Page 45 of Teaching Roman

Chapter Twenty-One

I pushedthe lid shut on the pizza and slid it a few feet away, rolling over so I wasn’t lying on my stuffed belly. This was our new Friday routine: pizza on the floor with books. As in Roman and me, because we were officially a couple even though we weren’t spending much time at the movies or hitting the bars. Between Roman’s upcoming dissertation defense and my MCAT next week, we’d had to resort to study dates if we wanted to see each other at all. March had passed in a blur, both of us trying to keep up with papers and classes while finding time to be together. Memorizing viral life cycles while your boyfriend refined his argument on communications dynamics in social media relationships wasn’t exactly romantic to most people, but it worked for us.

Roman glanced up from his laptop and grinned at me. “Full?”

“Stuffed and happy,” I said, patting my stomach. “I think I could take a nap.”

“That sounds amazing. Is it terrible that my own research makes me yawn?” he asked.

“I think that’s the nature of academia.”

“What are you working on?” Roman leaned over to eye my book, which was open to a diagram that detailed the attachment of viruses to host cells.

I gave an overdramatic yawn of my own. “Nothing sexy. Basic stuff I need to know.”

“Not sexy, huh?” His hand crept toward my stomach, slipping under my shirt to massage deep strokes across my abdomen. “You make it look sexy.”

My back arched up to meet his touch, but I forced myself to pull away. “I have to be able to nail this material before I can nail you.”

Roman’s mouth curved into a smirk at my announcement and he grabbed for my book.

“Hey!”

He wagged a finger at me, pushing up to sit against the wall. His hair was tangled from running his fingers through it as he read and his jaw was peppered with the stubble he ignored starting on Friday morning. By Monday he’d be clean-shaven Markson in his khakis and button down, doing his best to not draw unwanted attention from his female students, but right now he was Roman—my Roman—in his thin, white V-neck and jeans. Later his five o’clock shadow would scratch teasingly across my skin. I could almost feel the delicious tickle of it now, and it was very, very distracting.

“I think we should find a way to make studying sexier,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow, already up for the challenge. “Interesting plan.”

“I thought so. I will quiz you on viral life cycles and for every answer you get wrong, you have to take off a piece of clothing.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, his grin widening.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down. “So this is sexy studying for you.”

“I’m wounded.” Roman grabbed his chest. “I’m a feminist, Jessica. I’m all about equality.”

“You are, huh?”

“If you get the answer right,” he said, “I’ll take off a piece of clothing.”

“How many questions are there?” I asked, straining to see the page he was looking at.

“Twenty.”

“So we can’t possibly lose.” I stretched my arms over my head innocently, pretending I didn’t notice how his eyes lingered on the neckline of my tank top.

“I’m pretty sure we’re on the brink of a revolutionary discovery about the learning process,” he said, flipping the pages of the book. “Ready?” There was a challenge in his words. One I was eager to meet. “An autoimmune disorder which attacks and destroys the villi of the small intestine would have which of the following impacts on digestion?”

“Inefficient nutrition absorption,” I answered without batting an eyelash.

“That sounds terrible.”

“Stop stalling,” I said, snatching the papers out of his hands, “and strip.”

Roman’s mouth crooked into a grin. “You want me to start with the socks?”

“I think you should reward me with something more…substantial.”

“Lady’s choice then.”