Chapter 19
Stella:
The rational part of my brain maintained a running commentary of disapproval, noting each small compromise and boundary violation, but I silenced it with the same justification I'd been using all week: I was simply helping out a friend by checking on her brother.
The fact that said brother also happened to be my student was entirely beside the point.
The walk from the parking lot to West Suites felt longer than it should have, my heels clicking against the pavement as the evening air carried the scent of jasmine.
Students passed me in clusters, their laughter creating a soundtrack of normalcy that only highlighted how abnormal my current mission actually was.
A professor delivering dinner to a student's dorm room at seven o'clock on a Thursday evening—it was the kind of scenario that would raise eyebrows in any faculty meeting.
But I kept walking, the bag of food warm in my hands, telling myself this would be quick and businesslike.
Noah answered his door on the second knock, and I immediately regretted every decision that had led me to this moment.
He was shirtless.
Completely, utterly shirtless, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, his hair damp from a recent shower.
Water droplets still clung to his shoulders, tracing paths down his chest that my eyes followed for a mortifying half-second before I forced my gaze upward to his face.
Where he was smirking at me with knowing amusement.
"Professor Morrison," he said, making no move to cover himself. "This is unexpected."
I felt heat flood my face and thrust the Chipotle bag toward him like a shield. "Your sister asked me to drop off some real food. She's concerned you're not eating properly while your hand heals."
"Of course she is," he said, taking the bag but not stepping back. "Come in. Tyler and Marcus are at the library."
I stood in the doorway of Noah's dorm room, and those hazel eyes were watching me with an intensity.
"Five minutes," I heard myself say, and stepped across the threshold before I could change my mind.
The door clicked shut behind me, and suddenly the air felt thicker, charged with something I refused to name.
Noah's suite was surprisingly tidy for a freshman dorm—textbooks stacked on the coffee table, a blanket folded over the arm of the couch, dishes actually in the dish rack rather than piled in the sink.
"Your roommates are neat," I said, because I needed to say something, anything to fill the silence that felt too intimate, too dangerous.
"Tyler's a slob, Marcus leaves camera equipment everywhere, and I'm the one who cleans." Noah moved past me toward the small kitchen area, and I caught the scent of his soap, something clean and masculine that made my stomach flip in a way I absolutely could not afford to acknowledge.
"Zoe asked me to make sure you ate something that wasn't instant ramen. Consider her request fulfilled."
"Zoe worries too much." But he was already unpacking the bag, and I noticed the way his expression softened when he saw I'd remembered his usual order—chicken bowl, extra guacamole, mild salsa. "Though I'm starting to think she has ulterior motives."
"What do you mean?"
He pulled out his phone, and I heard the camera shutter sound before I could process what was happening. Noah grinned at the screen, his thumbs already moving across the keyboard. "Just sending my sister proof that her mission was successful."
My phone buzzed in my pocket almost immediately.
I pulled it out to find a text from Zoe—a photo of Noah holding up the Chipotle bowl with an exaggerated grateful expression, followed by: "YOU'RE THE BEST. Seriously, thank you for looking after him. Jason and I will come see you both after the honeymoon!"
I stared at the message, my throat tightening. The casual way she lumped us together—"you both"—as if we were some kind of unit, as if it was perfectly normal for me to be playing delivery service for her nineteen-year-old brother who also happened to be my student.
"She seems happy," Noah said, and when I looked up, he was watching me with that unnerving perceptiveness that always caught me off guard.
"She should be. She just got married." I moved to sit on the arm of his couch, resigned to my fate. "Now eat before it gets cold. I'm not leaving until I see you finish that bowl."
Noah's eyebrows shot up. "You're staying?"
"Zoe will interrogate me about whether you actually ate. I need evidence." I crossed my arms, trying to ignore how domestic this felt—me perched in his living room while he unpacked his dinner like we did this every Thursday night.
"So you're saying this is purely for documentation purposes." He grabbed a fork and settled onto the couch, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. "Not because you enjoy my company or anything."
"Eat, Mr. Carter."
"You know," he said between bites, "you're much bossier outside of office hours. I kind of like it."
I felt heat creep up my neck. "I'm not bossy. I'm ensuring my friend's brother doesn't survive on instant ramen and energy drinks."
"Mmhmm." He pointed his fork at me. "That's exactly what someone bossy would say." His eyes drifted down, then back up with an appreciative glint that made my stomach flip. "By the way, that skirt is really working for you, Professor. Very... professional."
"Noah."
"What? I'm just saying you have great taste in professional attire." He took another bite, completely unbothered by my warning tone. "And excellent legs. Very academically appropriate legs."
I felt my face flame, and the urge to grab his ear and twist it until he yelped was almost overwhelming. "Are you seriously complimenting my legs right now?"
"I'm complimenting your entire aesthetic. The legs are just a notable feature." He grinned at me over his bowl, completely shameless.
I cut myself off, realizing I was being baited, and reached down as if to snatch the food container away. "If you're going to spend more time talking than eating, I'll take this back and tell Zoe you refused her generosity."
"Okay, okay! Mercy!" But even as he was pleading, his eyes were dancing with laughter. "You know, this is a very hands-on teaching approach, Professor Morrison."
My hand hovered over the container for one more second before I pulled it back and crossed my arms. "Eat. Now."
"There's the bossy thing again." But he was shoveling food into his mouth now, and I noticed his eyes kept drifting back to me with something warmer than teasing. "You know, Zoe used to do this when I was in high school. Show up with food and refuse to leave until I ate."
Something in my chest tightened. "She worries about you."
"Yeah, but she's my sister. That's her job." He set down his empty bowl and turned to face me fully. "What's your excuse?"