When he returns his focus to his computer, I’m flooded with relief. And when Dr. Pratt stops by with information on the upcoming symposium, I’m terrified Cade may ask him if he’s joining the run. And when Allen Davenport pops in with flyers for the upcoming Shakespeare festival, I’m almost positive Cade is going to mention the run.
But he doesn’t.
And my heart races for the rest of the afternoon.
I lovethose fucking little running shorts. I am such a slut for hoochie daddy shorts. Paired with his blonde hair being a little roughed up at the end of the day, and his fucking glasses? Those glasses that he nudges when he’s nervous—fuuuuuck.
Cade turns his head to say hello to a student, and I take that time to adjust and tuck accordingly, because little running shorts are my thing, and he is my thing. And the combination of the two is hitting.
Hard.
Pun intended.
He faces me again, then peers around, adjusting his glasses ever so slightly. “They’re running late?” he questions, coming to a stop a few feet away from me, and I wonder what he’d do if I yanked the hem of his shirt. If I dragged his body flush to mine, if I pressed my mouth to his for God and every student around to see.
I shrug. “They cancelled.”
Cade looks around like a detective about to make me privy to case details. He leans in, and when his eyes come to mine, I have to ball my fists at my sides to prevent myself from reaching for him.
It’s getting harder and harder.
“Did you even ask them to join?”
I’m surprised. Not by the fact that he’s onto me but by the fact that he’s asking. The grass crunches beneath me as I edge nearer, so near that I can smell he had that late afternoon coffee he’s always debating about. I don’t hide it when I look directly at his mouth for a moment beforeresponding to his question with one of my own. “Are you insinuating that I created a ruse for us to be alone together?”
Cade blinks, his lips part, and for a moment, I think he’s going to call me on it all, one more time. I think he’s gonna press me, based on the little wrinkle that forms between his eyebrows, the same wrinkle that appears when a student questions him a little more than he’s prepared for, the same bunch of lines that pops up when Dr. Pratt stops by and Cade isn’t expecting it. What I wouldn’t give to smooth my thumb over those wrinkles and ease his distress. To press my lips to that spot, and tell him to stop worrying, to make him see that he has nothing to worry about.
But he recesses into himself in a split second, nodding his head, nudging his glasses up to the place where they already were. “I don’t think—” He pauses as I lean in, enunciating each whispered word when I say, “I’m not gay.”
The callback to his own words echoes between us as we stare at one another. He said those words to me about Ethan, and while I do not know Cade’s orientation, I know he wants me. He may not want me as intensely as I want him, but he wouldn’t be here with rain on the forecast in running shoes if some part of him wasn’t just a little curious.
That tiny little iota of curiosity in him keeps me going, I fucking swear.
I bump my shoulder into his and wink, which seems tosnap him out of the haze he’d been lost in. “C’mon, they’re not coming. Let’s go before it starts raining.”
The rain beginsas a whisper against my skin, soft pinpricks that cool the flush rising from my chest. I glance sideways at Cade, his stride matching mine along the empty campus path, and my breath catches, and it’s got nothing to do with the run. We left the magnolia tree about an hour ago and since, the sky has opened just enough to make the run feel intimate. His blonde hair is damp, curling around his temples, droplets clinging to his lashes.
“Faster?” he asks, voice low, the depth cutting through the patter of rain. “You’re not slowing down on me, are you?”
I am. Not from fatigue—my legs know this route and these miles, the long loop past the library is second nature to me. It’s him, the pull of wanting him so much, that’s slowing me down. I increase my pace, sneakers splashing lightly in shallow puddles. The rain is still gentle, a mist that beads on my forearms and slowly soaks into the thin fabric of my shirt, outlining the shift of muscle beneath. I feel exposed, and alive.
Cade runs just ahead, shoulders broad under his soaked t-shirt, the material clinging to the dip of his spine.Water traces the curve of his neck, sliding down into the collar, and I imagine following it with my tongue. The thought flares hot in my gut, unexpected in its intensity, and I push it down as the drizzle thickens.
We crest the hill, the path winding into the trees near the edge of campus. Thunder rumbles faraway, a low promise of more storm coming. My pulse syncs with our footfalls—steady and rhythmic—building to something. Cade glances back, blue eyes flashing brightly amidst the gray light of the rain, and something in me tightens.
Desire.
I want the easy brush of his arm against mine, sure. But I want more.
The sky darkens. Drops grow heavier, fattening, striking my shoulders with audible taps. We don’t stop. Cade turns breathless as the downpour accelerates, sheets of water cascading over us. My shirt is plastered to my chest, translucent now, every ridge of rib and plane of muscle revealed. I can see the same on him: the way his fabric molds to his pecs, the flat plane of his stomach, the sharp cut of his hips where his shorts ride low. Heat blooms in my belly, spreading despite the chill.
“Shit, it’s really coming down,” I call to him, though neither of us veer from the path to take cover, despite the awnings all around us. The rain pounds harder, drumming against leaves, against us, filling the air with its roar. My heart hammers. We both seem to come to a stop as it intensifies, and I watch a single rivulet race down Cade’s throat,over the bob of his Adam’s apple, and my mouth goes dry, even as I’m drenched.
“My car is just right here,” I call out amidst the rain, and through water-slick glasses, he nods. I jog toward my car, the sound of his footfalls behind me making my heart race. I reach into my zippered pocket and find my key, using it first on the passenger door. I open it for him, and he ducks inside as I run around the front. He reaches across, unlocking my door for me. I jump inside, the small car filled with exhausted breaths and the smell of rain.
We take a moment of silence to catch our breaths. I imagine pinning him against the seat, my mouth on his, tasting rain and salt and the heat I know simmers beneath his skin. My hands would slide under that soaked shirt, mapping the slick contours of his chest, thumbs circling nipples hardened by cold and want. The fantasy intensifies with the rain, which lashes against the car sideways now, so heavy it could be hail.
Cade’s chest is still heaving, though his breathing has evened out. So has mine. We look at one another across the cab, the storm clouding our vision beyond a few feet outside the car. That means if we can’t see out, no one can see in.
