Page 19 of Scars of Anatomy

Explode

My phone at the edge of the table lights up with an incoming call. I quickly glance down at the screen to see a number I’ve been dodging for some time now. Instinctively, I hit the Decline button and flip my phone over, face down on the table.

I look up and just so happen to catch Rat Boy’s beady little gaze on my phone from across the table. Nosey motherfucker.

Snatching my phone, I stuff it into my pocket, flashing Rat Boy a what the fuck glare. His gaze quickly snaps back to the dead relative in front of him.

I turn my attention back to Olivia, getting a large whiff of formaldehyde from the actual lab rat sitting between us as I do so.

The little rodent is cut wide open, its internal organs on full display.

With gloved hands Olivia pokes and prods around inside the little guy, glancing back at our lab manual for reference every now and then as she rambles off the different parts we’re going to be quizzed on next week.

“I think this is the adrenal gland,” she mutters uncertainly under her breath. Squinting and angling her head to get a better look, she points with her pinkie at some bland-colored tissue inside the rat.

I scoot closer, tilting my head to hover over the rat, my cheek inches away from hers.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” I say, my gaze swinging back and forth from the live—not so live—rodent in front of us and the one in our lab manual for reference. “I think this might be it.” I point just above where she’s pointing.

Her lips twist to the side in contemplation. “No, I really think this is it,” she says, still pointing to the same spot with her pinkie.

Hell if I know. Everything is so tiny and pretty much the same bland color, it’s hard to tell what’s what. But I’m fairly certain I’m right, though.

“I don’t know, I think I’m right. Maybe your genius has finally rubbed off on me and now you need me as your tutor,” I tease.

Olivia grins. “You wish,” she says, and we fall into a playful banter of who’s right.

“Olivia’s right,” Rat Boy cuts in from across the table matter-of-factly.

How the hell does he know that? There’s no way he can see what she’s pointing to from that far away.

Hell, I’m sitting right next to her and even I have to squint to see.

So either this rodent-faced asshole has superhuman, laser-sharp vision or he’s just trying to spite me. And I know it’s the latter.

I flash him a glare, clenching my jaw to prevent myself from chewing him out. “Focus on your own rat,” I instruct him curtly.

His dark beady eyes narrow, glaring back at me.

“What are you guys looking for?” Delilah asks, peering at us over the rim of her glasses from the other side of the table, where she hovers over her own dead rat.

“The adrenal glands.” Olivia sighs, sulking back in her chair, mildly defeated and slightly irritated.

“Let me take a look.” Delilah stands up and walks over to our side of the table, wedging herself between the two of us. She leans in over our shoulders, observing. “Hmm, it’s hard to tell,” she says, pulling away and using her wrist to push up her glasses.

Looking over her shoulder, Dee flags down Tracy, who skips over to our table.

“What’s up, friends?” the bubbly TA asks, more than ready to help.

“We’re trying to find the adrenal glands,” Olivia informs her.

“All right, what were you guys thinking?” she asks, prompting us to show her our ideas, probably wanting to make this some sort of teaching moment instead of just giving us the answer.

“I think one is here,” Olivia says, pointing with her gloved pinkie again.

“Bronx?” Tracy prods, and I show her where I think it is.

“Sometimes, those tiny parts are a little hard to identify with these guys. They’re definitely not as clear cut and defined as the manual makes them out to be, and these rats get roughed up after being used all week, so they’re by no means in prime condition.

But, Olivia, I think you’re right. Right here”—Tracy points to where Olivia was moments ago—“is a gland. Then the other is over here.” Tracy points to the one on the other side.

“Like I said, sometimes it’s very hard to tell, but you were really close, Bronx,” she says encouragingly.

“Told you,” Olivia says smugly, playfully sticking her tongue out at me. I know it was a good-natured, poke-fun gesture, but somehow it rubs me the wrong way.

“I told you she was right,” Rat Boy states not so pleasantly, really making my blood boil. I muster up a great deal of restraint and hold myself back from leaning over the table and punching him square in the face.

Then my phone buzzes in my pocket. Again. Making me even more irritated.

“You all think you’re so smart, don’t you?” I explode, feeling like a balloon filled up with too much air. I abruptly stand up from my chair, the legs screeching against the floor.

Everyone in the class snaps their attention to me, the room falling silent.

Olivia jerks her head back, stunned. A flash of hurt and confusion flickers in her eyes as she stares up at me from where she’s still sitting. “Bronx,” she says softly, reaching out to touch my arm, but I jerk away.

“Don’t,” I instruct firmly.

She draws her hand back, limply placing it in her lap as she looks away, her hair creating a curtain to hide her wounded expression. A pang of hurt shoots through my chest.

“What the hell, asshole?” Rat Boy sneers.

I clench my jaw, peeling off my latex gloves. “I’ll show you asshole,” I say, taking a few quick strides to round the table. He scurries back, pure fear in his eyes.

“Bronx!” Tracy yells, her voice surprisingly stern and anything but bubbly now. She quickly grabs my bicep to prevent me from going any further. “If you’re going to act like this, out of my lab. Now.”

“Gladly,” I bite out.

In a blur I snatch up my things, flinging my backpack over my shoulder and storming out of the classroom. Shortly after, I find myself barging into my room, throwing my stuff down next to my desk.

“Damn, Tasmanian Devil,” Chase comments from his bed. He stops throwing his football up in the air and catching it, hugging it to his chest. “What’s got you all riled up?”

“Don’t start,” I grumble, snapping open my dresser drawer and pulling out a pair of gym shorts and a muscle tank.

His brows pinch together. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

Wordlessly, I change clothes and shove my AirPods into my ears, turning the volume all the way up to max.

“Wow, I love this song!” Chase yells, just to be a dick, and bobs his head to the beat.

I flip him off and grab a water from the fridge.

“Love you too!” he yells just before I slam the door behind me.

I take a few laps around campus, needing to blow off some steam.

Once my calves and lungs are burning, I stop at the gym on the south side of campus.

Scanning my student ID, I walk past the front desk and go over to the weights.

Finding an empty bench press, I load on the weights accordingly and take a seat, reclining back.

Gripping the bar, I ease the weight off the rack and do a couple of reps before placing the bar back with a clank .

Sitting up, I take a few breaths, then lift the bottom of my tank to wipe my sweaty brow. Reaching down, I find my water bottle and take a few swigs as I scan the gym.

Out of my peripheral vision I catch a flash of neon pink.

I turn my head to see Sasha Allen sashaying over to the row of treadmills, her high, bleached-blond ponytail swinging behind her.

She’s dressed in all hot-pink gym attire: leggings, sports bra, tennis shoes, and even her water bottle is pink.

I watch as she hops onto a treadmill, working her way up to a jog. While her leggings are a bit too loud, I have to admit they look fan-fucking-tastic on her, shaping her ass and legs perfectly.

My mind wanders to Olivia and how great she would look in a pair.

Maybe not hot pink—I doubt she’d ever wear that color—but I could picture her in a powder-blue pair, her favorite color.

Now that fall has started, Olivia’s worn black leggings occasionally.

Hers fit a little less scandalously, and usually she has them paired with a long sweater or cardigan so you can hardly see her shape.

She doesn’t even wear shapely, skintight jeans, but I can tell she has a body under her conservative clothing.

After fantasizing about Olivia in those tight leggings—my mind even taking a detour to her in my jersey for a bit—I find myself back down on the bench. Worked up, I pump out as many reps as I can, still not feeling satisfied or settled.

I let out a growl of frustration, setting the bar back into place with wobbly arms. Irritated, I get up and walk over to the locker rooms, hoping a cold shower will do me some good and get my mind out of the gutter.

Passing the girls’ locker room, I run smack-dab into Kenzie Jones. Literally. Her petite body collides with mine, and I nearly bulldoze her over. I must not have seen her due to the height difference—that and the fact that I probably wasn’t paying any attention.

“Oh!” Kenzie lets out a startled noise, stumbling a few steps back. She opens her mouth, probably to curse me out, but quickly closes it when she realizes it’s me. Her eyes dance with excitement. “Bronx.”

“Uh, sorry, Kenz,” I reply lamely, trying to skirt around her.

“Long time no chat,” she says, placing a hand on my bicep and flashing me a flirtatious smile. She tucks a strand of dark-blond hair that fell out of her bun behind her ear.

You mean long time no fuck , I think.

I’ve hooked up with Kenzie once or twice at some random frat party over the years. From what I remember, she was a good lay, but we never really talked.

Come to think of it, I haven’t had sex in over a month.

Probably a record for me, I think. The last time I hooked up with someone was after the first anatomy test when I dragged Adrianna into that classroom and we had a quickie.

Since then, nothing. I’ve been too busy with football and tutoring with Olivia.

Beyond sexually frustrated and needing a fix, I look down at Kenzie, who is already giving me bedroom eyes. Dipping my head, I brush my lips up against the shell of her ear. “Do you really want to chat?” I ask, my voice low and suggestive.

I pull back to see her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She shakes her head, biting back a smile. “Not really.”

I grab her hand and walk over to the large spin classroom.

The lights are out, and no one is inside.

Reading the schedule posted on the wall, I realize there won’t be any classes for another two hours.

I push open the door and Kenzie happily follows me in, and I flip the latch of the lock, ensuring our privacy.

I spin around, backing her into a dark corner where no one will be able to see us.

Placing her hands on my shoulders, she jumps, wrapping her legs around my waist with ease.

I press her up against the wall and she grips the back of my neck, pulling my lips to hers.

Our lips crash together in a rough, desperate kiss.

She claws at the back of my tank, pulling it up and over my head, then discarding it somewhere on the floor. Her hands settle on my chest while mine roam her body, a lot of skin already on display since she’s only wearing shorts and a sports bra.

Slowly, leisurely, torturously, I grind my still-clothed hips against hers, building friction. A small moan comes from the back of her throat, and I slide a hand up the nape of her neck, tugging at the roots of her blond hair.

I imagine running my hands through long caramel-colored locks, the sweet little sounds Olivia would make if in Kenzie’s position.

Holy hell.

Tugging at the roots of Kenzie’s hair, I angle her face more to the side, deepening the kiss.

Her thighs tighten around my waist in a viselike grip, and all I can seem to think about is when Olivia’s thighs were pressed against my hips when I almost kissed her as she sat on the tailgate of the truck after homecoming.

How good it felt. Even when it was innocent.

Fucking damn it.

Awareness tears through me like a bullet. All I can think about is Olivia.

Suddenly, everything feels wrong. So, so wrong.

Breathless, I break away from the kiss and hastily drop Kenzie to the floor, where she safely lands on her feet. She looks up at me, giving me a what the fuck look for stopping so abruptly.

“I can’t, Kenz. I—” I fumble around, looking for my shirt. “I gotta go.”

Guilt forms in the pit of my stomach. Finding my shirt, I pull it on and walk out of the gym, heart pounding.