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Masonand I are dissecting the large intestines, and he’s pretty focused, but I notice that every once in a while, he looks up and stares at Rachel’s breasts. It’s incredibly irritating. No matter how good a student Mason is, men only have one thing on their minds.

I’ve been slipping Mason the dopamine pills nearly every day for a couple of weeks now. As far as I can tell, it isn’t affecting him at all. In some ways, I’m glad—I’m sort of scared of something terrible happening to him. What I’m doing could get me kicked out of med school in the blink of an eye.

Dr. Conlon limps over to our table, “How are things going?”

I have a few questions, but before I can ask them, Mason replies, “Very smoothly.”

“Good to hear it,” Dr. Conlon says. He leans over our cadaver and glances inside at the dissection we’ve been working on. “Very nice job, Dr. Howard.”

Of course, Mason gets all the credit.

I watch Dr. Conlon’s blue eyes flit up for a second to where Rachel is standing. Oh my God, is Dr. Conlon staring at Rachel’s breasts too? Are you kidding me? I’m so angry, I nearly throw the scalpel to the ground and storm off in a tantrum. Rachel loves to go on and on about how men are all sexist pigs, but the least she could do is wear a bra so that her nipples aren’t poking out through the fabric of her shirt. Rachel is a hypocritical phony, just like everyone else.

As I continue my dissection, Mason is staring down at the cadaver’s upper arm. There’s a tattoo on the arm that reads, “To serve and protect.” He had probably been a cop. I wonder if he died in the line of duty, although I guess that if he had, there probably would have been an autopsy. More likely, he had a coronary from stress or too much fast food.

“Hey, Sasha.” Mason nudges me. “What do you think this tattoo means?”

“It means he was probably a cop,” I say.

Mason’s eyes widen, and he looks impressed. He talks about it all through the rest of the lab, how cool it is we’re dissecting the body of such an important person. He’s talking faster and louder than I’ve ever heard him speak before, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s a side effect of the medication.

Nah, probably not.

It’s a Friday night,and everyone is beginning to feel the crunch from our upcoming anatomy exam. I’m in the library as usual, as is Mason Howard. I brought him a cup of coffee laced with the usual hallucinogenic that seems to have no effect whatsoever. I’m beginning to wonder why I even bother.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asks, nodding toward my table as I hand him the cup of coffee.

“Uh… sure,” I agree. I feel a flash of fear as I wonder if he discovered what I’ve been doing. Why else would he want to talk to me?

He shakes his head at me. “Don’t you ever go home?”

Wow, what a hypocrite.

“Do you?” I ask belligerently.

Mason blinks a few times, taken aback by my response, and that’s when I realize it: holy crap, he’s flirting with me.

Mason Howardis flirting with me.

It seems so impossible. I mean, I’m not ugly or anything, but Mason is… well, Mason. He’s in a different league. Well, at least the girls who throw themselves at him on a regular basis seem to be in a different league. Those girls are gorgeous. Why would he pay any attention to me when he could have them?

“So tell me, Sasha,” he says, “why do you want to be a doctor?”

For a second, I’m completely taken in by his smile. Even though I officially hate him, I find myself blurting out the whole sad story about my father and how much it changed me. And he actually looks like he cares. I’m sure he’s faking it, though.

“I’m so sorry, Sasha,” he says as he places his hand on mine.

And that’s when I recognize he wants to kiss me. And even though I hate myself for it, I want to kiss him back. I shouldn’t, though. It would be a mistake. I have to stay completely focused on—

Oh hell, now he’s kissing me.

And it’s a very nice kiss too. Very passionate and lustful. Much more so than with too-short Alex. I love the way his tongue gently moves against mine as his fingers lace into my short brown hair, pulling me closer to him. We kiss in the empty library for several minutes.

When he pulls away, Mason whispers in my ear, “You want to get out of here?”

God, I really do.

We end up in the med student locker room. It’s not a supercomfortable place to have sex—we’re stuck doing it on the floor. But we both want each other so bad, it doesn’t matter. Mason’s fingers are shaking so much as he unbuttons my shirt that he accidentally dislodges a button—he nearly rips my blouse open. I guess it’s been a while for him. Me too.

When it’s over, we collapse against the cold locker room floor, still half naked. This is going to sound dumb, but I sort of feel like I want a cigarette. I look over at Mason, who is still breathing hard and has a line of sweat beads along his hairline.

He grins at me. “That was really great.”

After a moment of hesitation, he kisses me on the cheek.

It was really great. But he’s already got an inflated ego, so I just say, “It’s a nice study break.”

He doesn’t seem disturbed that I haven’t showered him with praise.

“Maybe we could take another study break in the future,” he suggests, looking at me in a way that makes me think he’d like to take another study break right now. I can’t imagine why he desires me so much, but it’s clear he does.

I’ve never been with a guy like Mason before. Every man I ever dated has been humble, meek, and plain—the diametric opposite of Mason. He’s not my type at all. But I can’t deny that I am incredibly attracted to him.

Even though I still hate him, of course.