Page 169 of Breathe Like Hell

I was going to miss this so badly.

I would miss the hidden catch of our eyes across the classroom, the quiet secret always persisting between us, the comfort I felt in his lectures, simply because I was near him.

He motioned for me to focus back on my exam, so I did.

It wasn’t difficult, just as he’d promised. It was similar to all the practice exams he’d created, which I’d thoroughly gone over with him until I understood everything. I felt it was probably unfair to have such an advantage in this class due to my relationship with the professor, but every time I worried about it, Micah simply reminded me that he would help anyone in office hours if they asked for it. I was only using my resources.

I finished my exam with plenty of time left, then placed it with the stack on Micah’s desk, trying to ignore how bittersweet the moment felt. His eyes hooked on mine once more, and I lingered a few seconds too long, holding the eye contact as my heart squeezed, before finally forcing myself to walk away from him.

I took the bus back to the stop near his house, then walked the rest of the way there. It’d snowed a tiny bit, but not enough to ruin my walk along the white-dusted sidewalks. Most of it melted right after it hit the ground.

At Micah’s house, I entered through the garage and took off my outer layers, then went straight upstairs to his bedroom. The comforter was turned down on one corner, a water bottle filled with ice water on the nightstand, and the blinds already shut. A tiny, happy squeal burst out of my mouth, and I covered my face with my sleeves for a second to calm myself down.

I was already wearing a comfy crewneck and yoga pants, so I climbed into bed and snuggled myself under the covers, taking a nice drink of ice water before laying my head on the pillow. For a few minutes, I scrolled on social media, then I allowed my eyes to slip shut, my brain carrying me off to dreamland.

━━━━━

When my eyes cracked open for the second time today, Micah was sitting on the edge of the bed, gently brushing my hair out of my face. He was still wearing his dress shirt and slacks, but he looked softer in the dimness of his bedroom.

“How was your nap?” he asked. “I made you pasta.” He set a bowl down on the nightstand and I pushed up on my elbow to look at it. It was farfalle, the butterfly shape pasta. My favorite. He’d put butter and parmesan cheese on it, which made me happy. Usually, I only had salt on my own.

“You didn’t have to make me food. I’m not sick. But thank you.” I gratefully took the bowl off the nightstand and started to quickly eat my lunch, as if suddenly realizing my immense hunger. How long had I slept?

“Yeah, well I needed something to do. I didn’t want to wake you up right when I got home. I was able to skip my other meeting,” he explained. “And you’re going to need your strength for what I’ve got planned for you.”

“What do you have planned?”

“Some bullshit.” He was grinning a bit, showing off his perfect teeth. The sharp canines I wanted him to bite me with.

“Birthday bullshit,” I surmised, still eating my pasta. “You said Mason would be here today,” I reminded him, nervous he’d be irritated about it, but still needing to have confirmation he would keep his word.

“He’s going to be here later. You just have to be patient, yeah?”

“Okay.” I set my empty bowl back on the nightstand, then took a large drink of my ice-cold water.

After I finished my lunch and sufficiently hydrated myself, Micah took my hand and towed me out of the bedroom, then down the stairs toward a new-to-me room on the first floor. Micah’s home office. It was on the opposite side of the house from the living room and kitchen, down a hallway past the laundry room, and I’d never really explored beyond what I needed to.

“I have actually never been in this room,” I said as he led me through the glass-paneled doors into his office.

“I very rarely go in here myself, so that doesn’t surprise me at all. I usually just work in the kitchen or on the couch if I’m home. Most often I’m on campus.” He pressed his hand to the small of my back as he guided me towards the solid wood desk in the middle of the room.

“Why are we going here now?”

“I’m going to grade your final exam.”

“In front of me? Please don’t.” My pulse kicked up faster, my palms already sweating. I tried digging in my heels to stop him from dragging me any further.

“You’re going to enjoy it, Masters. Promise.”

“What if I get stuff wrong? I’m going to be embarrassed.”

“While I’d never hope for you to fail, I would still be satisfied if you got a few points off. I have a plan.”

“Okay…” I allowed him to bring me all the way behind the desk, then sat on his lap on the chair, facing the desk. There was a packet lying facedown on the desk, and I could tell each sheet of paper had been carefully folded at the staple. “Is this actually my final exam?”

He pinched the corner and bent it back enough to show the birthday cake sticker on it.

So, yes. Actually my final exam.