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make your job more difficult. The other residents will assume you’re playing favorites, or maybe one of them will get ticked off at you and claim sexual harassment. You’re putting yourself at risk.”
    “I was just being nice,” Marshall says, sounding genuinely concerned.
    I’ve heard more than enough. I scoot out of there quick and head for my room, my cheeksflaming. I thought he was flirting with me. Maybe he was but didn’t realize it. Either way, Marshall Collins is a bit too skilled in this area for my taste. If I’m going to tackle any kind of real relationship, I want someone who can stumble through it with me. I’m not good at being behind.
    But damn, that voice in my ear, that hand over my eyes, and the heat of him behind me … My back feels ice cold now. And to think that probably would have never happened if Becca had half a brain. Her game may have made no sense at all, but it gave Marshall the chance to “get frisky” with me.
    I spot Evan and Yoshi in the hall near my room. I give them a little wave and say, “Hey.” Both guys avoid eye contact with me, look at each other, and then shuffle into their own room.
    My face burns from blushing. This is not going well.

Chapter 4
@IsabelJenkinsMD: So even though I’m having downtime, I haven’t forgotten the importance of debunking medical myths.
@IsabelJenkinsMD: Myth—shaving causes hair to grow back faster.
@IsabelJenkinsMD: This is just an illusion. You get used to your smooth legs or face and the smallest bit of hair growth is more noticeable.
@IsabelJenkinsMD: Cutting the surface of the hair has no influence on what goes on underneath. That’s like saying cosmetic surgery makes you smarter.
    Kelsey bangs so hard on Marshall’s door, I’m sure she’s going to wake up the whole floor. There’s a strange guy in our room, so I had no choice but to follow Kelsey out into the hallway, gripping the two samples I swabbed only minutes ago.
    “I was trying to protect you,” I say, pleading with her to not turn me in. To not make me look like a weirdo in front of Marshall. A week into the semester and my roommate already hates me, as do several instructors. I’ve changed my class schedule three times already.
    Kelsey gives me a sideways glance and then pounds on the door again, mumbling, “And I thought I had boundary issues.”
    Finally Marshall opens the door, revealing the shirtless-and-in-boxer-shorts look I’ve seen a few times while he travels to and from the bathrooms. He’s not hard to look at, that’s for sure. His eyes are only half open, his dark hair even more disheveled than usual. “I know I gave that speech about the door always being open, but four in the morning might be the exception.”
    “My roommate is stealing DNA samples from me and William,” Kelsey says, so loud that Marshall immediately shuffles us inside his room and closes the door.
    “William?” Marshall doesn’t seem awake enough to react to Kelsey’s bra-and-panties-only attire.
    “Not DNA samples,” I protest. But even I can’t believe what I just did. What the hell was I thinking? This isn’t a clinic or a hospital. I touched someone’s no-zone without consent. Oh my God, I’m a criminal. I was half asleep and my brain went into doctor mode. I put on the gloves and dove right in. I’m almost nineteen; I should know better than to perform STI testing on my roommate’s sleeping one-night stand.
    Dr. James believes your certainty may be a mask for avoidance of important age milestones .
    Oh my God. Dr. Winifred James, Ph.D., is going to become my alter ego. I’m gonna develop dissociative identity disorder like that lady in the show United States of Tara . Soon I’ll be spending three days a week assuming the role of the psychologist who ruined my medical career. The irony. The tragedy. It’s like a modern-day Shakespeare play.
    Marshall holds up a hand to me and turns to Kelsey, repeating, “William?”
    She’s too pissed off to explain