Page 9 of Stolen Moments

“You painted this?” I ask, unable to look away.

“Yeah.” Jackson sets his backpack down, suddenly looking uncertain. “It’s for my senior show. Not quite finished yet.”

“It’s incredible.”

“You don’t have to⁠—”

“I’m not being polite. It’s genuinely incredible.” I move closer, studying the brushwork. “The way you captured the emotion without being literal… that’s really talented, Jackson.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Thanks. Most people don’t get what I’m trying to do with my work.”

“Most people are idiots.” I joke, hoping to lighten the mood between us.

He laughs, a real laugh, not the cocky chuckle he uses with the team. “Careful, Sharma. You almost sounded human there.”

“I am human. I just don’t advertise it.”

“Why not?”

“Because being human means having weaknesses. And I can’t afford weaknesses.” I set my bag on the clear table. “Should we start studying?”

“In a minute.” He’s looking at me with an intensity that makes my skin warm. “Can I ask you something first?”

“If it’s about Chemistry⁠—”

“It’s not. Why do you always pull back? Every time we have a moment, you retreat into being the perfect student.”

“Because that’s what I am. The perfect student. That’s the only version of me that matters.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” He steps closer. “You’re more than grades and clinical rotations and living up to your parents’ expectations. You’re allowed to be messy. To want things. To be more than perfect.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you bite your lip when you’re concentrating. I know your eyes light up when you’re explaining something you’re passionate about. I know you noticed my tattoo and thought it was beautiful. I know you want to touch me again, but you’re too scared to admit it.” How can he tell all those things in the short space of time we’ve been spending time together. He’s noticed things about me, I don’t think people I spend all day with have picked up about me.

My heart is racing. “That’s not—I don’t⁠—”

“You’re lying.” He’s close now, close enough that I can smell his cologne. “You’ve been thinking about it since Thursday. About having your hands on me. About what it would be like if it wasn’t for a grade.”

“This is inappropriate.”

“Why? Because you’re my TA? We’re both adults. Both consenting. Both clearly attracted to each other.”

“I could lose my position⁠—”

“Only if someone finds out.” His voice drops lower. “And I’m very good at keeping secrets.” The last words come out in a whisper.

I should leave. Should grab my bag and walk out and request a different TA assignment and never think about Jackson Rivera again.

Instead, I hear myself say, “We can’t.”

“But you want to.”

“That’s not the point.”