Page 20 of Stolen Moments

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t tell you I’m not falling. Because I am. God help me, I am.”

“Then let yourself fall. Stop fighting it.” I feel his finger softly move across my jaw.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is if you let it be.” He whispers against my lips.

We lie there, hands intertwined, both knowing we’ve crossed a line we can’t uncross. This isn’t casual anymore. These aren't just stolen moments.

This is something real.

And terrifying.

And absolutely worth it.

Chapter 6

Jackson

I’m falling for Priya Sharma, and it’s both the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

Best because she’s brilliant, passionate and challenges me in ways no one else does. Worst because I know she’s scared, know she’s not ready to acknowledge what’s happening between us, know that any day she might decide this is too much and walk away.

We’ve been secretly together for three weeks now. Three weeks of stolen kisses between classes, late-night study sessions that turn into more, anatomy labs that test my self-control.

The team is starting to notice something’s different about me. Carter cornered me after practice yesterday, asking point-blank if I was seeing someone. I denied it, protecting Priya, protecting what we have, but I know he didn’t believe me.

“You’ve got that look,” he said. “That stupid happy look people get when they’re falling in love.”

“I don’t have a look.”

“You do. It’s annoying.”

Maybe I do have a look. Because I’m falling in love with her, even though she’s made it clear she can’t give me anything more than these secret moments.

Right now, we’re in my studio. It’s two in the morning on a Friday night, and we’re both supposed to be studying for exams next week. Instead, we’re lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, talking about nothing and everything.

“Tell me about your family,” I say.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Where you grew up, what your parents are like, whether you have siblings.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “I grew up in Boston. Only child. My parents met at Harvard Medical School and have been high achievers their entire lives. My mom is a cardiothoracic surgeon at Mass General. My dad is a neurosurgeon at the same hospital. They work eighty-hour weeks and expect excellence in everything.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is. But it’s also all I know.” She turns her head to look at me. “What about you?”

“Working-class Puerto Rican family in Providence. Mom’s a nurse, dad works construction. Three younger sisters who I adore and who drive me crazy in equal measure.” I smile. “They know I paint. They support it, even if they don’t totally understand it. Hockey’s just my way of paying for art school.”

“Do they know about RISD?”

“Yeah. They’re proud. Confused about how I got in, but proud.”

“Why confused?”