A STUDY IN YOU, chapter fifteen
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April 29th, 2019
The city was warm with anticipation of summer. Somehow May was around the corner--and despite the smile on Sophie’s face when your phone lit up on the table, your stomach did a flip when her eyes met yours.
It was a stand-off for a second, a dimple appeared on her cheek and she sipped her cocktail, waiting to see if you’d say anything.
“What?”
“...Are you avoiding him?”
You rolled your eyes. Max and Naomi were stuck at their internships late, and you should have known that a night alone with Sophie would include an interrogation complete with suspicious glances and nosy questions.
The setting? Your usual booth at O’Halloran’s.
“No, I’m not avoiding him.”
“That’s the second time he’s texted you and you won’t even open it.”
“I’m with you,” you brought your drink up and slurped it through the straw. “I’m being polite.”
“Fuck being polite--I want the details.”
“There’s no update, no new details” you confessed.
Her eyebrows arched, “none?”
You shrugged. “I think he’s taking a step back. Because of graduation.”
Now her eyebrows inverted, furrowed across her forehead when her nose crinkled in confusion. “Isn’t graduation the answer to all of your prayers? You can finally bone him without the guilt!”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily true,” you blinked a few times.
Sophie leaned back in the booth, apparently she didn’t agree with you and the look on her face made that clear. Instead of replying to your remark, she kept her eyes on you for a second.
“What’s the roadblock for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why won’t you just tell him you’re into him?”
You sighed, partially embarrassed that it was that obvious, but also relieved that it wasn’t a secret you had to protect…at least not with Sophie.
“Because that wasn’t supposed to happen--this was just supposed to be some fun and casual thing and I’m the one who fucked it up by catching feelings,” you rolled your eyes at yourself, groaned a little when Sophie smiled behind the rim of her drink.
“You didn’t fuck it up,” she assured. You forgot how good Sophie was at calming your nerves…sometimes. “And in the words of the hottest woman on the planet Selena Gomez, the heart wants what it wants.”
Right, and there was that charming sense of humor. She wiggled her eyebrows at you, obviously trying to get a laugh and help you fucking chill.
You smiled, let your shoulder slump a little when you took another sip. “Well, feelings only work if it’s reciprocal.”
“How do you know it’s not?”
“He’s my advisor, our professor--” you nodded at his titles, how on earth was she not understanding this?
“Who’s slept over your house, taken you out to eat…licked your pussy--”
“Okay,” you held a hand up quickly to cut her off, stifling a quick laugh at her vulgarity. “Doesn’t negate his actual role in my life.”
“So you’re just gonna let this pass you by?” Sophie’s eyes narrowed now, her tone more serious when you let your eyes fall back to your phone. A reminder buzzed--two iMessages!!
“I don’t know. I mean, when am I supposed to tell him? And what do I do if he says he doesn’t feel the same?”
She took the last sip of her drink. “Well, we’re literally about to go on a trip to Europe with him and that feels like a really romantic experience,” she said all of this like it was obvious, like you were an idiot for not realizing the way the universe was setting you up for a slam dunk.
“And if he isn’t on the same page,” she shrugged, “you come home and lick your wounds and you only have to see him at work.”
“Another reason I shouldn’t do this,” you pointed a finger at her.
“False,” she pointed her finger right back at you. “Another reason you need to be honest and mature and--” she cut herself off, surprised by her own depth and sincerity. “Jesus,” she made a face. “When did I turn into some lesbian Oprah?”
You laughed, she slid out of the booth and went to fetch another round. You picked up your phone when she was far enough away.
Jason Sudeikis (7:12pm): Found this in my laundry, assuming it’s yours?
A picture right below his message, the black bra you were sure had gotten lost at the wash and fold down the block. You felt your lips pull into a smile at his implication, whose else would it be?
You didn’t reply. Instead, you sat with the realization that Sophie was right.
But at least you didn’t have to tell her that.
Surprisingly, she left you alone the week leading up to the trip. You went with her to campus to pick up your caps and gowns, Naomi was an anxious mess as she prepared to showcase her work, and Max was just as panicked about packing as he’d been the year before.
But this time you all knew what to expect. The flights, the hotel, the coastal city and the charm of sipping fruity cocktails in the evening glow. Which is exactly what you did on your first night there.
“Okay,” Max said once he’d successfully captured the boomerang of your clinking glasses. He flipped his sunglasses back down and leaned back in his chair, a long sip when he looked around the circle. “We’re here, we actually did it.”
Cannes was bustling with people in town for the festival. The beaches were packed and the streets echoed with excitement and allure.
“Three long years later,” Sophie smiled. “Hard to believe, sort of.”
“Hard to believe Naomi’s going to be famous after this weekend,” you eyed her with a smile. She spent most of the plane ride over sleeping, claimed that any time she spent awake now was simply filled with anticipation and anxiety a healthy dose of holy fucking shit.
You could relate.
Naomi clutched a hand to her heart and grinned. “Thanks for coming, you guys. It means a lot, really.”
“Thanks for the excuse to come back! I’ll drink cocktails with you three anywhere, but this place rocks.” Max laughed.
“Okay,” Sophie’s glass floated in the air when she let her eyes scan the three of you. “What's our must do list this weekend?”
“Must do?” Naomi asked, you were glad you weren’t the only one confused.
Sophie straightened up to explain. “The stuff we absolutely have to do here before we leave. Obviously Friday night,” she shrugged, the night of the screening.
“Can we please do a bougie dinner on Saturday or Sunday?” Max pouted. “I didn’t eat enough when we were here last year.”
“Yes,” Sophie pointed at him in agreement. “For sure.”
“Let’s do Sunday, though.”
And just like that, three heads swiveled towards you. You sipped your drink and blinked behind your sunglasses. “What?”
Naomi smirked. “Do you have plans for Saturday night?”
“Potentially,” you shrugged. “I don’t know what, but—“
“You don’t know what?” Max’s face lit up. “It’s a surprise?!”
“Okay,” you tried to backtrack, voice automatically quiet. “Calm down. He texted me this morning and said keep Saturday night free if I can. So, here I am. Keeping Saturday free.”
You nodded slowly to make sure they understood. This wasn’t a big deal. You were just doing what you were told.
“And you don’t know why?” Max clarified.
“No.”
“Wow,” Sophie nodded. “A little romantic rendezvous in the South of France!”
“Or it’s just us having dinner or something—“
“Even you can’t be dumb enough to think that,” Max challenged, eyes narrowed when the corner of his lips twitched into a smirk.
You fought the smile on your face for three whole seconds, but when Naomi caught your eye you were done for.
“I don’t know, okay? I’m not sure what he wants or where things are heading and I am trying to not panic.”
They all nodded sympathetically.
“But this trip is not about my clandestine melodrama,” you reminded.
Sophie ignored this. “Are you going to talk to him?”
You let out a huff, slightly bothered that she brought it up in front of Max and Naomi, but also uncomfortable in the spotlight. “I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Maybe. Let’s see what happens on Saturday and I’ll consider it.”
Apparently that was good enough for her. She looked back at Max and Naomi and took other requests for weekend plans: drinks at a rooftop bar near the hotel, a morning at the beach and plenty of yummy glasses of rosé and whatever other alcohol tickled your fancy.
By midnight you were all jet-lagged enough to be face down in pillows, Sophie’s snoring was was enough to interrupt your slumber on a few occasions and sharing a bed with Max didn’t make for a restful night either. Oh well.
May 11th, 2019
Swanky music played in the hotel bar, you clinked a glass of champagne against Naomi’s when Sophie said a few words. The greatest of the great, nobody deserves it more.
You hadn’t seen him yet. You’d taken the elevator down and saw a few other students that milled about, ordered glasses of prosecco this time. Max was desperate for a change.
A dress much nicer than last year, one you could afford with your upcoming NBC paychecks. Marina approached after saying hi to some NYU kids you recognized from campus. She smiled when she hugged Max in greeting but when she saw you, she offered a look that was hard to read.
“Fancy seeing you all here!”
“We couldn’t miss Naomi’s big moment,” Sophie smiled, pushing her glass against Marina’s when she humble-bragged for your friend.
Marina grinned, “yes--I’ve heard, a huge accomplishment, Naomi, you should be very proud.”
“I’m definitely trying to soak it all in,” she nodded. “Trying to not throw up.”
“Completely understandable,” Marina reassured with an apologetic smile. “But I hope you do plenty of celebrating, this is an important week for you!”
“We’re forcing the celebration,” you informed. “Dragging her out if we need to.”
“Cheers to that,” Max pushed his glass into the circle once more before taking a playful swig.
You hadn’t seen Marina much this year, a few times on campus or in the Starbucks on Broadway. You’d catch up with her quickly, tell her about your amazing experiences at NBC or catch her up on your latest projects and scripts.
She was excited to hear about what the rest of your friends had been up to this year, interrupted eventually when Jason made his way over.
You hadn’t spotted him, caught off guard by the scent of his cologne: familiar and exciting all at once.
A chorus of greetings when his hand lingered for a moment too long on your lower back, you swiped him off and caught his eye for a second when he smirked.
He smiled at your friend. “Naomi--how are you holding up? Feelin’ alright?”
She looked at him quickly, you wondered how many times she’d be asked before she’d explode.
“Now that I’m starting to feel the alcohol I’m a little better,” she confessed, a smile when she looked at you.
It felt strange, now, to know they were in on the secret: the knowing look in Naomi’s eyes and smile, the way Sophie greeted him when he joined the group like an old pal.
The boundary between your group and his felt blurry after all these years. Like it melted somewhere along the lines and now there were times like these when there almost wasn’t separation at all.
And here, in France and on this trip with only nine days standing between you and a Master’s degree, the universe seemed to be tempting you.
So close and yet so far.
Will was only a few seconds behind, he laughed with Max about your return trip, hugged you when the room thinned out as people started heading towards the theater. You tucked your phone in your clutch, walked with them all along the glowing sidewalks, made your way inside the event space and took in the ambience: fancy perfumes and fancier people.
Another round of drinks before the lights dimmed. Somehow you ended up sitting beside him and Naomi squeezed Sophie’s hand the whole time.
Her film was met with a thunderous applause and a standing ovation by your row only--which probably embarrassed her a bit but you were too proud to care. You had another celebratory drink with her and mingled with the other audience members in your area.
The lights flashed again when you snuck by the drink line, heading for your seat when he caught your wrist by the bar.
“Hey, hey—hi, do you want a drink?”
You smiled up at him, “margarita—“
“On the rocks?”
You nodded, impressed he knew your order but also flattered he’d been paying attention. When he arrived a few minutes later with his hands full (and an old fashioned for himself), Max knocked his knee into yours.
“How thoughtful of him,” he let his brows dip in the cover of dimming lights.
You sipped your drink, fluttered your eyelashes at Max and watched on.
A few hours like that, and then you found a bar a few blocks over that had a corner booth in the back. A grumpy hostess handed over drink menus and Will cracked a joke about being terrible Americans. Naomi seemed to be a little less tightly wound, she slid in beside Marina and exhaled: thank fucking god that’s over.
Sophie chatted with other students--first and second years--when she sipped a glass of wine, Max was too busy asking Will about the best and worst production companies in Hollywood.
Which left you on the other side of Max, and on the other side of Max was Jason, who was boxed in by Marina and Naomi when he looked at you.
“Hey,” he nodded, a slight smirk when your eyes met. “I like the dress,” he quipped.
Poker face, you felt a slight twitch in your brow but didn’t let on. “Thanks.”
In front of everyone, casually. He knew what he was doing.
“Might look better on the floor,” Jason said quietly, a shrug of his shoulder and a sip of his drink as if to remind you he didn’t have any skin in the game.
Max peered over at him quickly, still engulfed in conversation with Will when Jason coughed a little and then cleared his throat. A quick mutter to Max--sorry--before he smirked in your direction again.
A close call, one that you washed down with another drink and more laughter. But you were surprised by the cool air outside the bar when your group spilled onto the street.
“It’s colder than I thought out here,” you commented, mostly to Sophie.
“It’s May in the South of France,” she rolled her eyes. “Means you didn’t drink enough,” she chided, heels clicking on the pavement when she turned around to make a silly face.
The city was bustling with groups like yours, patrons and Prada bags as you meandered down the skinny sidewalks and back towards the hotel.
“Do you want this?” Jason’s fingers tugged the lapel of his suit jacket--black and warm.
“No no,” you shook your head quickly, dismissing his kindness. “I’m fine, it’s a short walk.”
The breeze off the ocean and the long-gone sun had let a chill settle over the city streets. You listened to Will and Marina bicker about Scorcese films, shivered a little when another gust came through.
Jason took off his jacket in one movement, handed it over to you without a word. Will’s eyes followed the motion and didn’t seem to think much of it. You draped his coat over your shoulders but kept listening. They joked and teased and for a moment you wondered what would happen if you reached for his hand. It was almost that easy.
You stayed behind in the hotel lobby, lingered by the bar when Sophie requested a night cap. Jesse and Will did too, Jason met your eyes when he admitted: Tired, jet-lagged, heading up now.
Three minutes after the elevator doors closed behind him and after Sophie was sipping a sangria, you carried out your end of the bit.
“Wow--well, I’m pretty tired too.”
Max and Jesse didn’t hear you, Sophie smirked at the yawn you threw in for good measure, an arm around your neck when she whispered in your ear: go get laid.
So you read his text when the overhead arrow lit up, stepped inside and felt your heart thump like it had been doing for a year.
Jason Sudeikis (12:02am): 849
It wasn’t hard to find, the same floor as last year and he opened the door and smiled.
“Wow,” you stepped inside, looked around the room at the open balcony, the king-sized bed and formal sitting area to the left. “Good to know NYU shells out for the professors.”
“Oh--well, I upgraded, actually,” he shrugged, hands in his pockets as he also took in the sight of it. “I didn’t know if you’d be…staying…with me, at all.”
You smirked at him over your shoulder, “is that an invitation?”
“I mean I’d hope that sleeping in bed with me is more appealing than sleeping in bed with Max.”
“It is,” you laughed. “For sure. And Sophie snores.”
“Oh right,” he nodded, a smile when he remembered that piece of information from last year.
Another few steps towards the balcony and out into the cool night air. The city was aglow with restaurant signs and street lamps, music floated up to his room and the yachts in the bay bounced over tiny waves.
You watched him over your shoulder, he kept his eyes on yours as he made his way over, slow and intentional when he stepped outside to join you.
“I hope your friends aren’t waiting up for you,” his lips curled.
“They’re not,” you rolled your eyes.
He laughed, brought his arm around your waist when he pressed his mouth to yours. Out in the open, you turned towards him instinctively and tilted your chin up to kiss him. Deep enough but comfortable, you smiled when he pulled away.
“What?”
You let out an apologetic laugh. “I was just thinking that they’re probably smoking weed downstairs and will soon be opening whatever bottles they find in the minifridge.”
His eyes widened a little at your confession. He nodded and smiled down at you. “That’s what was going through your head as I kissed you?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Hm,” he nodded. “That’s problematic.”
“Why’s that?”
He took your wrist and brought you back into the room, explaining over his shoulder with a playful smile: “I brought you back here because I’ve grown particularly fond of kissing you, and having sex with you--”
You let your eyebrows furrow, egging him on with a challenging smirk. “You have?”
“And I also enjoy when you’re so turned on by me that you can’t focus on anything else.”
“Feels a little narcissistic of you,” you commented.
Inside now, he turned to face you and smiled when you kept his gaze.
“No, actually, it’s quite selfless of me.”
You sat on the edge of his mattress, wondering how long you could do this before you tugged him down and top of you by the shirt collar.
“Selfless?”
“Selfless,” he nodded, a step forward.
Your hand reached out for his belt buckle, eager to progress towards skin and friction and heat. But he swatted you away and smirked.
He brought his hand to your jaw and leaned down to kiss you, his suit jacket still on the chair where you’d left it. Maybe it had been the sight of you in his clothes, the way you wanted to slip your fingers between his on the sidewalk and the way your friends acted like all of this was normal.
He liked the way you kissed him back, and eventually he nudged you onto your back and pulled your thighs down towards his face. You giggled when he tugged your panties to your ankles, felt your tummy tighten when he pressed kisses to the exposed skin.
His tongue lapped at your center after he couldn’t resist you, a choreographed number of flicks and fingers when you started to make more noise. Your fingers grabbed onto his hair, desperate to feel his tongue inside of you at the edge of the bed.
You pulled him up and worked at the buttons of his shirt, one by one until he tossed it to the floor and then stepped out of his pants. It was easier now, you noticed, to giggle and joke and tell him what you wanted and when.
He unzipped your dress and let his eyes sweep over your figure, he grew beneath the fabric of his boxers and even more when your mouth wrapped around him. He watched with hungry eyes but decided that wasn’t enough, he wanted all of you.
So you tugged him down like you knew you always would, let out a gasp when he pushed himself inside of you.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he sighed, a rhythm in his hips when you arched into him.
“I would love,” you breathed, “to be fucked…hard.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
May 12th, 2019
His arm was draped over your waist when you woke up, sun filtered in through the curtain and you reached for your phone to see the time. 8:54am. Texts from the night before:
Max Prescott (1:35am): This bed is nice without you do not come back
Sophie Mendez (1:54am): Say hi to the PROFESSOR YOU’RE BANGING
Naomi Halter (1:55am): we love you have fun ignore the two assholes you stranded me with
Keep readingYou giggled quietly to yourself, felt the sheets rustle beside you when he opened his eyes.
“Morning,” he stretched, smiled a little when you clicked your phone shut and turned to face him, wondering if this would ever get old.
“Hi,” you greeted him quietly.
“Don’t even think about asking me what we’re doing tonight,” he said with a sleepy laugh when he sat up in bed, a look in your direction that told you not to push it. He stretched and peered over his shoulder, like he knew you had a comeback.
“I’m supposed to just go somewhere blindly with you?” As you said this he tood and walked over to the balcony in his boxers, hair messy from sleep and sex.
He turned to see you over his shoulder again, shrugged playfully: “Maybe I should get a blindfold.”
“No, no,” you backed off, lips twisting into a smile when he turned around. “I’ll be good, I swear.”
“Good,” he smirked, you could see the wheels turning in his head when he delivered his punch line. A few steps towards you when he spoke: “you’ve always been a rule follower. Some might say…a teacher’s pet.”
“I don’t have to go anywhere with you,” you reminded, a challenging look when you tugged the sheet to cover more skin.
He laughed, came and leaned forward to press a kiss to your mouth. It felt good. Warm. Normal to wake up beside him and normal to shower in his hotel room.
So after meeting up with your friends in the lobby for breakfast you walked around town, hoping they wouldn’t dig too hard for details or corner you in a boutique when you looked at bracelets.
The questions didn’t come until the walk back, the cobblestone sidewalks were easier to navigate than their prying: is he taking you somewhere overnight? Has he said anything about graduation?
You tried to play it off and ignore the ever present buzzing of your own questions, pricking and prodding as the clock ticked.
They sat on the bed in your joint hotel room and watched you try on outfits, Sophie pinched your ass before you blew an air kiss on exit, promising to give a full update upon your return. You could hear Max through the door once you walked down the hall and towards the elevator: She’s not coming back tonight.
Probably true.
Three blocks away from the hotel and around a street corner he stood next to an old car. The shade from gothic buildings covered his side of the street, an evening glow hung over the city.
You let out a laugh when he twirled the keys around his finger but almost dropped them onto the pavement. “Ready?” He lifted his sunglasses.
“We need a car? Where are we going?”
“You have to get in first,” he shrugged, walking around to open the passenger side door for you to climb in. You took a few steps forward, eyed him suspiciously when he smiled. “Just trust me. It’s fine.”
“Sounds like what a kidnapper would say, but I’ll let it slide,” you teased.
“Oh relax,” he laughed, climbing in beside you after rounding the hood of the car. You couldn’t tell the make or the model, knew from the leather interior and the radio in the dash that it might have been as old as you were. “It’s supposed to be--” he cut himself off quickly, “cute, or something, I don’t know.”
You felt your eyebrows raise when he started the engine, watched the palm trees pass by when he made his way out of town. Cute? He wanted to do something cute for you?
You bit your lip when he turned the radio on, then told you about the first time he came here--back in his early thirties--as the scenery shifted from bustling port to quaint country.
You sang along and laughed when he butchered the words to an old Britney song and for a moment his hand found yours and stayed atop your lap, but a bump in the road or any sudden movement could shatter the moment around you.
He pulled up to another coastal village within the hour, promised that you’d enjoy the evening when he opened your door to another cobblestone sidewalk by the sea.
“Dinner, nothing crazy,” he relented once he led you down the street and pointed at the fancy awning and script letters: La Baumette. “But since we can never really go out in New York I figured a tiny town in the South of France might be a bit more…private.”
“It’s beautiful,” you looked around, more palm trees and yachts that speckled the blue sea. “Hold on,” you said, reaching out to smack his chest. “Photo op!”
He rolled his eyes dramatically, smiled when he outstretched his hand.
“Oh come on,” you teased, a few steps over towards the railing when you pulled your phone out of your purse. “Enlighten me.”
He came over, slipped an arm around your waist and took the phone right out of your hand. He pressed his face against yours and smiled. He took two, handed it back to you and inspected them over your shoulder.
“A decent photo,” he quipped, a smile down at you when you looked up at him.
The words almost crept up your throat and over your tongue, slipping out into the orange sky when a man in a suit appeared with menus and gestured for both of you to follow.
I could spend every day doing things like this with you.
So you followed him over to a restaurant with oceanside seating, sipped prosecco and hoped that eventually, your heart would stop pounding and you’d be able to muster up the courage to ask what stood on the other side of your degree.
You ordered chicken and he got a risotto dish, it was easy to laugh about Will’s close call getting to the airport for the flight over, easy to talk like everything was about this was normal.
He kissed you on the sidewalk and licked from your gelato cone without permission and you knew. You were running out of time.
But the thought of bringing it all up and asking for some kind of something from him threatened to burst the bubble of an otherwise perfect evening, perhaps the best night you’d had with him, ever.
One without secrecy and uncertainty and one that, you realized, you could have stayed in forever.
But when you got back to the hotel reality set in. Sophie had agreed to be your cover--a fancy dinner for two best gal pals in case you were caught in the lobby and got suspicious glances. But the other faculty were nowhere to be found, too early for a nightcap at the bar.
“Jason!”
You heard his name from over your shoulder, you both spun and his brows arched at the sight: three guys his age in suits and ties and one of them was Will. Your stomach dropped.
“Hey, hi!” Jason said, a look down at you before he took a few steps over. Surprised but he hugged them, you stood awkwardly off to the side and wondered how much Will knew when he offered a tight-lipped smile in your direction. “I had no idea you guys were gonna be here this year--how are you? Holy shit! How’s Chicago?”
Right. Friends from a former life or former job and you were reduced to the 20-something who was waiting for validation and reassurance from the older guy you were sleeping with. Fuck.
They fell into conversation and you felt Will’s eyes on you. No introduction, no gesture in your direction, my student, one of my writers, nothing. You offered a tiny smile and cut in.
“Sorry--uh--Jason, nice to bump into you on the sidewalk,” a wave to Will despite the tension that now hung in the lobby. “Have a good night.”
You turned and felt their eyes on you, anger in your chest when you realized that you’d probably be stuck on the sidelines, like that, forever. Eighteen steps to the elevator and you pressed the button to ascend with a clenched jaw.
“Hey, hey--what was that?” He was behind you now, his hand around your wrist when the doors opened.
“Nothing, I’m good,” you shook out of his hold and stepped inside, forced a smile that he didn’t believe. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Y/N,” he made a face, looked over his shoulder, and then stepped inside. “What’s happening right now?”
The doors slid shut, only the two of you inside when you selected his floor. You had no clue where your friends were—hadn’t even seen Sophie in the lobby—and whatever conversation was about to unfold didn’t seem like one they’d want to walk in on.
“Nothing, Jason--okay? You can go hang out with Will and those guys, I’ll just get my stuff from your room and go.”
“Those guys are grad school friends,” he informed, “and if I did something wrong I’m gonna need you to tell me because I have no idea how we went from having a great day to this.” He motioned around the elevator as it slowed to a stop, as if your emotions had spilled onto the floor and were a mess he needed to clean up.
You stepped out and turned down the hall towards his room. You talked over your shoulder, “that was awkward for me--I was just standing there. Will saw us come in, and I have no idea what he knows, you didn’t even introduce me to them at all.”
He kept up behind you, pulled his keycard from his wallet when you approached the door to his room. He swiped, pushed it open and let you in. “Okay--sorry, yeah, I was thrown off by seeing them--”
Your clothes were on the coffee table, your toothbrush in the bathroom. Maybe it was the impending giant change in your life or the three glasses of prosecco you had with dinner, but either way, the emotion pushed itself into your eyes.
“I know,” you turned around quickly. The door latched shut behind him, he stared at you with lips parted, like he could tell that this might be the breaking point. “But after the day we had today and sleeping with you for nearly a year and playing this fucking game--or whatever it is that we’re doing!--it sucks to not even be introduced at all.”
He was defensive now, forehead wrinkled when he stammered. “Well I’m sorry, we can go back down and I’ll tell them--”
“No!” You groaned, letting your hands slap against your side as you walked further into the room. Time to get your shit and go. “I can’t do the charade anymore, okay? I can’t sit around and pretend I’m not going home with you or that this isn’t--” a long pause when you sighed, “something.”
“What am I supposed to do, Y/N? Walk in and introduce you and say, hey everyone, this is my student I’ve been fucking for almost a year?”
The frustration in his voice was clear, like he couldn’t even fathom why this was so hard for you to understand. Sure--he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t expose you and your bad choices and he certainly couldn’t expose himself, but the same question tugged at your heart and your thoughts when you looked up at him. He sighed again, like he had to state the obvious to keep both of you in reality. “We’re not a couple.”
No shit. But it only made you more angry.
“Even though the other pillows on my bed smell like you? And the fact that you took care of me after my birthday and you keep those chips in your stupid kitchen because you know I like them?”
He was quiet now, the words you finally spit out landed at his feet with a thud. A shrug of his shoulders when he shook his head and looked around the room.
“We can’t, Y/N--it’s not--” he sighed, cutting himself off when he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I can’t fuck this core faculty thing up.”
You hated the way your eyes were watering, hated the knot in your stomach when his words made it clear: he was choosing his job over you.
But what hurt worse than the look on his face when he tried to let you down gently was the voice in your own head that started screaming: I told you so, I told you so, I told you so.
Of course he had to choose his job over you. You were just stupid enough to be hurt by it.
“Yeah, no--I get it,” you shrugged, a few steps towards the door when you put words in his mouth. “It’s just sex and it’s just fun--”
“That’s not what I said.”
“--and you can’t risk your job and it’s better we just end all of this now.”
He knew you were being flippant, knew that there was anger laced in every word you said as you walked over to the door. “So you’re leaving because I didn’t introduce you to those guys downstairs?”
“No,” you said with a shake of your head, disappointed that he thought this was more petty than it was. “I’m leaving because I don’t want to be your secret anymore.”
You didn’t give him a chance to reply. You tugged the handle and pushed the door open into the hallway, partially because you didn’t feel like crying in front of him but also because the air in his room felt stiff and hot and like it’d wrap around your throat and choke you any second.
You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t admit that you were stupid enough to fall for him and you certainly couldn’t admit it if he was going to look at you like that: like the kid he’d accidentally led on for almost 365 days.
Bitter and alone and even more emotional thanks to the prosecco. You wiped your eyes when the doors to the elevator parted on his floor, another cruel joke from the universe when Marina--who now looked concerned at the sight of you--blinked a few times.
“Hi,” you said shakily, wiped under your eyes to hide the evidence. “Sorry--I’m okay, just tired.”
“That feels…like a load of shit,” she laughed a little, stepped off and crossed her arms. The hallway was quiet, you were quiet, unsure what to say. When you didn’t speak, Marina shrugged. “Wanna go down to the bar and get a drink?”
So you followed her back into the elevator, laughed when she joked about being a tourist with a fanny pack. You hung your purse on a stool at the bar, climbed up and eyed the menu when she slid it over.
She scanned over the cocktail list and didn’t make eye contact, her offer was casual: “Wanna talk?”
“I just had a bad night,” you dismissed, hoping that in the morning those words would feel more true.
You wondered what he was doing upstairs. Sitting on his bed like he had been when you left? Head in his hands? Exasperated and confused just like you?
She looked over at you now, eyebrows arched on her forehead. “Because of a man?”
You nodded. That felt safe to admit.
“Professor Sudeikis?”
You looked up at her quickly, eyes wide and lips parted. “No--” you shook your head.
She smiled, looked back down at the drink list and shrugged. “Your secret’s safe with me--I mean, you know, if it is because of him.”
You were silent, stomach in a knot and desperately trying to figure out what to say. I would never, he would never, it’s not like that.
But the way she smiled when she looked at you again brought a wave of relief. It didn’t feel judgmental, didn’t feel like she was disapproving or ready to call Dean Vasquez and rat you out. Instead, she waited for a moment, curiosity in her eyes before the bartender materialized in front of you. You both ordered: a gin and tonic for her and more prosecco for you, so much for celebrating. A deep breath when you turned to face her.
“How do you know?”
“Well--I don’t,” she said honestly, a little bit of a laugh. “Instinct, gut feeling, I guess.”
“I know it’s wrong,” you nodded quickly, figuring it was best to get out in front of it. “Unethical and immoral and fucked up.”
She looked surprised at the last one. “Then why’s it happening?”
You swallowed, dropped her gaze and inspected the polish in your nails. A single shrug. “Because I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” she laughed. “I mean, sleeping with your professor might not be the greatest decision you’ve ever made but…it takes two to tango.”
You nodded, already wondering if you’d said too much. “Please don’t say anything, Marina--I know it’s fucked up and I know it’s wrong but it’s done now. It’s definitely finished.”
You hoped those were good enough reasons. All of that paired with the fact that you knew Marina liked you and you knew she thought you were a great filmmaker.
She thought on this for a second, nodded to herself as she thought it over. “You’re also graduating in, like, a week. After that you can sleep with whoever you want.”
“I don’t think he even wants to speak to me right now, so--”
“He’s an idiot,” she said suddenly, a roll of her eyes when she put her elbows on the bar.
“What do you mean?”
A pause before she answered, like she didn’t know how to say it. “I figured that there might be something between the two of you,” she lowered her voice. “I mean, you guys are ridiculously flirty and even I’ve seen it.”
You shrunk at this. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You knew it was a bad idea from the start.
“But I didn’t know it was actually happening. If he’s already slept with you and is ending it now two weeks before you graduate because of a fight or disagreement or something, he’s stupid.”
You laughed a little, thankful for her solidarity despite the messy situation.
“I think we let it go on too long,” you said honestly. “Once or twice might have been fun, but, I don’t know. Now it’s messy and the lines are blurred and--” you cut yourself off. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be venting to you.”
The corner of her mouth pulled up, the bartender appeared and placed your drinks on napkins. “Now it’s messy and the lines are blurred?”
Okay, so you actually could talk to her about it.
“I mean, maybe not now,” you laughed. “It’s been messy.”
“Well,” she lifted her drink and let it bump against yours. “If you’d like to share, what made tonight end in tears?”
You watched as she took a sip, thought about how to string the words together to make yourself sound less pathetic.
“I--uh--kind of casually implied that it might be nice…if it were more than just…casual.”
She nodded along.
“But that was not received well,” you admitted.
“Ah,” Marina nodded.
“And I get it,” you said now, apparently the flood gates had opened and you were ready to talk it through. “He’s got the whole core faculty thing next year and obviously it’s not a good look.”
“Not exactly,” she agreed. A beat when you let out a sigh and took another sip. She was hesitant, unsure if she should even ask: “Do you have, like, real feelings for him?”
You laughed a little, watched the bubbles rise in your glass when you put it back atop a square napkin. Marina nodded, knew without words that your reaction was a yes. Luckily she knew not to pour salt in a wound.
“Well, you didn’t ask, but…from one woman to another, you’re too smart and talented and you have too much ahead of you to let some asshole guy make you feel like you’re not good enough.”
You giggled a little, let your eyes glance in her direction. “I thought you and Jason were friends?”
“Oh we are,” she nodded emphatically. “But that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of being an asshole.”
Another sip, she clinked her glass against yours and eventually Sophie showed up to take over. Naomi and Max, too, and when you climbed into bed that night beside Max and heard Sophie’s snoring, you felt a tiny bit better.
At least you could always count on them.
May 16th, 2019
To: Y/N L/N
From: Jason Sudeikis
Subject: Final grade
May 16th, 2019 - 1:56pm
Hi Y/N,
Thanks for submitting your final paper early, it’s great. Final grade for Theory and Practice Seminar is an A.
JS
--
Prof. Jason Sudeikis, PhD
Cinema Studies, NYU Tisch
Office hours M/W 10am-12pm or by appointment
To: Jason Sudeikis
From: Y/N L/N
Subject: RE: Final grade
May 16th, 2019 - 6:28pm
Hi
Sounds good, thanks
Best,
Y/N L/N
MFA Candidate
Cinema Studies, NYU Tisch
(212-555-8495)
**
You’d never been a fan of long flights. Luckily, the one home from France seven days prior was made more manageable thanks to the window seat that Max offered up and the half Xanax of Sophie’s that you took with a swig of apple juice at the airport.
Jason and the rest of the NYU crew were on the same flight, different rows, far away, and fortunately there were no bathroom run-ins.
New York had bloomed in the days you were gone, your apartment felt tinier upon return and you immediately scoured the internet for job postings over a glass of red blend.
Not that you planned on applying. You know, you were just covering your bases.
A week off from work thanks to your impending graduation ceremony, a giant vase of purple flowers arrived from all of them. Dan, Jennie, Javier, and Jason. You wondered what he said when one of them suggested it. It was probably Jennie.
Your friends were supportive. They requested your presence at every pre-graduation event: cap decorating at O’Halloran’s and some type of booze cruise on the Hudson. The good thing is that they didn’t give you shit when you flaked at the last second both times.
In fact, you managed to make it through the whole week without a lecture from any of them about rebounding. Until you were on the subway heading for Yankee Stadium.
Your purple cap and gown was itchy, you stood next to Sophie by one of the doors and watched as Max scrolled on Tinder.
“Have you swiped right on anyone, ever?” You smirked at him a little, he looked up at you quickly and was already unimpressed.
“I’m picky--which is a good thing.”
“True,” you nodded. “Wouldn’t want you to accidentally end up with a loser.”
He looked back down at his screen and kept swiping. “Have you even been on any of the apps in the last year?”
Sophie let out a sharp laugh. “I bet her last chat is from when she matched with Sudeikis.”
“So what if it is?” You asked her.
Max looked up at you with puppy-eyes. “Maybe you need a hot date to take your mind off of Professor Daddy?”
“I would rather wine and weed,” you said honestly.
“He’s onto something,” Sophie pointed at Max. “Sometimes a rebound fuck is fun.”
“No thanks.”
“You’re being miserable on purpose,” Max made a face.
“Okay,” Naomi held up a hand. “Today is a happy day, remember? We’re all happy.”
She was looking at you. So you offered a giant grin and made your eyes bug out of your head, followed them to the student meeting area and checked in with your NYU IDs. You avoided the area where the professors were, had no clue if he was over there in his own dumb cap and dumb gown as part of the tradition of the day, but you figured that if one of your friends saw him, you’d find out within a quick 60-seconds.
The seats in the stadium were cramped and sticky, and the May sun was unforgiving. Your family was somewhere in the giant crowd and the whole thing felt anti-climatic. A ninety-minute ceremony and suddenly, just like that, you had a degree and a damaged ego.
It was a happy day. No matter how the last year of your master’s program went, you were proud of the accomplishment and proud of your friends. At least that’s what you planned on telling your parents when you met up with them for lunch in Chelsea.
They wanted to freshen up first, according to a text from your mom. So when they went back to their hotel you took the long way home, got off a few stops early and walked through Union Square to trade in your regalia for celebration-appropriate street clothes.
Another three days before you’d have to face him, plenty of time to think up some kind of out and rehearse it endlessly in front of your mirror: no hard feelings, let’s pretend it never happened, strictly professional.
Your diploma would arrive by mail in a matter of weeks, but now the last three years felt too big to print on paper. Countless scripts and short films, late nights in the library had all culminated into student loans and incomprehensible confusion.
At least you had a job you liked. Too bad you’d already slept with the boss.
So you were sad overall. Angry, sure, about the way he let you walk out of his room that night and the way he hadn’t texted you in a week. He avoided you in the lobby the morning you left and he hadn’t called.
But more than anything you were scared to think about your life without him. Or, well, without him in it the way he had been. Who would you complain to about Jennie? Who was going to talk you off the ledge about script submissions and red ink? Somehow he’d left a decidedly Jason-shaped hole in your life that felt obvious and sharp and sore.
Showing up at 30 Rock on Monday would be weird. Maybe not as weird as that time you showed up after he fingered you in his office, but still.
And in your absent minded strolling you turned left onto your block, stared down at the picture of the two of you in France before you decided you’d been tortured enough today. You clicked it shut, dropped it into the tote bag on your shoulder, where you’d already shoved your cap and tassel once you’d gotten on the train. Keys, somewhere inside.
“Hi.”
Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice. He leaned against the iron railing, sat on the steps of your building like he’d been waiting for you all day.
You stopped, stood a safe distance away from him. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to talk.”
“Were you at graduation?”
“No,” he shook his head. “I figured I did a good enough job of ruining your last year--didn’t want to ruin that, too.”
A beat, a breeze through the leaves overhead and a distant honk from a taxi. You stared at him. “Well, what do you want to talk about?”
He laughed a little, apparently less nervous now that you hadn’t had an explosive outburst or tried to punch him. “About us.”
You narrowed your eyes, couldn’t help it. “I thought there was no ‘us.’”
He ignored your comment, stood and looked you up and down with a smirk on his face.
“I like your outfit.”
Silence.
“Can I come inside?”
You exhaled, but then paused. “How long have you been sitting here?”
Another tiny laugh, like he was embarrassed to admit it. “Thought I’d catch you before you left, but--”
“I went to Sophie’s this morning.”
He looked at his watch. “I showed up at like, 8:30?”
Your eyebrows rose, it was already almost noon and Sophie had mimosas waiting for you at 7:30. The ceremony started at 9am and he’d been here all this time?
“Oh.”
“Yeah--I could use some water.”
You rolled your eyes at his request, he tugged on the collar of his shirt and pretended to pant.
“Cool it,” you warned. “I just sat in the direct sun for two and a half hours.”
He watched as you stepped around him and keyed into the lobby, “touché.”
He followed you up the stairs in silence and stood awkwardly in your kitchen when you got him a glass of water. You handed it to him and watched him drink it without pausing.
“I’m meeting my parents for lunch in…less than an hour.”
“I can be quick,” he nodded, another laugh when he wiped his mouth and put the glass on your kitchen counter.
You waited, unblinking, as he took a breath. Why was he here? What did he want?
“I completely understand and respect that you’re uninterested in being a secret--my secret, because you shouldn’t have to be one in the first place. Anyone’s. Which--you know--me being a professor and you being a student kind of fucked that up from the start.”
You nodded. Sure. Fine. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. You both agreed to keep your mouths shut.
“But--”
“But?”
“But at the start it wasn’t…this.”
“You lost me,” You said, not following.
Another breath, more a huff, really, that you tried not to laugh at. He nodded to himself and you wondered how much rehearsing he’d done on your front step.
“You were right…in Cannes, that this is something. And I think I’ve known that, but I’ve been so hung up on the fact that it shouldn’t be something. But that doesn’t mean it’s not.” He made a face at his own vagueness, smirked a little when you met his eyes again.
“Am I making any sense?” He asked.
You shrugged, still unsure where he was going and still unsure if you’d give in that easily.
He tried again. “Just because having feelings for you is unethical doesn’t mean I don’t have them.”
Now you nodded again, repeated his words in your kitchen. “So, you have feelings for me?”
“Are you going to repeat any of this to Dean Vasquez?” He asked.
“No,” you rolled your eyes.
“Then yes,” he nodded confidently. “I like you, and not just because I like having sex with you.”
You smiled, figured you’d play it cool for old time’s sake. “Good to know.”
His jaw dropped a bit in jest, he watched you turn around and unclasp your necklace. “Good to know?! I wait outside on your front step all day and that’s all you have to say?”
“I have to go meet up with my parents! And it’s only been a few hours,” you warned, laughing when he rolled his eyes at that. You took off an earring but held his gaze. “Maybe we can finish this conversation on the other side of my lunch reservation?”
“Should I come? Show them what else you’ve been doing this year aside from getting a Masters degree?”
“No,” you laughed at his joke, a few steps over towards your dresser. “Definitely not.”
He came and unzipped your dress without being asked, sat on the edge of your bed when you stepped out of it and into a pair of jeans.
“Well,” he pushed his lips out in thought. “I cleared my calendar for this, so I’m ready to finish this conversation whenever you are.”
You peered at him over your shoulder, ran a brush through your hair and smiled a little. There’d always been something there, the reason you got into this mess in the first place was due to the same thread of tension between the two of you that existed today, right here, in your tiny apartment.
“You can stay here--if you want? While I’m gone? Or you could leave and come back later. Up to you.”
He smiled up at you, maybe that was enough of an answer for him.
“I’ll stay,” he said, a quick redirection when his brow furrowed. “Just to be clear, you’ll come back if I’m here, right? This isn’t your way of getting rid of me now that you’re not my student?”
“You’re still my boss,” you reminded. “Sort of.”
He nodded, “and that’s still hot.”
You turned around, now changed and ready to shoulder a bag before heading across town. A few steps over until you were right in front of him.
He kept your gaze for a second, reached a hand up for yours. “I’m sorry I ruined the only real date we’ve ever really been on.”
You let out a quick laugh, tugged your hand away and patted him on the shoulder when you shook your head. “Oh, we haven’t been on a date.”
His eyes got wide. “Renting an old car and taking you to a fancy restaurant isn’t a date?”
“Up until…” you checked a wristwatch that wasn’t there and smirked, “two hours ago, I was still your student. So no. You can’t take your student on a date. But you can take the 27-year-old woman you’ve been sleeping with for a while on one.”
He fought the smile on his face, nodded slowly but played along. “Got it. Okay.”
“Okay? I’ve gotta go. Do you need a snack?”
“I know where you keep everything,” he reassured.
You leaned down, let him kiss you on the mouth before you smiled. “You’re sure you’re okay to stay?”
He was. He did.
Maybe neither of you knew how to do this. Maybe crossing lines and bending rules wasn’t your forte and when he clinked a glass of wine against yours that night on your fire escape, it felt okay to not know.
After spending a year living in uncertainty it was nice to wake up beside him, knowing that whatever this was, it was the start of your new chapter: whatever comes next.
AN: There's an epilogue, don't say I didn't tell ya!
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