Awa
Chapter eleven
Noah
Noah: Are you sure you don't want egg rolls? They're buy one-get one free.
I roll my eyes at the phone as if he can see me.
Noah
If you want two egg rolls, get two egg rolls. You know I hate their sweet and sour sauce.
Noah: So get it without the sauce!
And eat a dry ass egg roll? No thank you.
Noah: Boo
Noah sends a thumbs-down emoji to further convey his disapproval, and I snort.
He's going to show up with two egg rolls anyway; the man has an unhealthy obsession with greasy food…
despite his washboard abs. Not that I saw them when he used his shirt to open that jar for me last Tuesday.
Or when he used the hem to clean his sunglasses two weeks ago. Or—
"I know that face," Sybil says, dropping onto the couch next to me like we're a couple of teenagers gossiping at a sleepover. "Does that mean Noah's on his way over to 'study'?" She uses air quotes, so it must be obvious what I was just imagining.
"There's no need for the air quotes, Sybil. We actually are studying. Tuesdays are for Intro to Cinema, and Thursdays are Entertainment Marketing."
"Oh, I'm aware of your supposed schedule," she replies with a knowing grin. "I just don't buy that there aren't any extracurricular activities happening when you two go into your room and shut the door."
She waggles her eyebrows suggestively, and I huff, annoyed.
"For the millionth time, nothing is going on between us. We're just friends."
"Uh huh," she says, though it's clear she doesn't believe me.
Embarrassing daydreams aside, we've only touched by accident.
No kisses. No caresses. Nothing to warrant a closed door or the heat that creeps up my back whenever he's around.
He's been a perfect gentleman. A studious gentleman, which is rare in my experience.
But if I haven't convinced Sybil by now, I never will.
I jump at the loud knock on the door in Noah's telltale cadence. Sybil has the nerve to laugh.
"Hey Noah," she beams as she opens the door. Noah is weighed down with a gratuitous amount of Chinese takeout, and I rush over to help him put the bags on the counter.
"Are you here for another cram session?" Sybil asks, her voice dripping with innuendo. I could kick myself for missing the deadline to request a room reassignment. Ever since Noah started coming around, she's been nosier than ever.
"You know it," he answers, walking straight to the fridge without an invitation. Americans. "Your roommate is the only reason I'm keeping up in Professor Strickland's class."
Sybil clicks her tongue in irritation when Noah doesn't take the bait and starts down the hall.
"Well, have fun," she calls over her shoulder. Her door closes seconds later.
"And what was that all about?" Noah questions as he unloads the feast onto our tiny counter. I join him, pulling out the disposable plates and napkins; nobody has time for dishes.
"She—" I stop abruptly.
Is telling him going to make things weird? With a face like his, he's probably used to the attention. There might even be a few girls out there who have gone from study buddy to more. Those girls wouldn't hesitate; they'd grab him by the collar and show him exactly what he was missing.
I've never been one of those girls.
"She's convinced something is going on between us," I finally admit, hoping my voice sounds nonchalant. "I've told her we're just friends, that nothing could ever happen between us, but..." I shrug.
Noah puts down the plastic container of vegetable lo mein and looks at me, an odd expression on his face.
"Why couldn't anything happen between us?"
I blink, caught off-guard by his question.
"Um," I sputter, "b-because we're just friends?"
"So?" he counters. I suddenly wonder whether my lack of sleep is getting to me and this is all a dream.
"So…friends don't sleep together? Hook up? Whatever you call it."
"They don't?"
I go back to unloading the food just to give myself a reason to break eye contact. What is happening? Why is he looking at me like the thought of going into my room and doing what men and women do isn't strange to him?
"Not in real life, they don't," I mutter, my eyes still averted. "I certainly haven't. Maybe they do in 'Sex and the City' or 'Friends'."
He's beside me before I realize, covering my hand with his, loosening my grip on the sesame chicken.
"You've never hooked up with a friend?" he murmurs from my periphery. "Not even making out or hand stuff?"
I assume "hand stuff" means fingering, or maybe a handjob, and my cheeks are suddenly hot.
"N-No," I whisper, my careful composure slipping. "All my friends are just friends."
He squeezes my hands, goosebumps spreading up my arms the way they always do when we touch, even incidentally. I look up to meet his eyes. They're staring intently.
"Do you want to?"
God, if this is a dream, please don't let me wake up yet!
Please wait until I've at least gotten to kiss the man who's fueled my fantasies ever since he put his hands on me at that party.
Ever since he asked for my number. Ever since our first night studying together, when I found out he's got brains behind that beautiful face of his.
"In general, or…?" I trail off, not brave enough to even suggest he's talking about me and him. Together. But his thumbs brush against my wrists, and he nods towards the open door of my room.
"I—" I drop my gaze. "Do you want to?"
He nods again.
"I've wanted to ever since I borrowed that pen, Awa. I thought I was being obvious, but you always just wanted to study, and I respected that." He finally releases my hands and sighs. "I'll respect that if that's what you want now, too. And we'll be friends either way."
Could I do that? Have sex with my crush and stay "just friends"?
I've heard the rumors. I know if I slept with him, I wouldn't be the only one. I'd be one of many girls on campus with intimate knowledge of Noah Park, aware that once he left my bed, he could very well be on his way to another.
No. I couldn't handle that with what's at stake. My first real crush. My virginity. I couldn't give that away to someone who's just my friend. But maybe we could do something…
"As a friend," I put emphasis on the word, letting him know I understand what he's offering, "I can't go all the way. But I think I would like making out." I clear my throat. "And maybe some…'hand stuff'."
His mouth quirks up, and he extends his palm. I take it—I wasn't hungry, anyway.