Free Third Degree by Julie Cross

to our rooms, “Step into my classroom and I’ll teach you the ways of the world. You and Kelsey will be BFFs by midnight.”
    I’m laughing again like he’s ridiculous, but really, I’m secretly hoping Marshall’s not just blowing smoke. Otherwise, I’m destined for a future of poking rats in a lab or publishing research reports. I need this to go right. I need something to go right.
    He did get me to hit the bull’s-eye. Maybe he’s got more tricks up his sleeve.

    “Are you sure this is going to work?” I can’t seem to leave Marshall’s room. Facing Kelsey right now is more daunting than three rounds of kindergarten booster shots. I screwed up. Marshall is going to lie for me on his form, or at least leave out some majorly important details, at the risk of his job, and now I need to have this conversation end in a civilized manner so that I don’t screw him over.
    “What benefit would I get from sending you into battle with a plan destined to fail?” Marshall digs through his closet, emerges with a blue plaid button-down shirt, then peels off his T-shirt, tossing it into the bottom of the closet.
    It’s hard not to stare at the muscles in his back as they flex in tune with the effort ofunbuttoning the new shirt. After that task is complete, he slips his arms through the sleeves and turns to face me, shirt still open, abdominal muscles exposed.
    Damn.
    I force my gaze upward. “So it’s a battlefield now?”
    “In your mind it seems to be.” He shrugs, then unfortunately proceeds to seal off my view of his midsection by buttoning his shirt. “And you know, the longer you stall, the bigger this battle will feel.”
    “Right.” I knew that. And speaking my mind isn’t usually a skill I lack. The problem is that I know I was wrong, I crossed a line with Kelsey, and I also know that I was being myself, so how can I promise her that it won’t happen again?
    “You don’t have to be someone else in order to make this roommate situation work,” Marshall had said during our hour-long lesson. “You just need to tuck away those parts of yourself that aren’t compatible with Kelsey.”
    “I get that, but tucking things away for a while doesn’t help me down the road with figuring out how to approach other, similar situations.”
    “You’re looking at it all wrong,” Marshall had protested. “It’s like a chef with a famous recipe, but a customer at dinner has an allergy to one of his ingredients. There’re ways to produce a version of that dish without causing … what do you call it?”
    “Anaphylactic shock,” I supplied.
    “Yeah, that.”
    After replaying the remainder of his insight, I take a step toward the hallway, and Marshall gives me a big shove from behind. “Go. Now.”
    My slow shuffle down the hall to my room includes at least three glances over my shoulder to make sure he’s not ditching me or anything. What if Kelsey gets violent? I’ll need a witness and someone to rescue me.
    The door to our room is open, and she’s sitting at her desk, a textbook in front of her, her back to me. “Kelsey?” I say so quietly I’m not positive that I spoke out loud.
    She lets out a sigh, drops her pencil, and spins around. Guess she heard me.
    “Look, I’m really sorry about the—”
    She holds up a hand to stop me, and I brace myself for more shouting like she did in the early hours of the morning. “Marshall told me your deal. I get it.” Wait … what? “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you get away with crazy shit, but I’ll try to be patient. Make this an educational opportunity for both of us.”
    He told her my deal? As in my secret? How could he do that? My mouth falls open, and the words “What exactly did he tell you?” spill out.
    She leans back in her chair, propping her feet on the end of her bed. “The home-schoolthing. You’ve never been around normal kids or people your own age.”
    Huh. So Marshall told her I was home-schooled? Well, that’s partially