His talk was wonderful, but I’d already heard him rehearse it naked, therefore, I’d seen the superior speech in private. Today was wonderful but naked Noah is top tier Noah.
Though the truth is, I love all versions of Noah. And I’m surprisingly not scared of that either.
Dr. Morton walks onstage like he owns the room. He’s always had that kind of confidence. Well, he wants people to think he’s confident. The truth is, he’s insecure. He’s an arrogant prick, I can read it all over his unsettling smile. I respect his earned title of doctor and my career at the university, but beyond that,fuck this guy.
Noah smiles at me as he makes his way back.
“Thank you for having me on such short notice,” Eli says, voice ragged, probably from cigarettes and booze. God I cannot stand this man, but everyone loves him. I think that’s what bugs me most. Everyone loves this guy and I just don’t get it. “I wasn’t expecting to be back on campus so soon, but some opportunities are too sweet to resist.”
His gaze sweeps the room and deliberately lands then hovers on Noah. A weird smile—a private smile—curves hislips. My stomach tightens, but that overwhelming feeling of sickness splashes up the back of my throat, and I have to force it down.
Dr. Morton begins a story and quickly references his former TAs attending a conference with him. “One is still with me, Thomas, lift your hand,” he says, blinking into the crowd as if he’s giving a TED talk and can’t see this Thomas guy amongst the slew of fans. “The other went on to become a tenured professor with his own shining status,” Eli continues after getting a wave from Thomas. “The previous speaker and king of popular fiction, Professor Noah Ryan.”
Noah’s last relationship. The man he didn't name.
“He cheated with someone we were both close with. I walked in on it. That was the end.”
I look back at Thomas, who looks to be my age, same as Noah, too. He’s blinking up at Eli like… he believes all the bullshit he’s saying.
I glance up at Noah, still trying to make his way through the crowd, back to me. But his eyes are sharp and observant, watching my every move. And noticing that makes my pulse dash.
Noah never wanted to call Eli by doctor. He said something like,if you knew Eli the way I did, you wouldn’t respect him either. Or something like that? I think so. I’m almost certain. I look at Eli again, that fucking smarmy smile, and I look at Noah, his smile a little crooked, a little nervous, his eyes wide, clinging to me. He’s looking to me as his lifeline, and a few minutes ago, I thought I was.
He gets to me finally, smelling like cologne and the last cocktail he drank, looking like a million dollars in his gray suit. He looks so good, I almost can’t look at him for too long. And yet now when he settles into his chair next to me, I can’t help but look back up at Eli.
Beside me, Noah slides his hand over my thigh, but his eyes are set forward. He’s looking at Eli, too. Watching him, intensely.
Why didn’t he tell me it was Eli? Why didn’t he trust me enough to let me know what happened between them? Why couldn’t he tell me that it was Eli who cheated on him?
Something cold twists in my gut, sharp and unfamiliar. But I know what it is. It’s jealousy. Not the hot flash I expected, but more of an icy coil that spreads slowly and torturously through my veins, making my fingers tighten around the coffee cup until it creaks.
Eli dives deeper into his talk, sprinkling anecdotes from his latest book—a literary novel that has apparently been shortlisted for some minor awards.Big deal. He’s really working for it, weaving personal stories with other peoples’ literary insight, charming the faculty with self-deprecating humor and razor-sharp observations that again, are not his own. But he’s not exactly telling them that. The audience is rapt, nonetheless. Laughter ripples through the hall at his jokes. But my eyes keep flicking to Noah.
Every time Eli gestures animatedly, his eyes find Noah again. A conversation just between the two of them.Because if I’m right, they do have a shared history. They could have had inside jokes, remembered nights, intimacy that a person like myself can only imagine.
Because I’ve spent my life living as someone who I wasn’t even sure I was, missing out on experiences I didn’t think I needed.
Theyhave a history of having unspoken conversations across crowded rooms. Just like Kat and Zennie.
Noah leans forward, nodding, that charismatic grin of his flashing in response to Eli who banters with him from onstage. They have soft banter over the audience, easy and comfortable, in a way that makes my new and very fragile confidence feel tissue-thin.
I shift in my seat. Memories flood without invitation, without warning.
Noah’s patient hands teaching me how to touch him, how to read the hitch in his breath. The way he whisperedminewhen I was deep inside him, long arms reaching around, pulling me into his body. It’s this proud ownership in his tone and touch that makes me feel important and cherished, and I can’t even honestly say I ever thought I wanted to feel that way. But I do, and it feels so good to be looked after emotionally, and to me, that’s what being cherished feels like.
But Eli… Eli represents everything Noah had before. Experience. Uncomplicated in his desires. Not someone who needs to go slow. Not someone who needs to take things in steps.
The cold twist deepens into nausea as Eli shares a storyabout a research trip they apparently took together years ago. “Noah—Professor Ryan, rather—kept insisting we climb that ridiculous hill at dawn for ‘authenticity.’ Nearly killed us both, but the view was worth every blister.”
The audience chuckles. Noah’s smile is short, clipped, and forced. He only holds it for a second before he turns to me. His eyes are wide, and his voice is low. The kind of low that would normally throw bumps along my skin. Needy bumps, bumps that signal to my brain to make my cock hard, and then my nipples follow. But now, it’s different. It’s a low of sorrow, thick with regret.
“I should have told you my last ex was Eli,” he says, clearly aware that I’ve figured it all out. He shakes his head, the hand on my thigh curving inward, trying to get more of me, trying to use our intimacy against me. I brush his hand off.
“I was hoping I was wrong.”
Noah’s fingers tighten on my leg. “You’re not wrong. And I had no idea he was gonna use me as a device in his speech, or to sell his book. I had no idea he was even going to be here.”
My nostrils flare. “He’s back this semester and this is the symposium. Where did you think he’d be?”
