Harper’s eyes widened in horror, and her gaze snapped to the man she’d crashed into. He was similarly dusting himself off, as he looked with absolute misery at the massacre of his project. She realized with an even stronger pang of guilt that, based on the graduation year embroidered above the breast pocket of his scrubs, he was a first-year student. She’d destroyed something that took even seasoned seniors countless tries to get right, let alone someone newly learning the technique.
“I’m so sorry!” she blurted out, scurrying over to the fragments to see if anything was salvageable. Thu moved with her, picking up the pieces farther down the hall.
“I slipped and—and everything is soaking wet, and—and—rain! So much rain! Oh my God, I can’t believe I broke this. I feel—I mean—I’m so sorry. I—” She turned to look at him, lost for words on how to remedy this.
“It’s okay. Don’t … worry about it,” he said, dragging a hand down his face and squeezing his chin as he continued to stare at the mess with a pained expression. After a moment, he composed his features and offered her a sad half smile.
“I really am so sorry,” she repeated, her fingers practically itching to reach out and touch him. He was so damn pretty, her breathing hitched a bit.
“Accidents happen. Please, don’t worry about it.” He bent to scoop up the pieces, his scrub top pulled taut across his broad shoulders as he gingerly collected the fragments. Guilt drowned Harper’s stomach. Guilt and something that felt a tiny bit like lust.
“At least let me help you fix it,” she blurted out, surprised at how urgently she wanted him to say yes. He looked over his shoulder at her and lifted an eyebrow.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Please. It’s the least I can do.”
“Harper’s a lab goddess. She’ll help you make a new one in no time,” Thu quipped, moving back to Harper’s side and handing over the pieces she’d collected.
He stood, and Harper was forced to take a step back and tilt her head to meet his gaze. At five foot two （and a half） she stood about eye level with his nipples. It wasn’t an awful view. His lopsided grin and dimple were back as he gave her an appraising glance.
“Okay, lab goddess, you’ve got a deal. But it’s due tomorrow, so I understand if you’re too busy.”
“That’s fine,” she mumbled, wanting to melt into the floor at her new nickname.
“I’m Dan, by the way,” he said, reaching out a hand to shake hers. She returned the gesture, and Dan’s touch plucked at the already frayed threads of her composure, causing her pulse to flutter and her skin to prickle as his long fingers wrapped around hers.
This was all very … weird. While she had a handful of failed dates and unimpressive hookups under her belt, Harper usually observed guys with detached objectivity. She wasn’t blind and could appreciate that, yeah, some guys were cute, some were funny, some were even undeniably hot. But a man had never triggered anything inside her that made them worth her time or energy.
But something in the way Dan looked at her had her heart acting like quite the little drama queen.
It was probably that shameless fucking dimple.
Harper’s eyes flicked to the embroidered name over his breast pocket that came standard on all school-issued scrubs. Daniel Craige.
“Do you have a license to drill?” she blurted out.
Dan’s eyebrows lifted, and he blinked at her, making Harper cringe so hard, she almost snapped a neck muscle.
“Sorry, license for what?”
Harper cleared her throat. “To drill. Like, um, with a handpiece. Or like … license to kill … you know, Daniel Craig … James Bond…” She flapped her hand toward his chest, letting out a nervous giggle that ended with a mortifying snort.
At this point, Harper was confident she was concussed. Or hallucinating. Anything for this not to be real life.
Dan looked down to his chest, then back to Harper. A funny smile quirked his lips, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally finding words.
“I don’t,” he said slowly, fully grinning now. “But whatever helps you remember me.” Then the bastard actually winked at her.
If any more blood rushed to Harper’s face, she was fairly certain she’d suffer from a subdural hematoma. And hopefully die.
“So, tonight?” he asked after a moment.
“What?”
“The model? Want to work on it tonight? I can meet you in the lab at five, after classes.”