Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
NOAH
He’s going to think I’m a creep. I know this. Before I pressed him about Lauren outside the gym, I knew I was pushing it. But my attraction knows no bounds, and the more time I am subject to him being asked out by students whom he all rejects, the more starved I become.
I’m relentlessly hungry for scraps of Cade Mercer, to discover the version of him hiding beneath sweater vests and rule-following.
There is another Cade in there. I feel it when he sometimes lets himself look at me for too long, when I catch his soft eyes resting on my profile, the way he startles like he doesn’t want anyone to see what he’s really thinking, or know how he’s really feeling.
There’s something about knowing that Cade is home, naked under a hot spray of water, cloaked in steam and bubbles, that makes it exceptionally hard to give a fuck about Dr. Pratt’s email. But I have student meetings all afternoon, and I’m here, which means I need to be present.
I won’t lie. I am more focused and get more done when Cade isn’t in the office, sharing his hours with me.
When you remove glance stealing, intently listening to someone’s exhales, and taking secret inhales of your office mate from the schedule, wouldn’t you know, you’ve suddenly got plenty of time to grade papers and take office hours.
Clicking into the email, the subject bolded, reading PEER ASSESSMENTS, my chair creaks as I rest my weight against it. I sift a hand through my hair as I read the department head’s email about our newest task.
Our faculty and staff have begun taking part in peer reviews, designed to help department heads and staff managers have a better understanding of the workplace flow.
These reviews will also play a small role in evaluating promotions, as well as developing future semester schedules and class choices.
This is the university’s way of getting rid of someone, or something, without having to be hands-on.
There’s no way Dr. Pratt doesn’t know every inch, in and out, of this department.
He has invite-only parties at his house for the English department bi-monthly, and sits in on our lectures a handful of times per academic year.
This isn’t driven by Pratt, and as much as I don’t want to do it, I won’t make it hard on him.
I glance at Cade’s empty desk, at the stack of papers tucked neatly in the left hand corner, aligned with military precision. My eyes veer to his singular blue pen, also aligned neatly with his papers.
I take another quick glance at the old clock sandwiched into the corner of the office.
Cade will be here in a matter of minutes, because his evening lecture starts in an hour.
He likes to get to the office early and go over his notes, check his email, then head to the lecture hall to wipe down the desk and podium, and set up his stuff, which is a reusable canteen of water and a blue pen.
Not the same blue pen on his desk. He’s got two.
Neurotic. I called him that the first week of observing him, not that I was even trying.
In fact, when Cade first came to the university, I tried my best not to observe him, not to pay him a moment’s more attention than was necessary, not to get lost in the sexy way he nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one knuckle when he’s deep in thought.
He was everything I wasn’t looking for. Attractive, smart, determined, and completely fucking closed off.
I’ve never known anyone just like Cade, but I’ve known plenty of people who can’t figure out their own needs and because of that, punish the rest of us.
I put Cade in that category immediately, and over time I realized that I was wrong.
And over time, I no longer viewed him as neurotic but instead, devout and disciplined, putting his work and professional goals above all else. Choosing that over everything else.
That drive to stay focused is a complete turn-on, and I wasn’t really lacking in the reasons to be attracted to Cade department before I was made wholly aware of his drive.
I mean, I’m into his turtleneck sweaters and pressed chinos, his sweater vests and cuffed jeans, all of it.
Down to the way his hair is perfectly styled each day, to the way he cleans his glasses as an emotional crutch, to the soft dusting of cologne he leaves behind him when he walks out.
I was into it when he interviewed, and I’ve only been sinking deeper since. Especially since getting to know him. And I know him pretty well, within reason, within what he’ll allow me or anyone else to know.
But I want to know him better, and that’s why another glance at the grandfather clock is making me nervous. Because he will be here. Like clockwork. And I should go.
I pressed him about Lauren. And while I can go to the gym to work out, he’s not wrong.
I don’t usually. And I had no plans to do it, either, until I saw him crossing the quad with his head down, engrossed in the podcast he was selecting, triceps looking tight in his plain white t-shirt.
I changed my whole day to run on a treadmill behind him for an hour.
What’s a few more minutes?
I get lost in the email from Dr. Pratt as I survey the active list of professors who have already found their peers for review.
Allen Davenport is being reviewed by Phil Pratt himself along with Mulroney.
A little sigh of relief slips past my lips when I think of not being the one to watch Mulroney’s nose hairs for an hour while he drones on and on about literary composition.
I’ve not been assigned anyone, but it seems to be self-assignments, because when I glance back at the chart, I see someone actively typing in one of the fields.
A quick look up at the door and no Cade just yet.
That’s when impulse gets the best of me and I tip forward, drop my hands to the keyboard and assign Cade to me, and me to Cade.
But Davenport is being reviewed by Pratt and Mulroney, and when I reread the email I realize we have to review and be reviewed by two peers.
Surveying the screen, I see that Tara Shae is already assigned to Pratt and Roscoe Williams, our legendary poetry professor.
My eyes fall to the last line of the email, welcoming back tenured Professor Dr. Eli Morton, who has been teaching overseas for some time.
Looking at the editable table, I realize that Morton is all that’s left but I’ve already graded him in all the ways that matter.
Plus, sitting in on his lecture with Cade—not only would there be no warm rememberings of Eli, but I’d be focused on Cade and his knee touching mine.
Eli would see it, and I don’t want him privy to my business.
I type both of our names in the boxes next to each other, leaving Eli hanging, then sit back, pleased that amidst the self-assigning chaos, I got to this email first. It feels a lot like playing Sorry as a kid, and letting my mom go first, and rigging the deck to have the first card be a 12 and the second a 2.
Still. I recognize I am playing Sorry with my mother’s level of desperation here.
I shoot Dr. Pratt an email about lacking the second peer review, as everyone else has already self-assigned.
He must be between classes, because he replies and assures me that it’s okay if Professor Mercer and myself only review one another, which confirms I was right.
These reviews have a purpose, but it has nothing to do with Cade or myself.
Double clicking, I hit print on the peer survey and note-sheet attached to the email, and get to my feet to collect them just as Cade appears in the doorway, bag slung over his shoulder, light cardigan fighting the cool spring evening. He nods. “Hey.”
I take the papers off the printer. “Hey, man.” I drop two of the four papers onto his desk, and sink into my chair with a sigh. “Peer reviews. We got each other.”
His brow furrows, and he pulls his laptop from his bag, opening it and turning it on right away. Still shrugging out of his sweater, he eyes me. “We’ve never done those since I’ve been here.”
I shrug. “I’ve never done them either but apparently, they’re now crucial. And Dr. Pratt just emailed me and said it’s okay if you and I don’t have that second peer review, so… we’re good.”
Cade settles into his chair, and I know the moment he gets to Pratt’s email, because he sits up a little straighter, narrows his eyes just slightly.
Fuck me. The idea of having my hand up the back of his neck, fingers splayed in his soft blonde hair as I slam my hips into him from behind, making him cry out my name, breaking every rule he’s ever followed, I cross one leg over the other, smashing my cock, trying desperately to deflate what was shaping up to be quite the hard-on.
Cade’s eyes lift from his screen and come to mine.
He too must know these reviews are to punish someone, and he also must know that isn’t either of us.
I’m fortunate he doesn’t question it more.
“Think Dr. Morton will be mad no one picked him?” he asks, touching the edge of his glasses for a moment, his nervous tick.
Not only would Morton pick me if he could (he could if he checked his email which is almost a guarantee that he does not), but he’d pick us both, and ask us out for drinks after, angling to have himself a fun night.
Fun is what Eli Morton is all about. I swallow against the knot of memories that I’ve long since made peace with, and shake my head.
“No, I’m sure he’ll know he was left out since people aren’t sure of his schedule.
” The longer he stays around this time, the more people will know that he’s utterly unreliable, even if he’s gifted where English Literature is concerned.
Cade nods, then moves his focus to the printed papers, scanning them. As his blue-gray eyes skate over the suggested bullet points, I can’t help but interrupt.