every tawdry inch, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his white shirt stretches across his chest with each breath. I want to fist my hands in that lapel and drag him inside. I want to taste the cologne I know is dusted along his throat, and around his wrists. Curve my tongue along the ink beneath his watch, and close my eyes while I do.
I want things I’ve never let myself name before.
“Cade.” His voice is low, rough around the edges, gravelly and raw. His eyes drag over me slowly, deliberately, and I feel every inch of his focus like a physical touch—down my throat, across my shoulders, lingering at the open collar of my shirt where I left the top button undone. A muscle tics in his jaw. “You look…Damn.”
The air between us crackles.
