Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
NOAH
I’ve always considered myself a good read of character, a person who can easily discern bad and good within the first few minutes of meeting someone.
And I’ve always felt very in tune with the people around me.
Part of my choice to become an English professor was because I felt like I’d be really good at finding the students who could rise above the pack, those meant for the graduate program or even the PhD program.
Cade Mercer has put those skills to the test.
He didn’t exactly invite me to his sister’s wedding, but when I invited myself, he didn’t say no. And then he made it happen—he talked to his sister, got me a place at his table, and allowed me to come to his house for a drink before we left together.
You don’t need to be Nostradamus to get that one.
He wanted me to join. Clearly. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have kicked my self-invite up to Kat. He would’ve simply and politely shrugged me off, the way I’ve seen him shrug off female students for years.
I made a bold comment about the way he looked in his tuxedo, which was bold for us, but demure for me.
I knew Cade Mercer would fucking destroy a tuxedo, I just didn’t anticipate how much more it was going to make me want him.
Reserved, pressed, straight-laced—that man in a suit made me want to tear every scrap of clothing from his body and devour him while watching those slutty little glasses fog.
But the rest of the night held no more surprises.
I’d thought the ball was in his court. After all, I invited myself.
I made it known that I thought he looked beyond handsome in his tuxedo.
I brushed my arm against his whenever I had the chance.
And outside, while we had cigars with his uncle, cousin, and father, my knee grazed his.
Over and over. He exhaled his cigar smoke, and I discreetly inhaled it, swallowing every smokey, sweet note, hoping that a molecule of him was with it.
Not the place, that’s what I’d convinced myself.
He doesn’t want to have anything happen between us while we’re here, because his entire family is here.
But he does want something with me, or else why would he say yes to me coming and introducing me to his entire family?
I love Tara, but I’ve never met her father or her sister, and I’ve never attended one of life’s most intimate events with her, either.
Cade keeps my senses sharp, though. While I was thinking he was just protecting what’s happening between us, he subtly told me exactly what’s on his mind.
His Uncle Geo commented on the ceremony while the five of us stood along the balcony outdoors, overlooking the Bay Bridge.
“Beautiful wedding,” Geo said. To which I’d responded about Zennie.
I’d only just met her tonight at her wedding, but she was so down to earth and sweet.
I really liked her. So I said, “Zennie is so cool.” But those four words caused Cade to swivel and face me, cigar burning between his thumb and forefinger.
“She’s your type,” he said. “Smart, driven, female.”
Cade may have indeed been holding back because restraint is his kink, and because we were smack dab in the center of his family, but it was that singular, strange comment that told me exactly what still stood between us.
He’s insecure, maybe about himself and how he feels, that part I’ll uncover when he lets me get closer.
But that comment… that was about him being insecure that I want a woman over him.
Tara Shae and our ruse of a date floated through my mind when he made that comment.
I’ve made him insecure where I only ever wanted to make him a little jealous, hoping that jealousy would urge him into acting on his desires.
Because I do believe that Cade Mercer wants me.
Though he continues to challenge me.
The wedding was three days ago, and since then, he’s not given me more than a few half smiles, a couple of head nods, and some loose feedback on my academic paper I sent to him.
He’s avoiding me. I feel it. And if I had to place a bet as to why, I’d say it’s because we’re closer than we’ve ever been to exploring things between us, things that don’t need to take place in the English annex, things that happen in private, things meant for under satin sheets and beneath the spray of a hot shower.
Private things.
Sexual things.
Filthy things.
He needs me to show him that Tara is no threat. He needs to know that my eyes are for him, and only him. And only then can we move forward.
I find his insecurities cute. It only makes me want him that much more. And this morning, as I tossed my running shoes and workout clothes into my bag, I made a plan. A plan that is minutes from unfolding.
I tap my foot against the linoleum floor as I read and reread the same opening sentence of a student’s paper.
Cade will be in the office in a matter of minutes, because, awkward sexual tension aside, he is consistent.
And the moment he arrives, I’m pouncing.
No more dog paddling in tawdry glances and crooked smiles.
I want Cade, and I’m going to make sure he knows.
His cologne hits my nose before I see him, and the bumps that rise up on my skin cause a groan to build in my chest. He smells so fucking good.
I bet his bed smells like heaven, his warm skin, the traces of his soap, lingering notes of his cologne.
He bobs his head once, giving me a curt smile as he enters.
He’s wearing his brown, tweed sportcoat with the textured weave, the classic two-button with a turquoise pocket square at the breast, for a pop of color.
The same color that matches the tie on his neck, which is layered over a crisp, white dress shirt, pressed to perfection.
He’s got on his medium wash chinos, his casual pants, dressing down the sport coat just a tad.
His leather chukkas finish his sexy professor look, and not for the first time, I find myself stiff beneath the cover of my wooden desk.
“Morning,” he greets, the sunlight catching the lenses of his glasses. He looks gorgeous in the glow of early morning, the orange picking up the flecks of gold near his irises, the strands of honey hair becoming even fairer.
“Morning.” I wonder what Cade looks like first thing in the morning, with mussed hair and sleepy eyes? Without his glasses?
I watch him set up his laptop, and remember him proclaiming to me that he’s not gay. My lips curve at the memory, and I bring my closed fist to my lips, resting it there as if I’m in thought and not hiding my smirk.
I need him to know that what’s happening between us, and how I feel for him, has nothing to do with sexual labels, or proclamations.
I don’t need him to define himself in any kind of way, not if he doesn’t want to.
It’s never been about labels for me. It’s been about connections, and chasing the ones that feel real, that feel right.
His lecture ends right before lunch, but I know he’s got the writing center on his plate today. I chew the inside of my lip as I assess the clouds quickly crowding the sun. It could rain later, but still, I’m making my move.
“Hey,” I say quietly, watching as he lifts his focus from his computer and drags it to me, to my eyes. “We’re running this afternoon, around four, if you’re interested.”
He knows that we includes the other professors that like to run on the weekends. It occurs to me that it’s just Wednesday, so quickly I add, “they’re busy this weekend so we thought we’d aim for today. You know, to get the miles in.”
For a second, I think he’s going to outright deny me.
Say no. Shake his head. Politely beg off.
His eyes linger on mine, and when his mouth parts but no words come out, my pulse picks up.
I have him. He wants to do this. I read it in his hesitancy, in the way his tongue sweeps his lower lip, the way his fingers pause over the keys on his computer, how his breath hitches.
“C’mon,” I urge. “I need you there.” I smile, and my cock aches at the sight of his flushed throat. “To pace me, keep me fast.”
A little smirk twitches at his lips, but Cade stays restrained. “Four?”
My held breath nearly rushes out. “Yeah. Four.” I glance out the fogged glass window in our office, overlooking the quad, and nod to the large magnolia tree.
“We’ll meet up by the magnolia tree, follow the trail around the science building, then the football field, and cross through campus.
One loop is a mile and a half.” The more loops, the more time I get to take in a sweaty version of Cade, out of breath, gasping, the blonde of his hair growing dark from sweat, chest heaving with exertion.
I’m dying for that version of Cade.
I’m a little fearful he’s going to mention the forecast and slip from my very loose grasp, but Cade surprises me. “Okay. Meet you guys there.”
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 love those 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.