Page 55 of Scars of Anatomy

Brad is almost a spitting image of his mother, with the same naturally tan skin and dark wavy hair.

They have similar facial structures and the exact same rich, brown eyes and long, dark lashes.

Both of his parents are a few inches shorter than him, so I’m wondering where on Earth he got the height.

His father has fair skin, gracefully graying blond hair, and brown eyes.

He stands about an inch taller than his wife, who’s in sensible one-inch heels.

The more I look, Brad and his father have the same bone structure, but Brad is definitely his mother’s child.

“Are you going to introduce me to your parents?” Brad asks with a hint of condescension. If I could smack him across his stupidly pretty and chiseled face, I would.

Before I can even start introductions, my dad jumps right in.

“James Harper,” he introduces himself a little too enthusiastically, extending his hand to sworn public enemy numero uno.

Brad steps forward, purposely brushing his arm against mine as he reaches to shake my father’s hand. “Bradly Gallow, sir.”

When Brad pulls back, he brushes my arm again, and I glance down to catch his tan, taut, and just the right amount of veiny forearm because he has the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.

Damn him.

I grind my teeth to maintain my composure and try my best to ignore the feel of his radiating body heat. If our parents weren’t here right now, I’d take a large, purposeful step back. Maybe even push him away.

Brad turns to my mother, giving her that brilliant, easy-going smile of his. “And I’m guessing you’re Mrs. Harper?” he says, extending his hand to her next.

She smiles, and I can see it clear as day on her face that she’s falling for his charm. I want to scream at her, Keep it together, woman!

I know he seems cute, Momma, but don’t fall for it.

Bradly is the definition of tall, tan, and handsome. But he’s also the definition of a complete and utter jackass.

I’ll never forget the first day we met at orientation for med school.

I was the first to arrive and he was the second.

He was so confident and smug, introducing himself as if he were the CEO of a billion-dollar company.

Although, I have a feeling a CEO would have been much humbler.

Then, he had the audacity to eye me up and down, like a piece of meat, and tell me we should have an anatomy refresher before classes started, preferably later that night in his bedroom.

And when that line absolutely did not work on me, he used it on the next girl who came along.

That was automatically red flag number one.

Red flag number two was that he wore a full-blown navy suit to orientation and shoes—ironically the same shoes he’s wearing today—that probably cost more than my rent.

And they’re ugly shoes! They remind me of loafers my eighty-year-old grandpa would wear, but somehow, Bradly still manages to make them look fashionable. Like he’s a damn GQ model or something.

Red flag number three was that his name is Brad. I mean, come on. Brad is basically the male equivalent of a Karen.

But unfortunately, despite his devastatingly good looks and stereotypical air-headed frat boy name, he’s actually unbelievably intelligent.

I found that out on the first day of class when he blurted out the correct answer to the first question our professor asked, beating me to it.

He could tell I was shocked, even impressed, and I sensed that gave him an enormous sense of satisfaction, because I think he was still ticked I refused to sleep with him.

Since that moment, he decided to make my life a living hell by trying to compete with me in everything.

But then again, I’m very competitive by nature so maybe I egged him on.

Either way, it’s been all out war ever since.

“Priya.” My mother places her hand in his, shaking it.

“Nice to meet you, Priya. I have to admit, I almost mistook you for Delilah’s sister.” He smiles his most charming smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

Vomit. I want to vomit. The projectile kind. Everywhere.

I also want to knock every one of his perfectly straight, pearly white teeth out—but one thing at a time.

My mother giggles. Giggles! Like, full-on schoolgirl giggles.

Traitor!

“Well, looks like we’re all a bit early. How about we grab some coffee?” my dad suggests, not even fazed by Brad’s comment to his wife. “I saw a small coffee cart and some tables when we walked in.”

Is my family all just a bunch of traitors?

“That sounds wonderful,” Kalani says, looping her arm through her husband’s.

Our parents begin walking to the coffee cart, instantly chatting like they’re all long-lost friends. My feet stay rooted to the floor as I blink at the backs of their heads, trying to wrap my head around what just happened.

Beside me, Brad clears his throat, and I snap my eyes in his direction. He gives me an almost knowing smirk and stretches out his arm, gesturing for me to follow them.

With a huff, I reluctantly do so, Brad right behind me.