Page 2 of Stolen Moments

Jackson: Yes ma’am. 😏

That emoji should not affect me. It definitely should not make me feel warm.

I’m in so much trouble.

Thursday arrives too quickly and too slowly simultaneously. I want to get started, but at the same time I didn’t want to be so close to Jackson.

I spend my TA hours trying not to think about the fact that in three hours, I’ll have my hands on Jackson Rivera’s body. I have to keep reminding myself it’s professional, and it’s for my degree and nothing else.

My last tutoring student is a freshman who can’t grasp molecular bonding, and I’m so distracted that I have to explain the same concept four times before she finally understands.

“Are you okay, Priya?” she asks. “You seem… flustered.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.” A lie. I’m never tired. I run on caffeine. I'm pretty sure it’s the only thing in my veins keeping me alive. I’m working so much I don’t even know when the last time I had eight hours of sleep.

By 6:45, I’m in the anatomy lab setting up my supplies. Measurement tape, markers, reference charts, camera for documentation, clipboard with the assessment forms I need to complete.

Jackson Rivera walks through the door at 6:58 looking like sin on skates.

He’s still in workout clothes, basketball shorts and a compression shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. His dark hair is damp from a post-practice shower. His tanned skin gleams under the fluorescent lights. And those tattoos, I can see them clearly now. Geometric patterns running down his left arm, something that might be wings across his shoulders, script along his ribs that I can just barely make out through the thin fabric.

“You’re early,” I manage to say.

“Didn’t want to be late. You seemed very serious about that.” He drops his gym bag and looks around the lab with interest. “So this is where you dissect people?”

“We don’t dissect living people. That would be murder.”

“Good to know you draw the line somewhere.” That smirk. That infuriating, distracting smirk. “So how does this work? Do I just… stand here while you stare at me?”

I have to stop myself from looking at his body. “I’ll be documenting your muscular structure, taking measurements, watching how your muscles work and creating detailed anatomical sketches for my capstone project.” I gesture to the examination table. “If you could sit there first, I need to go over the consent forms.”

He sits, long legs dangling off the table, looking completely at ease while I’m trying to remember how to breathe normally. Why does he have to be so good looking?

I hand him the clipboard. “You’ll need to sign consent for photography, physical examination, and documentation of your anatomical structure for academic purposes.”

“Physical examination?” One eyebrow raises. “How physical are we talking?”

“I’ll need to palpate major muscle groups to properly identify and map them.”

“Palpate. That’s a fancy word for touch, right?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re going to touch me. A lot.” I watch as he licks his lips, then smiles, and tilts his head slightly to the left.

“For academic purposes.” I quickly reply and it makes him laugh.

“Right. Academic.” He signs the forms without reading them. “Anything else?”

“I’ll need you to remove your shirt for the upper body examination.”

Jackson grins, actually grins and pulls his compression shirt over his head in one smooth motion.

Oh my god.

I’ve seen plenty of athletic bodies in my anatomy classes. Studied countless diagrams of human musculature. Practiced palpation on classmates and cadavers and anatomical models.

None of that prepared me for Jackson Rivera shirtless.