The sound of garbage trucks rumbling down Greenpoint Avenue and someone's neighbor blasting Bad Bunny from their balcony dragged Noah back to the land of the living. The bed was way too small for his six-foot-two frame, and the whole place smelled like those lavender candles most girls always seemed to have burning. Jasmine's apartment. Right. Last night came flooding back in pieces. The moment he'd crossed a line he'd spent months carefully maintaining. The taste of wine on her lips, the way she'd looked at him when he came inside her.
He pressed his palm against his forehead, feeling the weight of what they'd done settling between them like a third presence in the cramped bedroom.
She was already awake next to him, propped up on her elbow with that satisfied smile that made her look like she'd just won the lottery. Her blond hair was a complete disaster, sticking up at odd angles, and there was a hickey on her collarbone that he remembered giving her.
"Morning, Professor," she said, stretching like a cat in the sun. "Or maybe we've left those formalities behind us. So, Noah now? " The sheet slipped down, and she didn't bother pulling it back up. "Either way, you sleep okay? You were dead to the world."
Noah rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess. "Yeah, I did. You?"
"Like a baby. A very satisfied baby." She grinned and rolled closer, tracing lazy circles on his chest as she spoke. "I haven't slept that good since… Shit, honestly, I've never been worn out like that before. Even after sex, I usually end up tossing and turning for hours, scrolling Instagram or stressing about all the work I still need to do. But last night, out like a light."
Noah noted the genuine surprise in her voice, the way she seemed almost puzzled by her own satisfaction. He smiled, "Glad I could help. Hopefully, I don't have that effect during lectures."
"Trust me, your lectures don't have that effect. But… well, I guess that depends on how many of your students you're sleeping with," she said while snuggling into his chest.
The question hung between them, casual in delivery but loaded with implication. Noah looked down at the crown of her curly blond hair, unable to see her expression. Part of him, the trained part, recognized this as a probe, a way to gauge his interest without appearing needy. That part wanted to deflect with humor, to keep things light and avoid the conversation that was inevitably coming. But another part, the part that had been drawn to her sharp mind and fearless attitude, was genuinely curious about what lay beneath her apparent nonchalance.
"And if I were?" The words came out before he could stop them. Spoken in a tone intimate enough to feel like honesty, distant enough to maintain control. "How would you feel about that?"
The pause left the air between them pregnant with uncertainty. Jasmine made him wait a full minute before chuckling by way of answer. "I wouldn't care. But even if I did, why would it matter? Would that make you change?"
Clever girl. She was turning the interrogation back on him, refusing to show her hand first. Noah smiled to himself, appreciating it tactically, and genuinely intrigued by her.
"Is that what you would want?" he said, answering her question with a question of his own. He wasn't sure why he kept pushing, why he wasn't deflecting the conversation like usual.
She finally lifted her head to meet his eyes. Something had shifted in her expression. A vulnerability that contradicted her earlier confidence. The honesty in her words caught him off guard. This was the same directness that had made her stand out from the others who approached him. It was also what made this so much more complicated than a simple hookup.
She was quiet for a long moment, slowly tracing one of the faded scars on his ribs while thinking about her answer. "No, I don't think so." Her voice was softer now, more thoughtful. "I like the idea of you being someone unaffected by the whims of others. Someone who makes decisions based on what you want, not what's expected of you."
She pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "But don't get me wrong, I'd still want to stake my claim. Call me naive or optimistic or whatever, but I want to believe that I could leave an impression on someone like that."
"And what about you?" Noah found himself asking. "What would you expect to gain from someone as selfish as that?"
The question surprised them both. Jasmine tilted her head up to study his face, as if trying to decide if he was genuinely interested or simply making conversation.
"Everything," she said while kissing his chest, "I guess my goal is to become unaffected by others as well."
Noah could hear the uncertainty beneath her words, the gap between aspiration and reality. A younger version of himself would have immediately seen the opening; her desire for emotional invulnerability was something he could cultivate, shape, and use. He could feed her philosophy, make himself indispensable to her armor. And then, if he ever needed to, he could dismantle it.
The thought made his stomach turn. Her armor was different. Or at least, it should have felt different to him. She'd learned that people disappointed you, that hope was a luxury. She was building an armor because she'd never had anywhere safe to put down her guard.
The recognition twisted something in his chest, not quite guilt, but close to it.
But he chose not to explore it any further this morning. The intimacy felt fragile enough without dissecting it.
"Do you know what time it is?" He looked around the room for a clock.
"It's a little past ten," Jasmine replied, amusement coloring her tone. She shifted beside him, the sheets rustling as she propped herself up on one elbow. "I thought about waking you up, but you looked too peaceful. And after what you did last night..." She let the sentence hang, her fingers trailing down his chest. "I figured you'd earned the rest."
The casual possessiveness in her touch made something tighten in his chest. Not just arousal, but something more complicated. "Why? What's on your agenda today? Want to hang out?" Her hand moved lower under the covers, finding his cock already responding to her touch. She smiled with the satisfied confidence of someone who knew exactly the effect she had.
But even as his body responded, reality began its inevitable intrusion. The weight of obligations pressed against the edges of their borrowed morning. "I wish I could hang out," he said, catching her wrist gently. "But I've got this lunch thing. Work stuff that I can't really move around."
Her hand stilled, "Aw, come on. It's Sunday." She rolled closer, pressing her soft chest against his arm. "Can't you blow it off?" She said in a way that was supposed to be cute, but there was real disappointment in her eyes. "We could order brunch from that little café downstairs. They make these amazing breakfast burritos with chorizo and…"
"Trust me, I'd rather stay here." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. Inhaling the scent of her shampoo mixed with last night's sex. "But this meeting is important. Publishing stuff. The glamorous side of being a writer."
Her face shifted to interest. "Everything okay? You sound weird about it."
He was impressed by her perceptiveness. "Just industry politics. A publisher screwing over its writers. Same old story." He paused, aware that he was about to confide in her in a way he rarely did. "But I think I have a plan that will change all of that. It just involves convincing a friend of mine that I'm not completely crazy."
Jasmine laughed, the sound bright and genuine in the morning quiet. "Well, we both know that's not true." Then her expression grew more serious. "But getting cheated in business really sucks. You'd think they'd want to keep their cash cows happy."
Noah smiles at her teasing, happy that the previous seriousness hasn't had too much of an effect on her mood. But then something shifted in her demeanor, a hardening around the edges, like watching armor descend, piece by piece, that reminded him of her earlier talk about becoming unaffected by others.
"But seriously," she continued, sitting up and letting the sheet fall away to expose her beautiful naked body without a hint of self-consciousness, "if this friend of yours is a woman, I'm sure you will do fine." The knowing smile she gave him carried an edge of calculation.
Noah realized she was testing him now. Checking the boundaries they'd just crossed. Establishing her position before she could be displaced.
"And if it's a guy?" Noah asked, genuinely curious about where her mind was going.
Jasmine just shrugs and smiles back with practiced casualness. "Who knows. You will probably do fine with them also. You don't strike me as a man who takes losses easily."
Her confidence took him by surprise. It should have been flattering, but something about the way she said it, as if she were evaluating his worth based on his potential for success, made him uneasy. It reminded him too much of how he'd been trained to think, to assess people's utility.
But Jasmine wasn't like him. She hadn't been trained by someone who whispered in his ear that vulnerability was weakness, an exploitable flaw. She was teaching herself these lessons because she'd had to. Because she'd grown up in Camden, in a home where money was scarce and love came with conditions.
"Don't you think you might be giving me a little too much credit?" he asked carefully. "About all of it?"
She gave him a searching look, and for a moment, he glimpsed the vulnerable girl from earlier. But then her expression cleared, replaced by something harder and more pragmatic. "No, I don't think so. I'm normally a pretty good judge of a person's character."
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, hunting around for her discarded clothes. Then she gave another casual shrug, "And if I'm wrong, it won't matter to me. Losers will lose, and winners will win. And I don't associate with losers."
Noah was left stunned by the casual ruthlessness in her words. Here was the philosophy she'd alluded to earlier, her desire to become unaffected by others' whims, but stripped of any pretense of emotional complexity. It was ruthlessly practical in its clarity and disturbingly familiar.
"So go out there and win," she continued, pulling on an oversized Malcolm X t-shirt that read "By any means necessary" in faded letters, "so you can come back and tell me how right I am."
Noah watched her transform from the soft, vulnerable woman who'd traced his scars to this armored version of herself. The shift was so complete it left him momentarily speechless. Was this her way of protecting herself from caring too much? Or was this who she really was? Both simultaneously. Switching depending on what the situation requires?
She's learning the same lessons you did, an echo of Alexa's teachings whispered in his head.
"That's quite a worldview," he said finally.
"It's realistic." She found her underwear tangled in the sheets and stepped into them. "I learned early that people will disappoint you if you let them. Better to assume they'll either deliver or they won't, and adjust your expectations accordingly."
Despite his reservations, the words rang true to his ears. After all, this was exactly the kind of thinking his training had burned into him. The reduction of human relationships to tactical advantages and calculated risks. But hearing it from her mouth made his chest tighten with something between recognition and revulsion.
"And what category do I fall into right now?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
She paused in her dressing, considering him with those sharp eyes that had first caught his attention in lecture. "TBD," she said with a smile that was equal parts challenge and invitation. "But I'm optimistic."
The honesty was both refreshing and unsettling. She was treating him like a stock she'd invested in, curious to see if he'd pay dividends.
"Anyway," she continued, breaking the moment, "I've got my own stuff to do today also. Not a fancy business meeting, but I'm meeting my friend at the farmer's market. Exciting Sunday plans."
"Farmer's market, huh? Very domestic of you." He was grateful for the return to lighter territory, though her earlier words still echoed in his head.
"Hey, I like fresh produce." She said while smiling casually. "Plus, they have this vendor who makes the best coffee. Way better than the stuff on campus."
Noah focused on getting dressed and was looking for his shoes under her bed when he noticed her eyes following him in the mirror. For just a moment, the armor slipped, and he saw something softer underneath. The girl who wanted to believe she could leave an impression on someone.
"I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow?" She asked, revealing more vulnerability than intended.
"Of course. It's my job, so I have to be there. It's you, seniors, who like to treat my classes like they are electives. Sometimes I wonder if some of you forget that you are actually paying to be there."
The joke fell flat between them, both suddenly aware of how much more complicated their classroom dynamic had become.
Jasmine's expression flickered, hurt crossing her face before she could catch it. She recovered quickly, but Noah had seen it.
"Alright," she said finally, her voice carefully neutral. "Go handle your important writer business. But Noah?"
"Yeah?"
She hesitated, suddenly looking younger and more uncertain. Her armor still had cracks, showing that she wasn't completely broken and jaded. And that she wasn't quite skilled enough yet to hide them completely. "Don't disappear on me, okay? Last night was..." She trailed off, biting her lip. "It was really good. Not just the sex… All of it."
He felt something tighten in his chest at her words. A genuine emotion broke through his analytical detachment. The authenticity of the moment made his throat constrict with guilt. "I enjoyed it too. All of it."
"Good." She smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Now go make your deal or whatever. Try not to let them screw you over."
"I'll do my best."
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The drive from Princeton to the restaurant in nearby Lawrenceville gave Noah time to think, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. Jasmine's words about emotional invulnerability. She was trying to become what he'd been made into, and the parallel made his skin crawl.
His phone connected to the Audi's Bluetooth, and he scrolled through his contacts until he found Hope's number.
"Noah?" She answered on the second ring, and he could hear the familiar sounds of the restaurant in the background. "Please tell me you're not canceling."
"No, I'm on my way. Just wanted to make sure we're still on for lunch instead of coffee."
"Absolutely. I'm actually already at the place, Mediterra on Main Street. I wish I'd taken them up on the offer of outdoor seating, it's such a nice day." Her voice was warm, familiar. Hope and he had been friends since he first signed with the publisher. After his first novel was published, when he was still a struggling writer drowning in rejection letters, she'd provided the cheap wine and a listening ear. Now they were both bestselling authors, but she'd managed to maintain her sanity better than he had.
Unlike most of his other relationships, Hope had never triggered his darker instincts. Their bond was one formed through their mutual passion for writing. They were both trying to create something genuine in a system designed to commodify it, and that shared struggle meant something to him. Similar to Rose, she had been... safe. Genuine. It was why he'd chosen her for this conversation. But today was bound to change all of that, because he now had a role that he needed her to play.
His mind spiraled through the wreckage of all of his relationships, each one built on some version of manipulation, however well-intentioned. Now, even Hope's friendship, which he'd thought was different, was being weaponized to serve his purposes.
That was the cost of being what he'd been made into: everyone around him would eventually become what they needed to be to survive him. And he didn't know how to stop it.
"How's the new book coming along?" he asked, navigating through weekend traffic.
"Slowly. You know how it is, second series syndrome. Everyone's waiting to see if I can repeat the success of the first one." She paused. "Speaking of which, how's the writer's block situation?"
"Still blocked. That's actually part of what I wanted to talk to you about."
"Oh? This sounds serious."
"It might be. I've been thinking about some things, about the direction of my career." He stopped at a light on a busy street, which was packed with the usual Sunday crowd. "I'll explain when I see you."
"Now I'm really curious. See you in a few minutes."
He hung up and waited for the light to change, watching people walking by on the sidewalk. Couples heading to lunch, families with strollers, groups of friends laughing about something on their phones. Normal people living normal lives.
========================================================================
As he continued towards his destination, his phone buzzed with a text from Rose: "Hope you're having fun at your 'meetings'. I'll be going out later, if you care."
Noah smiled despite himself. Rose's text carried an undercurrent of testing. Like she was looking for something from him, even if she didn't quite know what. He knew that he should have been more concerned about it. That he should be setting stronger boundaries between them.
But before he could respond, his phone rang. Gloria's name appeared on the screen, and he felt that familiar mix of affection and mild concern that always accompanied her calls.
"Hi, Gloria."
"Noah, sweetheart! I was just thinking about you." Her voice had that slightly breathless quality that made everything sound like a suggestion. While also being warm and maternal. It was a source of confusion to him, but it reminded him of why his father had fallen in love with her. "What are you up to on this beautiful Sunday?"
"Just heading into a lunch meeting, actually. Work stuff."
"On a Sunday? You work too hard, honey. You need someone to help you relax." There was something in her tone that made Noah shift uncomfortably in his seat. Ever since his father died, Gloria had been... different. More attentive, more touchy-feely. He kept telling himself it was just grief, that she was trying to maintain their family connection.
"Have you been eating properly? Rose mentioned you've been stressed about your new book lately."
"You know how it is. The life of a writer. Deadlines don't take weekends off."
"Mm-hmm. Well, why don't you come over for dinner tonight? I'll make that pasta dish you love, open a nice bottle of wine. We can catch up properly." She paused. "It's been too long since we've had real time together."
"I'd like that, but I've been pretty busy lately. Maybe Rose could come over today instead? I think she's free."
I heard her sigh. "Oh, Rose. Yes, I suppose she could visit. But ever since she left home and came back from Europe, she's been different. We haven't really been able to reconnect like we used to…"
Noah didn't know what had happened to her in Europe. Rose had been evasive about it, and Gloria had her own theories. Probably something about a boy, or maybe just the general trauma of growing up. But Noah had watched Rose's behavior, watched her become more anxious and obsessive, and he recognized the signature of trauma because he wore it too.
And the worst part was that he couldn't help her, because helping her would require him to be the kind of person he wasn't. Instead, he made jokes, deflected, and maintained distance. He compartmentalized by telling himself that he was keeping her safe from his own darkness.
Gloria hesitated for a moment before finishing, "Not the way you and I do."
She said it as if they had something special, something the rest of the family didn't share. That's exactly what I'm afraid of.
"Well, I should probably get going. My meeting's starting soon."
Gloria's voice grew more serious. "I know things have been difficult since your father passed. But you know you can always talk to me, right? You're not just my stepson, you're family. Real family."
"I know. Thanks, Gloria. That means a lot."
"Good. Now go handle your business, sweety. But don't forget to eat something real. You're too thin."
"I promise I'll order the biggest thing on the menu."
"That's my boy. Love you, sweetheart."
"Love you too."
The genuine emotion in her voice made his chest tighten as he hung up. Gloria had been his stepmother for over a decade. This was the woman who'd been there through college applications and late-night conversations about his writing dreams. But lately, the way she looked at him, the things she said. Maybe he was reading too much into it, but after his father's death, something felt different.
He couldn't help but analyze whether that shift was grief or something more. His father had been the primary buffer between them, the one who'd kept family dynamics in a safe orbit. Without him, Gloria seemed untethered, seeking connection wherever she could find it.