Page 32 of Scars of Anatomy

Nap

Friday morning, I walk down the hall of the science building after my biology class. I pass the room where Olivia teaches Professor Cooper’s lab and instinctively look inside, stopping in my tracks when I spot her.

The classroom is empty as she sits on top of the front lab bench cross-legged, consumed by the binder resting on her lap as she munches on a granola bar.

She must have just finished teaching her class—even though I told her she should stay home another day to rest. But a part of me knew she wouldn’t listen.

Thankfully, she followed doctor’s orders yesterday and stayed home. Delilah and I made sure of it with Mission: Make Sure Olivia Doesn’t Dare Step Foot on Campus. We made a pact that if either of us saw her in any of her classes yesterday we’d send her ass right back home to rest.

Frowning, I walk into the classroom, and she looks up at me from her binder, giving me a half smile, half grimace. She knows my stance on her coming to classes today.

“I thought you were skipping today?” I say, coming to stand in front of her. I rest my hands on the counter on each side of her, bracketing her legs.

“I was going to, but the other TA said she couldn’t fill in for me. I couldn’t just leave the class hanging this close to finals,” she explains.

“So what I’m hearing are excuses,” I say, a teasing lilt to my voice. “Did you talk to Professor Cooper about it?”

“No, I didn’t want to bother her,” she says lamely, refusing to meet my gaze because she knows it’s a bad excuse, and that I’m not going to let her off that easily.

“Finch,” I groan, exasperated.

I gently grab her chin, making her tilt her head up to look at me.

I examine her face; her soft features are livelier than they were the other day.

The bags under her eyes have noticeably reduced and she has more color to her complexion, but I can tell she’s still not 100 percent.

Looking at her, getting lost in her eyes, I almost forget what I’m mad at her for. Almost.

“You have to take care of yourself,” I remind her. “I’m sure Professor Cooper could have scrounged up another TA to teach in your place.”

“But—”

“No buts,” I cut her off.

I hear a slight crinkling noise and look down to spot the granola bar in her hand. I pluck it from her grasp, finding the generic honey and oats bar only half eaten.

“What’s this?” I ask, flashing her the wrapper.

“Uh, breakfast?” she says, confused.

I lean to my left and spot the trash can on the floor at the end of the lab bench, and toss the granola bar inside.

“Hey,” Olivia whines, a cute little pout forming on her face.

“Come on, Finch,” I say, leaning over to grab her backpack. “You need real breakfast, not that junk.”

I grab the binder in her lap and pack it away inside her bag. Despite her protests I pick her up off the counter and set her on her feet before grabbing her hand and leading her to the truck.

“Thank you, Bronx,” I tease, melodramatically mimicking a high-pitched female voice before stuffing my mouth with a bite of pancakes.

Olivia purses her lips together, trying her best not to laugh. She picks up a grape from her fruit bowl and throws it at me from across the table.

I manage to catch the tiny fruit deftly, and pop it into my mouth as soon as I do.

Olivia’s jaw drops in amused astonishment. “You’re unbelievable,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head.

“Thank you.” I smirk, causing her to roll her eyes.

Currently, we’re sitting at Patricia’s Pancake House, a small local favorite among the college crowd. Especially when you’re hungover. Not that I would know anything about that. . . . Nope. Not at all.

Patricia’s is about a five-minute drive from campus and actually has really good food. Better than anything served on campus anyway. Hence why I brought Olivia here.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” I ask, pointing with my fork at her measly waffle, fruit cup, and yogurt.

She giggles, shaking her head. “I’m good. I’m not a massive football player,” she teases, eyeing my full plate of pancakes, bacon, sausage, ham, eggs, and toast.

I place a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Are you calling me fat? At least I don’t eat like a bird, Finch ,” I joke.

She scowls at me, snatching a strip of bacon from my plate and munching on it. “Excuse me for watching my cholesterol levels.”

I laugh. “Like you need to. Hey, when’s your next class?”

She looks at her watch, frowning. “Eleven.”

“What class is it?”

She swallows her last bite of bacon, looking anything but enthusiastic. “Art appreciation.”

“You’re skipping, right?” I ask.

“No, why would I?” she asks, serious.

“You can’t be serious. It’s an elective you can totally afford to skip.

I took it three semesters ago and all the professor did was drone on and on about art pieces.

I maybe showed up to class ten times total the whole semester and still passed.

The final is an essay, writing about a piece you’ve gone over during the semester and bullshitting what it’s about and what it’s supposed to represent.

I passed the class. Me , Finch. If I can pass it, you sure as hell can. ”

“You sure endorse skipping, don’t you?” She smirks.

“Come take a nap with me instead.”

She blinks, surprised. “What?”

“Skip and come take a nap with me,” I repeat, hoping she’ll say yes.

“I don’t know . . .” She trails off.

“Come on, we can take an hour nap, and both make it to our one-o’clock classes. Then I’ll meet back up with you for a quick lunch and we can go to English,” I say, trying my best to persuade her. “Please.” I give her my best puppy dog eyes, turning on the charm full throttle.

She worries her bottom lip, contemplating.

“You know the doctor filled out that excuse slip for two days, right?” I say, trying to sway her. “So if you’re really feeling that guilty about skipping class, you can email the professor that you have an excuse. Not that he’s going to care anyway. No offense.”

She lets out a sigh, seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Fine.”

“Yes!” I cheer, throwing my fists up in the air triumphantly, causing her to giggle. “Patricia, give me the check, its nap time!” I call, a huge grin on my face.

After finishing up our food and paying the check, Olivia and I hop into the truck and drive back to campus. I lead her to my room, glad to find it semi-clean, given this was unplanned.

“Let me take your bag,” I say, reaching for her backpack.

She hands it over and I place it on the floor next to mine by my desk. We both toe off our shoes at the same time, and I climb into my bed first, gesturing for her to follow. She shyly climbs in, having to snuggle close to me in the small, twin-size bed.

“Is this okay?” I ask as soon as she seems to get comfortable, her head resting on my chest. I pull the covers up to her chin, making sure she’s warm.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “Is it okay for you?” She tilts her head up, her eyes meeting mine.

“Perfect,” I admit, stroking her hair and running my hand down her back.

I catch the smile on her lips before she snuggles farther into my chest and closes her eyes.

My heart melts before surprisingly racing in my chest in realization.

Olivia is the first girl in my bed.

Granted, we’re both fully clothed and only napping, but still. I’ve never had a girl in my personal bed before. And she’s the only girl I’ve ever even let into my room at all.

I let everything digest for a moment, a dozen emotions swirling around in my stomach, and I come to the realization that it all feels so strangely intimate, but ultimately, it feels so right.

Having her fall asleep on my chest is without a doubt one of the top-three all-time best feelings I’ve ever experienced.

Maybe even number one, if I’m being honest.

It takes about fifteen minutes for her to fall asleep, and as soon as she does, I feel myself start to drift off.

As soon as I’m about to slip into unconsciousness, I hear a key slide into the lock and the door opens, Chase’s stupid blond head stumbling in.

“Dude, you’ll never believe—”

“Shhh,” I cut him off sharply.

“Sorry,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm as he throws his hands up in mock surrender. When he finally looks at me, his eyes snap open wide in shock. “Wait, who the hell is that?” he asks, coming closer and weaving his head in different directions, trying to get a better look.

“Shhh,” I reiterate harshly, his tone still too loud for my liking. At this rate he’s going to wake her up.

“Dude, is that Olivia?” he whisper-shouts, his jaw dropped.

“Yes,” I hiss. “Now get out!”

“Okay, okay,” he says, hands up in surrender again as he backs away to the door. He opens the door, slowly walking out backward. “Is she naked?” he asks, an amused lilt in his voice.

I grab the half-empty water bottle on my nightstand and chuck it at him. Unfortunately, he closes the door just in time and the plastic smashes against the wood, the water sloshing around inside, causing a lot of noise.

The door opens back up, and Chase sticks his hand in, flashing a thumbs-up. “Get it! Have fun and don’t forget protection!” I hear his muffled voice from behind the door, and even though he can’t see me, I flip him off.

Olivia stirs and I freeze, praying she doesn’t wake up.

She adjusts, snuggling closer into my side, and I finally let out a sigh of relief when her breathing evens out once more and I know she’s back asleep.

I maybe get twenty minutes of solid sleep before my alarm goes off. Olivia and I both startle, and I quickly fumble for my phone, silencing it.

Olivia sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She looks around for a moment, getting her bearings before twisting around to look down at me.

I can’t help but smile, taking in her sleep-puffed cheeks and her slightly ruffled hair.

“Hi,” I rasp out, running my fingers through my own hair. I stretch, lacing my fingers behind my head.

I watch her eyes drift down to the small sliver of my stomach showing, my shirt hiking up a bit after my stretch. “Hi,” she squeaks.

I can’t help but grin, loving that I have at least some sort of effect on her.

“Do we have to go to class?” I whine, wishing we could stay here all day.

She blinks, clearing her head. “Don’t you think we’ve already skipped enough classes for the day?” she asks, amused.

“No.”

She laughs and climbs off my bed, making it feel oddly empty. “We have to turn in our rough drafts for Hobb’s class today, remember?” she says, straightening out her clothes and throwing her long caramel-colored hair up into a ponytail.

“More like rough, rough draft,” I admit, sitting up.

She throws me a look that says Really? while putting on her shoes.

I only shrug, climbing out of bed, stretching again. “All right, Miss Goody-Two-shoes, I guess we’re going to class.” I huff dramatically and slip on my shoes.

We both grab our things and head to our respective classes, meeting up for lunch after.