Third Degree by Julie Cross Read Free Book Online

morning so no one catches you performing the walk of shame, exiting the RA’s room. I’ll take the floor.”
    I know that, socially, I should refuse the bed and play that little game where he refuses my refusal and so on, but I’m tired and I hate games that are pointless and predictable. I mumble a thanks and climb onto his bed, resting my cheek against his pillow. I press my nose into it and inhale. “Head and Shoulders shampoo … you know, Selsun Blue is much more effective.”
    “Remember that conversation about being intrusive? The one we had like five seconds ago?” Marshall stretches out on the floor on top of his blue comforter and then closes his eyes.
    “Right.” I lie there in silence for several minutes, watching his chest rise and fall, counting his breaths until I can’t stay silent any longer. “Marshall?”
    “Isabel,” he mumbles, eyes still shut.
    “I suck at being normal.”
    He rolls over on his side, his back to me. “Well, that’s one thing you have in common with your roommate.” He gives that a good thirty seconds to sink in before adding, “You’re always observing people, but maybe you’re studying the wrong things.”
    He’s gotten my brain swirling with thoughts all over again, keeping me from sleep. I watch a half-asleep Marshall roll around and try to get comfortable on the floor for at least thirty minutes before I lean over to shake him.
    “Marsh?” I shake his shoulder again, and he turns on his back, peeling his eyes open. “Just sleep on the bed. You look miserable, and there’s room up here for two people.”
    “You sure?”
    I nod, and seconds later he’s stretched out beside me, his blue comforter tossed over me instead of him.
    “No taking samples from any part of my body, got it?”
    I laugh and stare up at the ceiling. “That won’t be a problem as long as you refrain from sleeping naked and giving me a full frontal view on my way to the bathroom.”
    He slaps his hands over his face, half laughing, half groaning. “Nasty. Don’t tell me he had something … you know, down there? Something big enough to see in the dark?”
    “Oh, yeah. It wasn’t pretty. He was practically begging me to take a look and find out if it’s contagious.”
    “I feel nauseous,” Marshall says, still laughing.
    “My apology was completely sincere. I know I screwed up. It’s just … Well, this is going to sound weird.…” I stop, not sure if I should reveal too much of Isabel Jenkins, M.D.
    He tugs on my hair. “What’s going to sound weird?”
    “Promise you won’t think I’m psycho?”
    He laughs. “I can’t promise that until you tell me the rest.”
    “There’s something so satisfying about seeing the disease you’ve been looking for under a microscope. I know that sounds morbid, but it calms me. Like no matter what, I have something.”
    “What? Your brain?” he guesses.
    I laugh. “Yeah, sort of. And sometimes it becomes this frenzy whenever I question something and I know there’s a way to find the answer.” I search for a more common, mainstream analogy to help him understand. “It’s like when you’re talking about movies or TV shows or music with someone and you can’t think of a title or an actor’s name. Then later, when it finally comes to you, you get this wave of relief, like part of your mind has been occupied with that question and you didn’t realize how much energy had been spent on it until you have the answer.”
    His gaze is practically burning a hole into the side of my face. I can feel it. “I think I know what you mean,” Marshall says.
    The tone of his voice has shifted from light amusement to something deeper, more serious. I swallow back nerves and dig for a new subject.
    “So this is what college is like.” I turn my head toward him. “Girls exposing their entire floor to their bra and panty collections, casual and platonic cohabiting of beds, random sexual encounters, lots of wet naked people walking around