Page 17 of Stolen Moments

“Your rectus femoris is well-developed,” I murmur. “And your vastus lateralis shows significant hypertrophy.”

“Keep talking medical to me. It’s hot.”

“Jackson—”

“What? I like it when you get all technical.”

My hands move to his hamstrings, and I have to step between his legs to properly access the back of his thigh. We’re very close now, and I’m acutely aware of his breathing, the way his muscles tense slightly under my touch.

“This is professional,” I remind him. Remind myself.

“I know. Doesn’t make it less hot.”

I shoot him a warning look, but I can feel heat creeping up my neck.

“Your biceps femoris is impressive,” I continue, trying to stay clinical. “As is your semitendinosus. The kind of development that suggests explosive power training.”

“Lots of sprints and squats.”

“It shows.”

I move to his calves next, kneeling again to examine his lower legs. The gastrocnemius muscle is well-defined, the soleus underneath it providing the strength he needs for skating.

“All done?” he asks when I stand.

“For today. Same time next week.”

“And tutoring later?”

“Yes. My room this time. I need to get some of my own studying done, and your studio is too distracting.”

“I’m distracting?”

“You know you are.”

He starts laughing, putting his pants back on, then turns to me before leaving, and whispers. “I’m sure I can distract you, in your room too.”

There is a knock, and my stomach lets out a cage of butterflies, excited to see Jackson. This is becoming a lot more than I want it to be, but I can’t help being happy when I’m with him.

Opening the door I smile seeing how sexy he looks right now.

“You didn’t have to bring me coffee,” I say, letting him in.

“I know. But you look tired and I figured you could use the caffeine.” He hands me the cup, and I press my lips together to stop the smile.

He’s right. I am tired. I’ve been up since five this morning for clinical rotations, had three classes, the anatomy session with Jackson, and still need to study for my own exams.

My roommate, thankfully, is gone for the weekend. Which means we’re alone. Which is also dangerous with how I’ve been feeling about him lately.

“Thanks,” I say, taking the coffee. “We should really focus tonight. You have that exam Monday and I need to review pharmacology.”

“I know. I’m being good.”

We set up at my desk, textbooks spread between us, and for a while we actually studied. Jackson works through practice problems while I quiz myself on drug classifications and mechanisms of action.

But the room feels smaller with him in it. More intimate. I’m hyper-aware of every movement, every time our arms brush, every time he shifts in his chair. I’m starting to notice all the small things about him, and I’m liking it.

“Question,” he says after an hour. “Why pharmacology? That’s pretty advanced for undergrad.”