For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
Sitting next to Diana in Dr. Connors' cavernous lecture hall was a new form of exquisite torture. Before, it had been a simple, agonizing crush. Now, it was a full-blown sensory assault. Peter wasn't just aware of her presence; he was consumed by it.
He caught the faint, clean scent of her shampoo—something floral and green—and his mind instantly supplied the memory of that same scent on his own pillow that morning. He saw the elegant line of her neck as she focused on the lecture, and his lips tingled with the phantom taste of her skin. He watched her fingers, long and graceful, as she took notes in a precise, flowing script, and he remembered exactly how those fingers had felt gripping his back, her nails scraping lightly in the throes of passion.
He was a complete goner.
Dr. Connors was passionately explaining the mechanisms of gene splicing, but the words were just a distant buzz in Peter's ears. His own personal biology was far more distracting. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, and his knee brushed against hers. A jolt, low and warm, shot straight to his groin. He pulled back instantly, as if burned.
He risked a glance at her. She didn't look over, her gaze still fixed on the front of the hall, but the corner of her mouth was turned up in a tiny, knowing smile. A moment later, he felt the soft pressure of her sneaker deliberately press against his. She didn't move it away. It was a secret, a silent conversation under the rows of desks, an anchor in the public space that tethered them to the wild, private world they now shared.
Peter slowly returned the pressure, a giddy, reckless feeling bubbling up in his chest. This was their secret. Their game. He could feel the warmth from her leg seeping through his jeans, a constant, humming reminder of the night before. His focus on the lecture was shot to hell.
"…which brings us to the fascinating world of symbiotic relationships," Dr. Connors was saying, his voice echoing slightly. "Organisms that live in close, long-term interaction. In mutualism, both species benefit. One provides resources, the other, protection. A perfect, logical arrangement."
Peter had to physically bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He felt Diana's leg press a little harder against his. She was enjoying this.
"Take the classic example of the clownfish and the sea anemone," Connors continued. "The clownfish is protected from predators by the anemone's stinging tentacles, to which it is immune. In return, the fish cleans the anemone and may even lure in other prey. A system built on mutual need and benefit."
"A practical application of agreed-upon principles," Diana whispered, her voice so low it was barely a breath, meant only for him.
The sound of her voice, so close and laced with that private, teasing humor, sent a shiver down his spine. He was so screwed. The "system," the logical "arrangement"—it was all a beautiful, wonderful, terrifying joke. You don't feel this way about a "system." You don't spend a two-hour lecture fantasizing about the way your "data partner's" breasts feel in your hands.
When the lecture finally ended, the spell was broken. The noise of a hundred students packing their bags and shuffling out of the hall flooded the space. Peter felt a pang of disappointment as Diana withdrew her leg.
"So," he said, his voice a little shaky as he shoved his notebook into his backpack. "Got any other… symbiotic relationships to study today?"
"Just a lengthy paper on the socio-political structures of ancient Sparta," she said, her expression perfectly straight, but her eyes were dancing with amusement. "They also had very strict rules of engagement."
They walked out of the hall together, falling into an easy stride. The secret between them was a comfortable, humming bubble.
"So, uh," Peter started, his courage warring with his nerves. "Are we... is this a thing now? The... studying?"
Diana stopped, turning to face him in the crowded hallway. She reached out and, with a startlingly public gesture, picked a piece of lint off his hoodie. Her fingers brushed his chest, a fleeting touch that made his heart stutter.
"The system is still in its data-collection phase," she said, her voice low and intimate despite the people bustling around them. "Further practical application is required for a conclusive analysis." She held his gaze for a long, charged moment. "My room. Tonight. Eight o'clock. Bring your notes."
And with that, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the river of students, leaving Peter standing there, his heart pounding, a wide, idiotic grin on his face.
The data-collection phase, huh? He had a feeling he was going to enjoy the hell out of this particular scientific endeavor.
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