I met Noah’s eyes and shook my head. “I think we need a few minutes.”
Noah slid an empanada onto his plate and pushed them toward me. I didn’t reach for them, though. My brain was whirling again, fitting puzzle pieces together at warp speed.
The fabulous man, the quiet man, the soccer player, the hairdresser, the glittery merman versus the generic V-neck sweater. The headline: “Actor’s Friend Rushed to Emergency Room With Fractured Ribs, Broken Leg, Broken Nose…”
“What is it, Thomas?” Noah asked, spearing a bite as he leaned forward. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Maybe jockwear was a bad idea. Should I take the sweater off?”
“No, no.” I gave a weak half laugh and swallowed hard as I teetered precariously between boldfaced candor and etiquette.
Fact…I was a big fan of taking the path of least resistance in most situations. I went with the flow, rarely seeking attention for my looks or insights. However, I was the complete opposite when it came to academics. I was a demon in a lab and in the classroom. If there was a possibility of making a discovery, I threw myself into the effort.
That sort of focus didn’t translate well in dealing with regular humans, which was probably why I’d never made it this far with someone like Noah. I knew my limitations. If honesty was best doled out in small servings, I struggled with measurements. I gave too much, took too little, or vice versa. It was impossible to warn someone about those kinds of quirks. They tended to bubble to the surface and reveal my ineptitude at the least convenient moments.
So, yes…I knew I should have kept my mouth shut and maybe called the waiter over.
Or when in doubt, talk about food. Do you like nuts? Are you partial to seafood? How do you feel about asparagus?
Nope. I couldn’t do it.
“Confession!” I blurt-yelled. “I googled your ex.”
I stuffed half an empanada in my mouth to shut myself up.
Noah blinked in surprise. “Stefan? Why?”
“Curiosity? A latent masochistic streak?” I hypothesized mid-chew. “I don’t know. It was the briefest of peeks. My conscience suggested it might be an off-putting thing to do, let alone admit to, but I did it.”
“Well, all right…I’ve never googled him. He’s not exactly a star, so other than a headshot and his birthday, it’s got to be pretty damn boring,” he replied in a slow, deliberate tone. “Was it?”
“It was a short entry,” I confirmed.
“Oh.”
“Yes, but…there was a headline about a friend who’d been hospitalized.”
He froze for a moment, then set his napkin on the table. “I see.”
“I didn’t read the article.”
“Why not?”
I inhaled deeply as I leaned forward, hoping I hadn’t messed this up irrevocably. “Because I thought it might possibly have something to do with you. And if so, it should come from you. If…you wanted to tell me. If not, that’s okay too.”
An uncomfortable silence settled between us like thick fog over dark waters. The clink of silverware and muffled conversation from nearby tables exasperated the growing tension.
“All right.” Noah’s jaw tightened as he traced the condensation on his glass. “The short story is I got mugged and turned into a statistic overnight.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too, Professor. I was the poster boy for potential—on the brink of living my dream and making money doing something I loved. I was fucking invincible. Until I wasn’t.”
More silence.
“What happened?” I whispered.
I waited for him to speak, but he just shrugged, staring blankly at something over my shoulder.
Shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot.
I shouldn’t have prodded. I shouldn’t have pressed. This wasn’t my business, and Noah didn’t need my two cents.
I studied him for clues, wondering what to do or say—just as our server appeared, a jovial grin fixed on his face.
“Hi again. Are you ready to place your order?”
I cast a wary look at Noah and made a split-decision call.
“Check, please.”
I left a few twenties on the table and motioned for Noah to follow. He looked too shell-shocked to argue. His hands trembled as he fished his sunglasses out of his bag.
Quick note: This was why I didn’t have any luck with guys. I was a terrible date. Maybe a terrible human.
I wasn’t sure how to fix this, but I couldn’t do it at a restaurant or on a street corner. I needed to be someplace where I felt a hundred percent confident. So I led him down the block and onto campus, bypassing the benches in the quad area. I unlocked the physics building and motioned for him to follow me inside.
We traversed the wide corridors and the echo-chamber stairwell to the third floor where I shared an office with Omar, a fellow biomolecular physicist. It wasn’t much to look at—just a sparsely furnished box with a narrow window overlooking a small copse of trees—but there was enough room for two PhD candidates and professors to work without driving each other crazy. Bonus…we had a mini fridge and a well-stocked vending machine across the hall.