“Wanna go for a run with us later this week?” I ask him, remembering the few times Cade joined the other professors and myself for a campus run. I hit personal records both times he joined us, because running was the only thing that kept me from getting hard.
He stands, collecting his things, barely glancing at me when he says, “maybe.”
The radiator kicks on with a soft whoosh. Outside the window, students laugh and shout across the quad, spring sunlight cutting through the blinds in warm stripes across the floor. Inside, it’s just us. Two desks. Two chairs. Five years ofalmostsandmaybes.
“I’ll take a maybe.”
He slings his bag over his shoulder, shoving a hand through his neat hair. It falls back into place perfectly, and that’s so Cade. He moves around his desk, to the door, hand on the doorknob, and that’s when I stop him.
“Cade,” I say, softer this time. Not pushing. Just… saying his name. The way I do in my head sometimes when the office is empty and I’m grading alone at night. “For what it’s worth, you’re allowed to want things. Even the ones that don’t fit neatly into the rules.”
I watch the back of his neck for a second longer than I should. I think about Lauren’s hopeful smile and howeasily he let her down. I think about five years of this office, shared silences, shared coffee runs that never quite become anything more.
And I wonder, not for the first time, if I’m the only one who feels the charge in the air every single day.
He closes the door behind him without looking back, without another word. I pick up my pen again, but the essays blur. All I can see is him. All I can feel is the slow, steady burn of wanting someone who might never want me back.
CHAPTER
THREE
CADE
I swipethe soft cotton of my t-shirt over the fogged lens of my glasses one last time before slipping them back on. Another pass of the disinfectant-coated paper towel over the machine’s buttons, and I’m stepping down, done with this part of my day.
“Of course you clean the machine,” Noah Ryan’s husky voice cuts through the noise in my brain, and I look up to see him in a tank top and basketball shorts, his dark hair dampened by sweat.
His comment settles as I pluck my headphones from my ears and shove them into their white, magnetic case. I nod to the laminated sign that is push-pinned to the wall behind the cardio machines.PLEASE WIPE DOWN MACHINE AFTER USE.“You’re supposed to,” I say, and this is the side of Noah that grates me.
We should all follow the rules because the rules make everything better for everyone, but I shouldn’t have to say that. That's a fact. It’s why rules exist. But he always tries to make me feel silly for following the rules. I hate that.
Our shoulders bump as I push past him, but he hooks a hand on my elbow, bringing me to a premature stop. He nods toward the now-off clock on the treadmill I used. “How’d it go?”
I blot my towel against my forehead, and around the side of my neck. “Good.”
He blinks like I haven’t answered at all.
“What?”
His smile is slow and obnoxious and intoxicating. Suddenly my glasses are fogging, and I slide them off to run them through the hem of my t-shirt again.
“Now is when you ask me about my workout, and how it went.” Amusement dances in his eyes, and when a tenured history professor from Iowa brushes past us, Noah steps closer. The scent of Old Spice deodorant and salty perspiration sting my senses, and promiscuous, curious desire curls in my belly.
I didn’t even know he was here. In fact, he doesn’t come here. He runs with the professors, outside, long legs and arms out for the sun to kiss, for everyone to see. And judging by the Adonis belt I’ve caught a glimpse of while he reaches for books on the top shelf, he’s exercising somewhere else too. “How was your workout?” I ask, pretending it’s a pain for me to ask when in truth, I want to know. There’s really not anything I want to know more,in fact. And in a weird way, I’m glad he’s pressed me to ask.
Noah’s smile shines, and I ignore the thump in my chest. “It was good.” He motions to the second row of machines in the cardio theater. “I was behind you the whole time.” We both look at the empty machine, drops of sweat glistening along the dark belt. His gaze comes back to mine, a smirk twitching at his full lips. “You’re fast.”
I lift one shoulder and let it fall. “I’m training for a half-marathon.” I scratch the side of my jaw. “You don’t work out here.”
His smile grates my nerves and makes heat flare somewhere deep in my belly. “You’re right, I don’t often.” Noah steps closer, the sting of his mint toothpaste making my eyes water. “But I do sometimes. Just not when you’re here.”
My retort surprises us both. “I’m here now.”
He grins. “Yes, you are.” I hate that my eyes follow his hand when he presses it between his pecs. “I have some extended office hours later so I came now.”
Why the back of my neck is burning, I'm not sure. “Well,” I smile, kind of. “I’ll see you,” I say decidedly, and push past him toward the exit. Anxiety storms my ribs, and I’m about to pull apart every syllable I just spoke and internally punish myself for my awkwardness when Noah’s hand lands on my shoulder, halting me.
“Hey, wait.”
