by Noelle Adams
“I’m not asleep. I’m not sure how it’s possible to sleep when you’re as happy as I am now.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Did you not understand what I was saying before?”
“I understand. It’s just hard for me to process that all my dreams seem to be coming true.”
“They’re my dreams too,” he says, rubbing his cheek against mine. “I’ve spent my life dreaming of someone who would see me for real, want who I am, and love me completely.”
I sniff like the sap I am. “I do. And I’ve spent my whole life dreaming of the same thing.”
We hug again for a minute and then settle back in a more comfortable position. He’s on his back, and I’m fit against his side, half on top of him with my cheek resting on his shoulder.
I ask him, “So you really were interested in me from the very beginning?”
“Of course I was. How could I not be? I was all focused on doing a good job in my new position and getting my book done and trying to spend some time with my sister when you just sort of exploded into my life—all hair and cleavage and lips and laughter and passion and sweetness. I don’t think I made it through the first ten minutes of meeting you before I started imagining taking you to bed. Then the more I got to know you, the more I wanted you. Not just in my bed but in my life. I couldn’t believe when you kissed me. It never even occurred to me that you’d want me too. Then when we started having sex, it was so good I was afraid of messing it up. So I tried to play it cool and act like it was a normal beginning to a relationship instead of one lovesick fool always drooling over you.”
I snicker at that, although my heart is a puddle of good in my chest. “You did a good job of acting cool. I had no idea.”
“I’ve learned how to not let my feelings show. That was a weakness I couldn’t risk in my family.”
My swoony smile fades into a frown. “It’s not right that you were made to feel that way. You never have to hide things or act cool with me.”
He starts pressing kisses against my mouth. My right cheek. My throat. “That’s good to know.”
His kisses continue, and soon I’m responding with all the passion in my heart. He takes off my clothes and kisses and caresses me all over until I’m babbling out my pleasure and need and grinding against him uninhibitedly.
He seems to like me in this state. He keeps teasing me until I’m begging for him to make me come. When he finally does—with his hands and his mouth—I can’t hold back my loud cries of release. They echo through the house.
Maybe outside the house. I don’t know and I don’t care.
Nothing has ever felt as good as being with Evan like this. Having him love me like this.
When he’s finally gotten his fill of pleasing me, he takes off the rest of his clothes. Since I’ve already come a few times, I can take my time in making him feel good too. I kiss and touch him all over. I wrap my lips around his erection and suck a few times, making him groan in the most erotic way.
Then I let him slip out of my mouth, and he turns me over on my hands and knees with my butt up in the air. He takes me from behind. I look at him over my shoulder, and he leans over to kiss me as he pushes his way in.
We’ve forgotten the condom. I realize it after he’s fully inside me.
“Shit,” he mutters, freezing in place. “The condom.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’m on birth control. I want you just like this.”
He doesn’t argue. Just closes his eyes and moans as he makes his first slow thrust.
The slow rhythm doesn’t last for long. Soon he’s eager and forceful, pumping his hips fast and bumping his pelvis against my bottom to make a sexy, slapping sound.
I’m so far gone from foreplay and the revelation of love that I’m coming before I’m prepared for it. I sob loud and sloppy as a climax overtakes me. I shake with the sensations until my whole body is jiggling wildly.
“Oh fuck, baby,” he gasps, pushing against my contractions. “I love you so much. There’s never been anyone in the world like you.”
I come again from his words. Or maybe I never stopped coming.
He’s coming too, so both of us are shaking and jerking. The couch is rocking wildly as we work through the spasms of release.
We collapse together in a tangle of hot flesh, limp limbs, and loud gasping. He rearranges me so he can hold me close. I’m sore and wet between my legs from his fluids and mine. It’s almost uncomfortable.
I don’t care. I don’t want to be anywhere but here.
“I love you,” I whisper, kissing his shoulder.
“I love you too. I can’t believe you’re really mine.”
I smile. “Well, I am. And as long as you’re mine, I’ll be yours too.”
A MONTH LATER, I’M grading papers in the office and grumbling every time I get to the bottom of a page.
Grumbling in my mind. Most of the time, I manage to keep myself from doing it out loud.
While it would be nice to believe that finding love could make my problems go away, grading papers is a struggle that even the greatest of love can’t assuage.
They’re painful. And these are the most painful papers to grade of the semester because they’re sophomore-level research papers.
My upper-level papers are longer, but they also tend to be better.
Most of these are just terrible, and a couple are clearly downloaded from online without even the slightest attempt to mask the cheating.
I’m scowling at a particularly boring paper—it’s not plagiarized, but it’s also as tedious as a paper can get—when Evan returns from his second class of the day.
It’s Tuesday, so he’s got two classes in the morning and one long one at six in the evening.
He laughs as he puts his stuff down on his desk.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, slanting him a peeved look since no one should be laughing while I’m tortured by papers to grade.
“Your face. Surely they’re not that bad.” His eyes are warm and affectionate, although his mouth is just barely twitching with a smile.
“They’re terrible!” I moan, dropping my head onto my desk in an exaggerated gesture of despair. “How can anyone write so bad?”
He laughs again and comes over to read my computer screen over my shoulder. “Well,” he says, after reading for a minute. “I think this person is in my British lit class. How many people can use an apostrophe wrong in so many unique and disastrous ways?”
I giggle and grab his hand, pulling it to my face to plant a kiss on his palm. I drop it quickly though since I want to finish this paper before lunch.
He leaves me alone to do so as he puts his stuff away and checks his email. He’s quiet for so long I look over as I’m writing my final comments on the paper. He’s loosened his tie (just slightly), and he’s leaning back in his desk chair as far as it will go.
He’s giving me the sweetest little smile.
I have to fight not to smile back. “Are you sitting there watching me suffer?”
“You do it so dramatically. It’s fascinating to watch.”
“If I recall, this weekend you were muttering out historic curses while you were grading your Renaissance lit papers, so I don’t think you have any grounds to judge me.”
“I’m not judging you, baby. I’m enjoying you. It’s not even close to the same thing.”
I shake my head at him, trying to maintain a disapproving expression. Failing utterly. “Well, try to enjoy me in quiet. I’ve got to think of something insightful to say about this paper.”
“Just write this: I can tell you’ve done some thinking on this topic, and you’ve found a few good sources. But you need to strengthen your argument and use your research more effectively. And your writing needs a lot more proofreading.”
I gape at him in astonishment. “How could you possibly get all that from just scanning a couple of paragraphs over my shoulder?”
“Did I get it right? I swear I end up w
riting that exact thing on about half my papers.”
I give him an eye roll as I turn back to my computer. So sue me. I write one of his sentences down in my comments verbatim and then shrug and add the proofreading sentence too.
Then I slap a C- on the paper and close out the document, uploading it to the online class portal before I close that out too.
“Halfway done,” I announce. I glance at the clock and see that it’s almost noon. “You ready to go down to lunch?”
“I’m ready.” He stands up and buttons his suit.
The gesture is so Evan-like that I go over and give him a quick hug.
He returns the hug, looking both surprised and pleased. Then we head downstairs and outside to find that Marcus and Jennifer are standing next to the fountain in the middle of campus, waiting for us.
Marcus has his arm around Jennifer, and he’s grinning as we approach.
He looks happy. Both of them do. They’re getting married in a couple of months.
I’m not even thinking about marriage yet—other than a few random flickers of possibility that pass quickly through my mind and don’t bother me. It’s not time for Evan and me yet. We haven’t been together for very long, and we both have had a lot to work through to come together the way we have.
I haven’t met his parents yet, but I’ve joined him a few times for lunch with his sister on Saturdays.
I never have doubts about Evan’s feelings anymore. We’re going to get there eventually.
I’m not in any hurry. I’m going to enjoy the stage we’re in right now.
He takes my hand as we approach Jennifer and Marcus and keeps holding it as we greet them. We have a brief conversation about where we’re going to lunch, and we decide to walk to a sandwich place that’s just four blocks away from campus.
Evan gives me a little kiss as we start walking. We’re right in the middle of campus, and there’s a lot of people around to see.
I’m getting used to it. It doesn’t bother me that much that he and I are a hot source of gossip.
Pretty soon no one will care that I fell in love with my office mate. And maybe a little part of me likes that I’m the girl the most eligible man around fell for.
I’ve never been that girl before.
He’s a lot more than that to me though. He sees me for who I am and loves me for it, exactly as I do him.
There are no guarantees in this life, but I don’t think that’s going to change.
I was waiting for my Faramir, but what I’ve found is even better.
Epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER, I’M in the library checking to make sure there are enough books available for my students to use for their research topics this semester. I should be able to check the catalog, but I learned a long time ago to also check the shelves to ensure the books are there and easily identifiable, or I’ll have students whining that they couldn’t find anything to use.
I have to make them use at least two books and two articles from academic journals, or they’ll end up with nothing but the most shallow of internet sources.
Once I’ve verified that there’s enough available for them to be without an excuse, I start down the back stairwell to the ground floor. I’ve run out of excuses now. I’ve done every piddly thing on my to-do list and emptied out my email inbox.
I’ll have to start grading papers now.
No more artificial delays.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs and open the door, I stop in surprise. The facilities crew is here moving furniture around.
I wave at a couple of guys I know, but they look busy so I don’t stop to ask them what’s going on. Instead, I see Katrina behind the research help desk, and I head over toward her.
“What are they doing?” I ask when I reach her.
“We’re redoing this whole section to make an exhibit space for art.”
“Oh really? That’s a nice idea.”
“I know.” She rolls her violet-blue eyes.
“Why do you look so annoyed? Don’t you like the idea?”
“I do like the idea. It’s a great place for art students to have their stuff displayed. But I suggested something similar a year and a half ago, and Martha completely refused to hear it.” Martha is her boss, the director of the library.
“So what changed her mind now?”
Katrina’s lashes narrow into a familiar look of dry skepticism that’s characteristic of her. “The new guy who’s been teaching art classes in the evening.”
“I heard they had a new adjunct, and people seem to really like him. You don’t like him?”
Her expression clears. “I don’t know him. I’m sure he’s fine. Students definitely seem to like him. But he’s one of those guys who clearly always gets his way because he’s so hot.”
“He’s hot?”
“He’s definitely hot. But he seems to have that way about him that can talk people into anything without even trying. Martha wouldn’t even hear a word from me about it, but all he had to do was mention it, and look what happens.” She waves toward the activity in the far wing of the main floor. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so pissy about it. It just annoys me. My ex-boyfriend was the same way. He could talk me into anything, and I was so spineless I went along.”
I’ve been smiling, since her annoyance is kind of amusing, but the last comment sobers me up. “I’m sure you weren’t spineless.”
She shakes her head. “I had less spine than I should’ve. I don’t know why. I’ve always kind of been that way with men. I just let them lead me around. I’ve been trying date some, but I realized I was starting to do the same thing. Focus only on them and not on what I want for myself.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m calling a moratorium on dating until I get my life the way I want it. I don’t need a guy to get what I want out of life, and I’m tired of waiting around for it.” She gives me an observant look. “You didn’t wait around. You got a PhD. You got a good job. You got a house and a lot of friends, and then when you met Evan, he just sort of fit into the life you already established for yourself. That’s what I want too.”
I reach out to squeeze her upper arm encouragingly. “I’m sure you can do it. You’ve got a good start. You started that second graduate program, and you’ve been working on the other things. I think it’s a good idea to not worry about guys for a while. If it happens, it happens. It’s not the only important thing in life.”
She nods determinedly and smiles at me. “That’s exactly right. That’s going to be my attitude from now on. You’re a good example for me.”
“I’m not sure I should be anyone’s example, but focusing on yourself sounds like an excellent plan. And just let me know if you need anyone to remind you to keep on track.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Glancing at my watch, I make a face. “Okay. Back to my office. I’ve got papers to grade.”
“Say hi to Evan for me.”
I smile at the sound of Evan’s name and give Katrina a wave as I leave the library.
I’ve never really thought of myself as a good example for anyone else, but maybe I can be. Maybe I am. I’ve made plenty of mistakes just like everyone else, but I’m really happy with my life. With what I’ve accomplished. With my friends and family.
With Evan.
We’re still sharing an office, but he’ll be getting his own in the fall since Professor Cole is finally going to retire and vacate his office. In a way, it makes me sad since I like the time I spend with Evan in our office. But it makes sense for us to have our own space at work, and if he refuses Cole’s office, it might be a long time before another good one comes available for him.
He’ll still be on the same floor as me—just one suite away—so it’s not like I’ll never get to see him at work.
And maybe soon we’ll be living together.
We spend most nights together as it is, so I think it’s likely he’ll want us to move in together soon.
I want everything with Evan, and every month that passes makes me want it even more.
Shaking the thought away, I reach the main academic building and force myself to walk up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I always get less exercise at the end of the semesters when my workload picks up, and walking the stairs is the least I can do.
I’m out of breath and dreading the papers waiting for me when I reach the office. Evan is at his computer, working on the final chapter of his book.
“Hey,” I say breathlessly.
He mumbles out a response, his eyes never leaving his computer screen. I don’t mind. He’s trying to get his book done by the deadline as well as teaching his four classes this semester. It’s not easy. He’s been working really hard, and I’m not going to distract him right now.
Pretty soon the spring semester will be over and we’ll both have the summer free of classes. We can have some fun then.
I collapse into my desk chair and grin at the side of his head.
He doesn’t see me. His tie is just slightly loosened. He’s almost due for a haircut, and one tuft of hair is sticking out askew. His expression is adorably serious.
I love him so much.
He shifts in his chair and clears his throat. It’s an oddly fidgety gesture that isn’t at all like him. I frown as I study him, and so I see when he slants a quick look over at me.
I thought he was totally focused on his writing, but he’s not.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
He frowns and doesn’t look at me. “Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. You think I don’t know you? Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong. I thought you were going to grade papers this afternoon.” He sounds almost bad-tempered. That’s not like him either.
“I am. But I don’t want to.”
“Well, they’re not going to go away just because you want them to.”
Now I’m frowning too. “What’s gotten into you?” With a huff, I turn my chair so it’s facing my computer.
I was in a good mood, but Evan is being weird, and I really don’t want to grade papers.
