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The sessionswith Dr. Conlon are going well. Even Marissa and Victor are asking fewer dumb questions, and I know what I’m doing in the anatomy lab for a change. And Dr. Conlon notices the difference, which I have to admit sort of makes me happy.

“Dr. Bingham,” he says to me in the lab. “What’s the terminal branch of the external carotid artery?”

Mason is poised to shout out the answer the second I falter, but I’m not going to give him that chance.

“The superficial temporal artery,” I answer, much to Mason’s surprise.

Dr. Conlon beams at me. “Excellent.”

It’s weird how he acts like nothing ever happened between us. Like we didn’t have mind-blowing sex in his office, right down the hall. Like he’s just my anatomy professor and he’s just proud of me for studying hard and getting the right answers—nothing more.

Dr. Conlon gave us an extra-credit assignment to offer a little more leeway to help us pass the class. I complete the assignment a day before his deadline and head to his office after class to hand it in. I guess I’m being a bit of a suck-up, but I want to show him that I’m trying. The fact that he cares so much makes me want to do well in the class.

When I get to his office, the door is open. Voices are coming from inside, and I recognize Dr. Patrice Winters, the class psychologist. She’s always sending out these irritating, touchy-feely emails, telling us to reach out to her anytime. I’m sure she doesn’t want another of us to overdose.

“Thanks so much, Patrice,” Dr. Conlon is saying. “These look delicious. Peanut butter is my favorite.”

“Is it?” Patrice replies. “Well, please let me know if you like them.”

I watch them for a moment, and suddenly, my heart starts to pound. Oh my God, the two of them are hooking up! How did I not realize that before? It’s so painfully obvious.

And for some reason, I feel a sharp jab of jealousy.

“Is there anything else you like?” Patrice asks him. “For the next time I get motivated to bake?”

That’s when Dr. Conlon lifts his eyes and sees me standing in his doorway. A smile instantly lights his face. “Rachel! Come on in.”

Patrice, hovering in front of Dr. Conlon’s desk, looks like she wants to murder me. There’s a plate of home-baked cookies on his desk, presumably contributed by Patrice.

“Hello, Rachel.” She glances down at her watch. “I better go, Matt. I’ll talk to you later.”

Patrice stomps out of the office, slamming the door rather dramatically behind her. Dr. Conlon hardly seems to notice. Men are so dumb about stuff like that.

“Are you dropping off the extra credit?” he asks me.

I’m clutching the papers in my hand. But instead of handing them over and getting the hell out, I say to him, “Are you hooking up with Patrice?”

Dr. Conlon’s blue eyes widen. He looks so flustered that it’s sort of adorable.

“Rachel,” he stammers. “That’s… that’s not an appropriate question.”

“So you are then?” I press him.

“No!” he says sharply. “I’m not.” He adds, “Really.”

The rush of relief upon discovering that Dr. Conlon isn’t hooking up with Patrice surprises me. I look down at my hand, which is still clutching my extra-credit assignment. The papers are getting all crumpled in my fist. I hold it out to him. “Here.”

As he takes the papers from me, his fingers brush against mine. And I can tell from his face that he notices too.