“Hey!”
She stands, trying to grab her binder back, but I hold it tightly.
“Bronx!” She tries to sound stern, but she laughs. “Give it back!”
“Uh-uh.” I grin.
She places her knee on my mattress to gain leverage, trying to reach above my head, but she can’t. Lunging forward, trying to snatch the binder back, she manages to grab the corner of it but loses her balance and falls forward on top of me, her face inches from mine.
We both freeze, eyes locking.
She slowly pulls away, sitting back on her knees.
“Looks like it worked,” I say, breaking the silence. “Guess we’re studying here.” I grin victoriously.
She blinks slowly, clearing her head before glaring at me. She snatches her binder back, huffing playfully before sitting back and crossing her legs, sitting in front of me. “And what did I say about funny business?” she mutters under her breath sarcastically.
Opening her binder and setting it in her lap, she flips through her notes, deciding where to start.
Feeling playful, I grab her crisscrossed calves and pull her closer until our knees knock together.
She lets out a little shriek, gasping. “Bronx,” she says, a hint of warning in her tone.
“There. Better.” I smile.
She gives me a look before glancing back down at her notes. “Okay, so I was thinking . . .” She trails off, tabbing off pages. “We can go over these sections today for lab. I can list off a few bones and you can tell me where they’re generally located.”
She looks up at me through her lashes for confirmation.
“Sure. Sounds good.” I lace my hands back together behind my head, getting comfortable.
We study for about ten minutes, her listing off bones and me pointing them out on my own body. Until I get bored.
Suddenly, a brilliant but semi-dangerous idea comes to my head.
“Acromion,” Olivia says.
Feeling bold, I lean forward, pressing my lips to the end of her shoulder.
She softly gasps, eyes wide. “Bronx, what are you doing?” she asks, a slight waver in her voice.
I shrug, confident. “I was right, wasn’t I?” I ask innocently.
“Yes,” she sputters adorably, clearly flustered.
I watch her throat work on a swallow as she fidgets, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Patella,” she says, refusing to look up from her notes.
I grin, leaning forward to place a kiss to her bent-up jean-clad knee.
“Lunate,” she squeaks.
Gently grabbing her hand, I pull it toward me to place a delicate kiss to the top of her wrist.
“Humerus.” Her voice turns softer, breathier.
I kiss her upper arm.
“Clavicle.”
