The need for air eventually required our lips to part, though we separated only inches. If I inclined my head forward our noses would touch.

I opened my eyes as wide as they would go and glanced at his, where I found his gaze alternately moving between my lips and my eyes. I also noted I wasn’t the only one breathing heavily.

I said and thought in unison, my voice just above a whisper, “What was that?”

His eyes stopped moving over my face and instead settled, held mine captive. They were heated and…hot and…intense. I was starting to understand why the blood of a thousand virgins had been sacrificed at his altar of sexual prowess.

I tried to swallow. I couldn’t.

“That was necessary,” he finally said. Actually, he growled it.

“Necessary?”

“Yes. That needed to happen.”

“It did?”

He nodded once and bent as though he were going to do it again. I stiffened, my hands moved instantly to his chest and I thwarted his advance—because, if he started kissing me, it was surely a sign of Armageddon. Also, I was so far out of my comfort level, I was in an alternate dimension.

“No-no-no-no.” I twisted my head to the side, braced my hands against the imposing wall of his chest. “We’re not doing that again. I don’t kiss unobtainable boys, it’s one of my life rules.”

He tugged my hair—I’d forgotten that he’d wrapped his hand around it—and bodily pressed me against the black-topped lab table. His other arm, still under my shirt, wrapped completely around me.

“Yes. We’re doing that again.”

“No. We’re not. We’re not doing anything unless it involves measuring the composition of trace elements in surface water.”

“Parker—” His hand left my hair and slipped under my shirt again, spanning my side and stomach.

“Because we’re lab partners and lab partners do not kiss.”

“Then we’re not lab partners anymore.”

“You can’t switch lab partners in the middle of the semester.”

“I just did.”

My fingers moved to catch his wrists because his hands were on their way to second base; I successfully intercepted his northward progress. “Nope. I don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He nuzzled my neck and whispered against my skin. He must’ve known that nuzzling was going to cause my insides to melt. I imagined he’d conducted methodical experiments into the fastest way to female self-lubrication.

“I’m not one of your easy girls, or even difficult girls.” My voice wavered, so I cleared my throat. “I’m not even really a girl. I’m more like one of the boys. Think of me like a boy.”

“Not possible.”

“It’s true. Do you kiss boys? Because, if not, then I think you must have me confused with someone else.”

His movements stilled and a long moment passed. Then his hands fell away, he stepped away, and I slumped slightly forward—a weird mixture of feeling bereft and relieved.

“You’re a lesbian.” He said the words as though they explained a mystery he’d been trying to solve for years.

My eyes shot to his. He was four feet away and I found him watching me with a dawning something. If I didn’t know any better it looked like disappointment and frustration.

I swallowed, successfully, licked my lips, then shook my head. The irony of his confusion not lost on me.

My first and only boyfriend had been gay. I just didn’t know it while we were dating throughout high school.

I was still trying to catch my breath when I responded, “No. I’m not gay. I’m just…not interested in you that way.”

This was true—because I’d witnessed his path of devastation with my own eyes.

This was also a lie—because I was most definitely interested in him that way, just not the after part where he would say it was meaningless sex, make me cry, and tell me to get over it.

His eyebrows jumped a fraction of a centimeter at my softly spoken declaration.

“Not interested...,” he repeated.

I stepped to the side, scaling the length of the table, and reached for my bag. I hefted it to my shoulder, escape now the only thing on my mind. His slightly narrowed eyes followed my movements.

“I know, right?” I tried to sound self-deprecating, which wasn’t difficult because I truly meant my next words. “Who am I? I’m nobody.”

“You’re not nobody,” he countered. “Your mother is a senator and your grandfather was an astronaut.”

I cringed. I hated it when people brought up my family. “Just because my family is famous, doesn’t mean I’m somebody.”

He shifted forward and said with a surprising amount of vehemence. “Exactly! That’s exactly right.”

“I know, right?” I readily agreed. “See, I’m ordinary. And you’re you and I’m sure you’re used to the deafening sound of underwear hitting the floor every time you enter a room. But I don’t do that kind of thing, even for Hercules. Sure, I’ll think about the possibility later when I’m safely alone in bed, but I never cross-pollinate fantasy and reality.”

“When you’re alone in bed?”

I didn’t acknowledge his words because…mortification.

Instead, I said, “I’m not a fast and loose girl. I’m a slow and steady girl. Who knows when or if I’ll ever cross the finish line?”

He blinked at me, at my deluge of words. I didn’t even try to read his expression because I was so focused on walking backward out of the room.

“You’re leaving?” he asked.

“Yep.” I threw my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to go now. And don’t worry about the experiment. I’ll come in over spring break and finish it up. And when I see you after the break, everything will be back to normal. We can forget this ever happened. We shall never speak of it.” My voice cracked on the last word.

“Parker—”

“Have a really great spring break.”

“Kaitlyn—” He took two strides forward as though he were going to stop me, but halted at the sound of crunching glass underfoot. He glanced at his feet, noticing for the first time the broken beaker on the floor. “What the hell?”

I seized the opportunity afforded by his split attention and bolted out of the room.

In fact, I ran down the hall like an insane person and slipped into the elevator just before it closed. I even jogged back to my dorm, didn’t begin to relax until I crossed the threshold of the keycard access area, climbed the three flights to my room, and locked the door behind me.

I tossed my bag to the corner of the tiny space, threw myself backward on my bed, and rubbed my eyes with the base of my palms. The scene in the lab played over and over behind my closed eyelids—him touching me, kissing me, scratching the impossible itch.

It wasn’t until several minutes later that I realized I’d forgotten to tell him about the dastardly plot I’d overheard.

CHAPTER 2

The Atomic Theory of Matter

“I can’t believe you agreed to this.”

“Shut it, Sam.”

I tucked my long, straightened-with-a-flatiron brown hair behind my ears. Self-consciously, I smoothed the skirt of the little black dress she’d talked me into wearing, annoyed—for the twentieth time—that the hem of the skirt ended mid-thigh.

“You look hot, hooker. Just own it.” Sam nudged my elbow with hers and I grimaced.

If someone had asked me twelve hours ago how I’d be spending the first Friday night of spring break, I would have told them I’d be curled up in my bed against fluffy pillows, sipping tea, and eating shortbread while reading.

I would not and could not have fathomed I’d be on my way to a fraternity party dressed in lace-topped thigh highs, a black dress, stiletto heels, with my hair down, and wearing makeup.

That’s right. Makeup. On my face. With glitter eye shadow.

Also, my eyebrows were plucked. Plucked! Gah!

I rolled my eyes and huffed like the disgruntled recluse I was. I would rather shop for a bra than go to a fraternity party, and that was saying a lot.

“Oh, come on, Katy. There was no way we could get into the party wearing band T-shirts and men’s pants. This is a skirts-only party.”

I’d been educated earlier in the evening that a “skirts-only party” is a fraternity party where all the girls are required to wear short skirts. Upon hearing this news I briefly considered leaving Martin to his fate. In the end, my conscience wouldn’t let me.

Jerk conscience. Always making me do things.

“You act like getting dressed up is torture,” she continued. “You look hot.” Sam, who I suspected had been waiting for a chance like this since our freshman year of high school, didn’t sound at all sorry for me.

“I don’t look hot. I look ridiculous.”

“You’re a babe.”

“Shut it.”

“A hot babe. And guys are going to be wanting some of that.” She pointed at me and flicked her wrist, indicating my bosom and backside. “Especially ’dat ass.”

I grumbled, but made no other audible response. Inwardly, I cursed myself for the hundredth time that I’d failed to warn Martin about the plot I’d overheard in the chemistry lab earlier. If I’d just kept my wits about me I would be curled up with a book now instead of walking toward a den of inequity dressed like a girl.