Chapter 7: Forty to One

My hand was still on the tape, over his heart.

His heart was going fast enough that I didn't need my watch.

"You swore," I said.

"I did."

"On your mother's ring. Four days ago."

"Eight. You're counting wrong." He didn't let go of my hand. "I'm not going to pretend I didn't swear. And I'm not going to hide you."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning if I break it, I tell him myself. At his table. To his face."

He swallowed.

"But only if you say yes. You're the one running this. Not me. Not the pool."

I looked at him.

Black curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. A fresh scrape on his cheekbone from the glass.

The kindest eyes on the whole Academy, and he hid them behind a grin.

"Yes," I said.

He stood up so fast the bench scraped.

Then he stopped, a breath away, and let me be the one.

I put my hands flat on his taped chest and pushed him back against the lockers.

The metal rang.

He laughed against my mouth before I even kissed him.

Then I kissed him, and he stopped laughing.

His mouth was hot and tasted like sports drink and copper from his split lip.

For one second he was careful.

Then his hands went into my hair and pulled the clip out, and it hit the floor, and he wasn't careful anymore.

He kissed me.

He turned us, slow, so my back was against the cold lockers and his body was a wall of heat in front of me.

"Ribs," I said into his mouth.

"Don't care."

"I'm your doctor."

"Then check me."

I slid my hands down his bare sides, over the tape, and he hissed and pushed closer.

His hands went under the hem of my medic's vest, then under my T-shirt, flat on the bare small of my back.

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