by Noelle Adams
“I’m not a newbie,” I interrupt, so hassled I don’t guard my words as I normally do with Evan. “I know how to teach and how to plan a syllabus.”
He doesn’t respond, and the silence feels full.
“Sorry,” I say, turning to look at his sober face. “I know you were trying to help.” My words are mollifying, but I don’t feel very good-natured.
It’s just one of those days when I’m frustrated with the world, and Evan is the most annoying thing in it.
“I was. And I still think seventy-eight papers is a ridiculous number to try to grade at the same time. You really don’t want to—”
“No!” I’ve given up being reasonable. I turn in my chair and scowl at him. “I know how to teach. I know what I’m doing. You’re not smarter than me. Maybe I like movies and pretty things, but that doesn’t mean I’m not serious or smart.”
I’ve clearly surprised him because his lips part as he stares at me. “I never said you weren’t.”
“Well, you act like it.” Then my innate sense of justice kicks in, so I qualify the statement. “Sometimes. I’m a competent adult who’s good at my job. I know how to plan a schedule and assign due dates that work for me. I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”
Something is changing on his face. It’s tightening. I think, for the very first time, he might be getting angry. “I never once implied that you don’t,” he grits out. He’s breathing more heavily. “And I don’t appreciate your acting like I’m belittling you when I’m not.”
“And I don’t appreciate all your sober, condescending looks all the time. You could smile a little, you know. You could make small talk.”
His eyes narrow. “And you could not run away whenever we start to have a real conversation.”
I gape. “What? I never run away.”
“Don’t you?” His voice is dry, slightly bitter.
He’s angry. Not hot and explosive, but definitely angry.
And for some reason it’s making me hot.
Hot in a very particular way.
What the hell? This is ridiculous. Having this annoying argument shouldn’t be making me all lustful.
The fact that it does enrages me even more. “I don’t. I’ve tried for almost two months to get to know you, and you’re the one who refuses to talk about anything but work. So don’t you dare act like it’s my fault we’ve never gotten along. You’re the one who never smiles. And you’re the one who is always looking down on me for things you think are feminine or not serious enough. And you’re the one who doesn’t know how to relax. This... this... this...” I’m at a loss for words, so I gesture between us to indicate our situation. “This is more your fault than mine.”
I stare at him, flushed and panting, and he just stares back. He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t move.
And I still—still—have no idea what he’s thinking.
I make an exasperated sound in my throat and save the document I’ve been working on. Then I get up, grab my purse, and leave before I explode and say something truly embarrassing.
Or do something.
Let him know that, despite my annoyance with him and his habits, I’m still having trouble keeping my hands off him.
The whole situation is enraging.
And I still have forty-one more papers to grade today.
I GO TO THE LIBRARY since I find it a comforting space, and Jennifer is in a meeting so I can’t rant to her. I wander around the stacks for a while, go to the bathroom, and talk to a student I find studying in one of the easy chairs.
After that, I’ve settled down, and I start to feel kind of stupid for my storm of feeling.
Nothing that happened justified getting so upset.
Evan just unsettles me.
And now he probably thinks I’m even sillier than he thought before.
I’m leaving the library when I run into Katrina Pierce, who’s one of the research librarians and started working at Milford at the same time I did. She’s tiny and a lot like a Disney fairy with pale blond hair and violet-blue eyes, but she also has a competent, no-nonsense attitude I’ve always liked. I smile and wave, and she stops to chat with me for a minute.
“Did you get what you need?” she asks, glancing down at my hands and seeing that I’m not carrying any books.
“I didn’t really need anything. I just wanted to stretch my legs and get some fresh air.”
She’s got thick, dark lashes. They narrow with skeptical scrutiny. “In the library?”
I laugh. “Well, you know. I find the smell of books very refreshing. Mostly I just wanted to get out of my office for a while. I’ve got tons of papers to grade.”
“Ah. I get it now.” She pauses briefly. “You’re sharing offices with that Jones guy this year, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“How’s that going? I find him rather intimidating. Is he as brilliant as he seems?”
“Well, yeah, he’s pretty darn smart. He’s a good teacher though. Students seem to like him a lot. He’s not over their heads all the time. He’s...” I trail off, realizing I’m starting to babble out compliments, and I don’t want Katrina to get the wrong impression.
She laughs. “I guess you like him then.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” I’m embarrassed and also embarrassed about being embarrassed. “He’s kind of hard to get to know, I guess.”
“Is he shy? He’s always been quiet when I see him around.”
“I don’t think he’s shy. At least he doesn’t act shy. He’s just...” I don’t finish the thought. I like Katrina and would consider her a friend, but I’m not going to go around bad-mouthing my office mate to people on campus. “He’s very nice.”
Katrina’s eyebrows pull together. “Is there something going on?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Because you’re acting kind of... strange.” Katrina’s expression is amused and sympathetic, and so I’m not offended by the intrusive questioning.
I groan and tug on my braid. “I know. It’s just been kind of weird. He’s very nice and has never done anything that’s a problem. I’m just used to getting along with people better than I have with him.”
“It takes some people longer to warm up. Maybe he’s one of them.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“He was saying all kinds of nice things about you the other day.”
I blink. “He was what?”
“One day last week. He was in here with Jeff Bryson, and I overheard some of their conversation. He was talking about how smart you were and how much students love you and how you had a really insightful dissertation.”
My cheeks flush, and my heartbeat speeds up. “He was?”
“Yeah.” Katrina looks serious, so there’s no way to doubt her words. “So I think you’re probably doing a good job in getting along with him. Maybe he’s one of those guys who has trouble warming up.”
Her calm words have transformed my entire attitude, my entire day. I’m suddenly excited. I want to get back to the office right away. “Maybe so. Thanks for telling me.”
“Sure thing. Oh, hey, I broke up with my boyfriend a couple of weeks ago, so if you ever want to get together and do something, I’m game. I need to try to make more friends in town.”
“I’d love to. Just give me a call anytime. But what happened with your boyfriend?” As long as I’d known her, she’s had a serious boyfriend who lives and works in Charlotte, North Carolina. She went to visit him almost every weekend. I assumed they’d get married soon.
She shrugs. “It was long-distance. He found someone closer.”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. I was...” She shakes her head. “Honestly, I wasn’t all that excited about him anymore. I was just hanging on to... hang on. But now that I’m here every weekend, I’m finding I don’t have many friends and don’t have a lot to do.”
“Well, I’m here, so call anytime. We can hang out.”
“Thanks. I will.”
“I better get back to my papers.” I don’t say it, but I mostly want to get back to Evan.
I can’t believe he was saying nice things about me.
Does he really think my dissertation topic is brilliant?
I say bye to Katrina and leave the library, picking up my speed as I go.
Four
EVAN IS STILL IN THE office when I arrive. Unlike me, he keeps fairly regular work hours, and he always stays at the office until at least five even if he doesn’t have class or meetings. He probably doesn’t like to work at home the way I do.
“Hey,” I say as I come in, dropping my keys onto my desk and turning to face him.
He looks up from his computer. His expression is unsmiling but not angry. “Hi.”
“I’m sorry about before. I’m not sure what got into me. I’m not usually so... irritable. I’m really sorry.”
His mouth turns up just a little. His eyes soften palpably. “Evidently I’m an irritating kind of person, so that probably explains it.”
“No, you’re not!” I lower my tone as I continue. “You’re really not that irritating. I should never have implied that about you. It’s just that I’m usually really good at getting to know people, and I’ve been frustrated that I can’t seem to get to know you.”
He frowns. “You don’t know me?”
“Of course not.” My eyes are wide in surprise. “You think I’ve gotten to know you?”
“I thought we were making progress.” He seems bothered by that piece of information, and he looks down at his desk as if he’s thinking. “I’m afraid I’m never going to be the life of the party, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“I know that. I mean, I don’t care about that. I like all kinds of people. I just feel like you’ve got so many walls up I can’t seem to get around them.”
“Maybe if you wouldn’t run away every time things start to get better between us.”
Shit. He has no idea. I have to run away occasionally, but it’s not because I don’t want to get to know him.
It’s because I want to tear his clothes off.
No way I can admit that to him.
I clear my throat and think fast. “I haven’t run away that much. You just confuse me.”
“What can I do to be less confusing?” Leave it to Evan to go about getting to know someone with the same sober determination he uses to tackle everything else.
“I don’t know. Don’t you ever just hang out and relax?”
“You want to hang out with me?”
Yes. Of course I do. In particular, I want to hang out in bed with him. “I just meant to get to know each other a little more. So we can get along better and be more comfortable sharing the office.” There. That didn’t sound too bad. That didn’t give away my irrational lust for him.
He nods. “I like to bike, but that’s obviously not your thing. I can go with you when you walk, if you’d like. Or...”
“Or what?”
“I was thinking about watching the Lord of the Rings movies since you like them so much.”
My heart clenches. Ridiculously. “You were?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you can watch them with me. I would enjoy that.”
“You would?”
“Yes. Would... would you?”
“Of course I would.” His eyes never leave my face.
“What if you don’t like them?”
“I’m sure if you like them, then they can’t be that bad.”
We smile at each other, and I let out a long breath.
I still have way too many papers to grade today, but things are definitely looking up.
ON SATURDAY NIGHT, Evan comes over to my house to watch Fellowship of the Ring.
I’m in a tizzy about it for no reason at all.
No. Reason.
But it feels like a first date.
I went to lunch and shopping with Katrina earlier today, and then I tried to do some reading for my upper-level class, and I got so bored that I fell asleep. I wake up two hours later with only fifteen minutes before Evan has arranged to come over.
Knowing him, he’ll be exactly on time.
My little house is basically a square with two bedrooms and a bathroom between them on one side and the living room, dining room, and kitchen on the other side. The previous owner widened the doorways in the main rooms so you can see from the living room at the front of the house to the kitchen in the back.
Right now all three spaces are kind of messy because this was a paper-grading week and I haven’t had time or energy to clean up. There are clothes and jewelry scattered around from when I’ve taken them on and off during the week and never gotten them back into the bedroom. There are books in piles in all three rooms. And there’s a row of empty water bottles on the windowsill behind the couch.
I stand up, disoriented and trying not to panic.
I need to clean up before Evan gets over here. He’s not going to want to hang out in a mess. His house is probably always perfectly clean with everything always in its place.
Mine is usually more like that than this. It’s just that I had papers to grade this week.
I grab the water bottles and carry them into the kitchen to toss them into recycling, dropping three of them along the way. Then I flitter from room to room, collecting clothes and shoes and jewelry. The books I’ll leave for last since they’ll probably make him the least uncomfortable.
I glance in the mirror over my dresser after I dump my pile of clothes into the closet and shut the door. I’m a mess. My hair is loose and tangled around my face. My V-neck top is askew, showing a lot of cleavage and one of my pink bra straps. One of my cheeks is redder than the other from sleeping on it. And my mascara has smudged.
I whimper at the sight and run to the bathroom to restore my appearance since that has now become the priority in the minutes I have left. I brush out my long hair, debating about what to do with it. I’m still thinking as I wash my face and daub on a little makeup. I don’t have time for a lot, and I don’t want to look like I’ve primped too much for him.
I have no idea what I should wear. Maybe I should just keep on the thick leggings and long top I’ve been wearing all day.
But I want to look pretty.
I know it’s not a date, but I still want to look pretty.
I launch myself into my big, stuffed closet and sort through all the possibilities hanging there. I glance at one outfit after another, making little whining sounds as my panic intensifies as the minutes pass.
Finally I see a casual knit dress with a low scoop neck and a fun blue and pink polka-dot print. I’ve always loved it. I feel pretty in it. But it’s not any dressier than a T-shirt. I yank off my clothes and pull on the dress, glancing in the mirror and pleased with my reflection. Definitely curvy. Pretty and kind of sexy but still low-key. He won’t think I’m dressed up in this. I smooth down the flyaways in my hair and am pleased with the result.
Fortunately, I planned ahead for food for tonight. Since he’s not coming over until eight, we’re not doing dinner, but I figured it’s only polite to have some snacks. So I bought some gourmet popcorn and chocolate bark from a local food shop and also picked up a plate of cut fruit in case he’s too healthy to eat the yummy stuff.
I’m about to take the fruit out of the refrigerator when the doorbell rings. I run to get it, swinging the door open to reveal Evan on my front porch.
I’m really glad I put the dress on since he’s wearing neat khakis and a golf shirt and looking just as tailored and pulled together as he always does.
I wouldn’t want him to think I’m a slob.
He smiles, his eyes running up and down my body. Something in his expression changes, and I look down quickly to check myself.
I look fine. Nothing out of place.
I check his expression again and see his eyes lingering on my cleavage.
I’ve got good cleavage. It’s one of my bes
t features.
Maybe—maybe—he’s actually appreciating it.
I flush with pleasure as I let him in. I try to think of something to say, but words are escaping me at the moment.
He’s been holding something behind his back, and he pulls it out as he enters. It’s a bottle of wine.
I smile like a dope. “Oh goody!”
Yes, that’s what I say. Oh goody. Never have I claimed I’m the most sophisticated of companions.
He chuckles. It’s a real laugh. The kind I’ve only heard from him once. “I don’t actually know if you drink or not, but I figured I’d take the risk.”
“I do. Wine at least. I don’t like beer, and mixed drinks go to my head too quickly. But I love wine.”
“Good.” He’s glancing around my house, taking in the dark red couch, the fun prints on the side chairs, the lace curtains, and collection of throw pillows, area rugs, and collectibles. “This place looks like you.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment or not?”
“It is.” He looks surprised. “I like it. It’s really... nice.”
“All right then. Come on in, and I’ll open the wine before we start the movie. I’ve got snacks for us since who watches movies without snacks?” I pause. “Or maybe you do.”
“I don’t actually watch movies much at all, but snacks sound good to me.”
I’m feeling more comfortable now. He doesn’t seem as uptight as normal, and he’s smiled and laughed like a normal person.
I really like how he looks. I want to run my hand over his closely cropped hair to see how it feels against my skin. He’s always clean-shaven, but I want to rub my cheek against his jaw to see if he has any bristles. I want to untuck his shirt and get my hands beneath it so I can feel his lean abs, his straight back.
I catch myself before I go too far with that series of thoughts.
We’re here so we can get along better as office mates.
We’re not here for a sex marathon, no matter how tempting I find him.
He follows me into the kitchen as I open and pour the wine, and then we carry our glasses and the snacks I prepared into the living room. He sits on the couch beside me. Maybe just so we can share the popcorn.
