Basic Anatomical Parts

We slammed into the dingy tiled wall, heavy breathing and smacking lips echoing in my ears. They were cracked—the wet lips eating mine—pushing and pulling, biting my own. Cigarettes and alcohol clung to his tongue.

His hands left harsh prints across my body, a Memorex stuttering across my flesh. My fingers curled into his hair, nails scratching his scalp as he hoisted me up on his hips, grinding his jeaned bulge into my wet panties.

I arched my back, stretching my arms above my head until my knuckles brushed the wall behind me. The blinding white of mid-morning shone through my lids, and I rolled onto my stomach to escape it, breathing deeply.

I could still smell the Armani on the faceless man from the dream. God he smelled delicious. My thighs and stomach tensed as the phantom scent caressed my thoughts again, and I smiled faintly, a small groan vibrating in my throat.

I wanted a man who gave off Armani like pheromones – one whose sex-ravaged sheets smelled just as tantalizingly covered in Armani as mine. I mean coconut.

Wait.

I blinked sleepily. No, the sheets definitely smelled like Armani. Forcing my eyes to focus in the glaring light, I found myself tangled in the very white sheets of a bed that was not mine. The sprawling skyline of lower Manhattan consumed the far wall.

Fuck.

All at once, the hammering throb in my skull hit me, emanating out in surging waves that left me momentarily breathless. I strained my neck to get a better view of the window, but my slept-in contacts boasted the cloudy smear of once-pliable, dry plastic. The clock on the bedside table to my left just barely floated into focus: nine fifty-six.

Double fuck.

As per the Manhattan skyline looming through the windows, the quick glance I got of the rest of the apartment, as I scrambled out of bed and snatched up my clothes, was equally upscale. Small, no doubt, but beautiful, and certainly pricey.

It was just coming up on ten thirty when I started seeing the NYU campus flags hanging from the dormant streetlights. I was almost going to make it.

It only occurred to me as I reached to give my bag a reassured tug that, not only did I not have my bag, I didn’t have the clutch I’d left the apartment with last night. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and threw my head back, arms hanging limply at my sides as people pushed past me from all directions.

By the time I was trudging up Fifth Avenue on my way off campus that afternoon, I had sunk into the surliest of moods. Arms folded over my chest, muttering darkly to myself, I didn’t notice the chipper voice shouting after me until it had come alongside me.

“Jacey?”

I pulled foggily from my thoughts and turned my attention left.

“Hey, you right there?”

His newly dirtied Etnies stepped into my line of sight, but it was, pitifully, the two smoking coffee cups in his hands that really grabbed my attention.

“I started callin’ after you,” he said turning, gesturing behind with one coffee-clad hand, “a half a block down-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I blurted, waving my hand to silence him, “I’m dandy.”

“Dandy?” He mumbled to himself, “Interestin’ choice of words. Well see, I’m findin’ that a bit hard to believe ‘cuz you’re not quite sayin’ it with ‘dandy’ zeal.”

“I’m spectacular,” I tried again.

He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Not really gettin’ the spectacular vibe either-” He stopped short with widening eyes when I turned to glare at him. “Oh, I am sensin’ a little laten’ hostility though,” he said, amusement in his voice.

“You have not even begun to see my latent hostility.”

“Does that mean I will be ‘round to see it, then?”

I glanced at him sideways. Couldn’t a girl just plod indignantly home alone anymore?

A grin inched across his face, and he held a coffee cup out to me – a steamy, caffeinated, bribery of a peace offering.

I peeked around, begrudged and refusing to meet his pleased Aussie eyes. “Thanks.” It’s not that I had a craving for the stuff or anything, but let’s face it; it was chilly out, my ensemble was woefully lacking in coverage, and steam was spouting out of this thing like the Little Engine that Could.

“Pumpkin?” I mumbled surprised as the fall scented vapor enveloped my face.

He looked at me blankly for a moment. “Oh. Yeah, that’s your drink, yeah? Pumpkin Chai and Vanilla?”

Pumpkin Chai and Vanilla. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, when you weren’ in class this mornin’, I popped in at Faye’s - reckoned I might bump into you there. Guess luck was with me, eh? Were you right this mornin’?”

I crossed my arms over my chest again, hugging the cup tight against me. “Yeah, I slept late.”

“Ah, clock problems?”

A montage of last night’s endeavors – legitimate and subconsciously supplied – tumbled across my eyes: the angry scavenge through my closet, a stealth escape in naked feet to the street, a multitude of mixed drinks and smoke-adorned men.

Oh geez, what if it was more than one?

I shook the thought off, more annoyed with my prudishness than anything else. So what if I’d fucked more than one guy last night? I still woke up alone.

I glanced sideways to see Seth eyeing me, one brow doubtfully raised.

“What? Yeah. Yes, clock… problems,” I breathed deeply in and out.

He shook his head. “Rotten luck, that is. Well don’t fret about it too much; I got some extra notes for you if you want ‘em. And, per our agreement, I have started readin’ the book, so they’re rather related, I think, but I’ll let you do the judgin’ on that.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“No worries. Do you want to go somewhere and go over things?”

This damn book. Was I really going to read it? I should. I knew I should. There were a lot of things I should do.

Like this delicious blonde’s bad boy brother.

His eyebrows were slowly inching up his forehead again.

“Oh, now?”

“Yeah, I was thinkin’ for a bit. If you haven’t got anythin’ planned right now.”

I looked down at my wrist, knowing there was no watch there. It was kind of him to go to that trouble for me, but I could think of nothing I would rather do at that moment than take the longest, hottest shower of my life, and seal the deal with a bourbon on the rocks. Maybe even simultaneously.

Bubbles with bourbon. I almost moaned at the thought of such a heavenly bath.

I started to protest, but his words climbed over mine: “I won’ take up any more of your time than you’ve got to spare, I promise. We can even go back to your place if that’s better. …Where is your place?” he asked less certainly, noticing now that we were no longer on campus.

I gave him another sidelong glance and picked up my pace.



Precious few times has a shower ever felt so good.

Maybe it was the steam; maybe it was the sound. Maybe it was the fact that it was the first shower after a night of foggy sex and alcohol.

My body actually hurt. My muscles were sore, my joints were sore, and I definitely had some bruises that were not there when I clocked out last night.

The blessed heat after the day’s cold sapped what little energy I had retained, and I stood under the showerhead for a good while, letting the water just wash over me, before I convinced myself that picking up the soap bar was actually a necessity.

I reached my arm around the curtain for the tumbler and threw back the rest of my drink before shutting the water off. The hot and cold was really doing my body in, and it was with a shaky hand that I pushed the curtain back and pulled a towel down from the bar.

It was with increasing rarity over the last years that I would resort to throwing on a hoodie and yoga pants, but I wasn’t trying to get into Seth’s pants – or rather, I wasn’t trying to get him out of his – so looking like a slob in sweats with wet hair when I joined him in the living room almost didn’t even register in my consciousness. He was standing in front of the fireplace, eyes squinting as he studied the framed pictures and knickknacks.

Fantastic, I thought with a roll of my eyes.

“So, um,” I swung my arms awkwardly at my sides, “should we do this then?”

An awful sense of déjà vu crept over me, pooling in my stomach.

Seth looked up at my voice, his eyes quickly darting over me, and a grin broke out across his face. He turned away, absorbing the room.

I tried to shake it off, focusing on Seth. “We can work in the kitchen or-”

He plopped down on the floor right where he was and started unzipping his bag, as if this was routine he’d done a million times.

“Oh, or right here on the floor. Okay.” I glanced around as he pulled books and binders out, opening several and spreading them around him on the floor. It was silly that I was so uncomfortable with this, and I was quickly growing annoyed with myself for it. I smoothed my hands over my thighs, and dropped onto the floor across from him.

“I meant to make a copy of these for you,” he started slowly, dropping his pencil in the niche behind his ear, “but it turned out I found you before I got the chance. Yeah. Here we go.”

I took the notebook from him and began flipping through the pages. I wanted to be positive, assure him that he had this under control and that we needn’t have another session, but I couldn’t even read his handwriting. Page upon page of pure illegibility.

I glanced up at his softly eager face. “Don’t write in blocks like this. Bullet, number, star—do anything but this. It will make finding things a lot easier when you go back later.”

“What?” he said.

“You might even want to skip lines, too,” I said tossing the notebook back to him and jumping up again, “Draw arrows if you have to. Distinguish.”

“That’s it?” he asked, following me into the kitchen as I reached for another glass.

“If you’re note-taking like that, it’s no wonder you need a tutor,” I said, pulling myself up onto the counter. They had been awful trusting to leave the liquor unlocked and in plain sight above the fridge, and I fully intended to take advantage of it. “I don’t think a tutor is even what you need; you just need an OCD freak to organize your thoughts for you. Want some?”

Seth shook his head and watched me pour a half tumbler of brandy. “So what do you recommend?”

“Exactly what I said. Draw all over the damn page.” I threw the glass back, chugging the sweet alcohol. “Are you sure you don’t want any of this?”

He nodded again. “I don’t drink much.”

I let out a whoosh of breath as I poured another. “That is a shame,” I said with a giggle, holding the glass up in cheers. The heat was just too much.