My sister accompanied me to the security checkpoint at SeaTac, rattling off a list of items I needed to be sure I had with me: my passport, the number to the US embassy, photocopies of all identification, sunscreen. I had my passport and sunscreen.

“I’m fine,” I assured her, pausing near the entry to the queue.

“Don’t drink the water. Don’t talk to strange men.” Lillian grabbed my shoulders and looked fiercely into my eyes. “And don’t get pregnant.”

She followed it up with a hug, which was pretty awkward given that she’s half a foot taller than me—and because I was caught somewhere between hysterical laughter and total shock. Don’t get pregnant? That was her advice? Lillian didn’t talk about sex. She was a twenty-eight-year-old attorney who slept, ate, and drank at the office. As far as I knew, she’d never had sex before. She didn’t have the time. Not that I was much better. Our mom had conditioned us to be married to our work. It was the price of being raised by a single parent who prized independence over relationships. Mom had only started dating again when both of her daughters had left the nest.

My decision to go to Mexico meant bailing on Lillian for Christmas—the one day she left the office. We’d exchanged presents this morning over Starbucks and then she’d driven me to the airport. I should have known that I’d be in for a lecture.

“‘Kay, Lil,” I promised with a straight face. “I won’t get knocked up.”

Lillian looked relieved, which only made it funnier. Somehow I managed not to crack up. The laughter started as soon as the guard checked my passport, and then I couldn’t stop. It was probably why I wound up in a little back room getting additional security screening.

TSA agents don’t have much of a sense of humor.

My sister didn’t have to worry though. The gentle butt-cupping of the security agent was likely to be the most action I'd see for the next seven days. I was not going to Puerto Vallarta to get laid. Party girl? Not me. I had MCATS to study for, and Cassie promised that studying for “boring, med tests” on the beach would be more productive because of all the Vitamin D in the sunlight.

I didn’t bother reminding her that I was studying to be a doctor and that there was no scientific proof to back that up. People were always trying to use pseudo-scientific claims to talk me into things. Once Jillian had tried to convince me that if you studied drunk and then took the test drunk, you would remember all the right answers—and get to be drunk. Ask me how that worked out for her.

Cassie’s claims that sunshine would help me retain information on chemical compounds or homozygous-dominant genotypes were dubious. It would help me escape Brett though. He’d taken the trip to Mexico poorly and demanded an answer. I gave him one he didn't like.

Plus, Olympic Falls was covered in the gray, wet blanket of winter.

So now I was here, avoiding reason number two for running off to Mexico, a.k.a. Brett, and searching the departure gate for a broken-hearted Cassie. A sweep of the waiting area turned up nothing, so I started scouting the nearby restaurants. I found her two margaritas down at the Mile High Club.

“You should slow down,” I warned her, parking my carry-on within eyesight. I sank down on the wobbly barstool next to her and braced myself against the slick bar.

“It’s a four-hour flight,” she said, her drawl oozing tequila. Booze always brought out the Texan in her. “I’ll sleep like a baby.”

“A drunk baby,” I said with a snort.

“Imagine how peaceful that would be,” she argued.

The bartender appeared and dropped a napkin in front of me. “Can I get you something?”

“Two waters and the check,” I said. Beside me, Cassie pouted. Her pout was a work of art, but I’d grown immune to it after three years at Olympic State. As soon as she realized it wasn’t going to work, she switched tactics.

“Jess, this is no way to start your vacation.”

“I just thought we could save the alcohol poisoning for the beach,” I said dryly.

“Come on,” she pleaded. “I just deleted his phone number. That deserves a drink.”

I had to admit that was major, especially for Cassie who treated her iPhone like a modern Rolodex. “Good for you.”

“You doing okay?” she asked, suddenly serious. “How did it go last night with Brett?”

Despite my attempts to shield her from my own romantic troubles, I’d had to tell her that I was going to meet him last night. She’d been like a barnacle since the night she found Trevor with another girl. Bringing her along would have been a bad idea, but it hadn’t even mattered. “We broke up.”

Cassie's mouth fell open, but she recovered immediately and threw her arms around me.

I accepted it awkwardly. I couldn't tell Cassie why I'd broken up with him. She was too raw to hear about his marriage proposal.

“Fuck them.” Cassie balled up her fist and held it out for me. I knocked mine against hers. Our own gesture of girl power. I had to hand it to her. She was holding together pretty well. Of course, that could also be the tequila.

“So his phone number is gone. What next? Ding his Uber rating? Send him glitter in the mail?”

She screwed up her face and shook her head. “I’m not wasting any more time on him, but I do need a new screensaver.”

She pulled out her iPhone and held it out in front of us as I leaned in for the obligatory selfie. A few seconds later she flashed the screen at me. Beside her olive skin and raven hair, I looked more pale and blonde than ever.

“We’re going to get you some goddamn sun,” she said with a sigh.

I wasn't the type that tanned, and Cassie knew it. “Good, I’ll look like a lobster.”

“I’ll look like caramel,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“I’m not sure how I feel about us both being edible.”

Two waters appeared before us without a word from the bartender and I threw down my AmEx on the counter as Cassie lifted her glass and clinked it against mine. “To sand, tequila, and bad decisions in the making.”

“Famous last words,” I muttered.

Cassie gulped down half her glass before she froze in place, her attention pinned on something behind me. “Is that Markson?”

Her timing was impeccable, because I was taking a sip of water, which wound up spluttered across my chin and chest. She was right. Roman Markson, communications prof and undeniable hottie, was here. At the airport. In the Mile High Club. Right now. I couldn't quite ignore the burst of excitement that jolted through me and landed in my treasure chest.

“If he didn’t see you before,” she continued with a giggle, “he has now.”

Fantastic. Of all the people to run into on vacation—a professor—and, of course, it happened while it looked like I was having a one girl wet T-shirt contest. I wiped at the drops on my top and tried to look anywhere but at him.

That proved impossible though, because Roman was clearly on vacation as well and looking more like a Hollister ad than a communications instructor. Right down to the tribal tattoo twisting around his bicep. It was the first time I’d ever seen it. Probably, because at school, he tried to cover up his looks with his professor uniform: button down, blazer or sweater vest, laced up oxfords. Today he wore a thin, fitted T-shirt and jeans that displayed his impressively muscular frame and that mysterious tattoo. This outfit only blurred the all-too-important teacher-student line in new and interesting ways. Plus, his five o'clock shadow was more pronounced than normal and he wasn't trying to tame his silky, black hair. He didn’t look like my teacher. He didn’t look like anyone’s teacher. He looked like God’s gift to women everywhere.

“Jessica!” Roman called my name with surprise as he approached us.

“Ro—Professor Markson,” I corrected myself immediately while a litany of curse words bounced around in my head. He’d already caught me staring at him. I didn’t need to embarrass myself even further by acting like we were on a first name basis. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“I’m not dressed for class.”

That was a perfectly rational excuse and I nodded emphatically as though it was the reason I’d pretended not to recognize him.

It so was not.

I’d only seen Roman outside of class on a handful of occasions. Not that I was meeting up with him or anything. We just bumped into each other every once in a while. I didn’t mind those chance encounters. But they’d been nothing like this.

“Vacationing?” Cassie asked, finally coming to my rescue.

“Off for the holidays. And you girls? Getting into trouble?” He winked at me, and my stomach flipped over.

“If I can help it,” Cassie promised him.

“Can I buy you two a drink?” he asked, placing his bag on the stool next to mine.

I tried to look casual and failed miserably as heat rose to my cheeks. “We’ve moved on to water. It’s best to stay hydrated on long flights.”

Oh my god, was I giving him health advice? I sounded like the information video they played on the plane prior to take-off.

“Good tip.” Roman shifted on his heels and glanced at his phone. “I hate how early you have to be here for international flights.”

“Going somewhere exotic?” Cassie twirled her stir stick before popping it into her mouth. Was she flirting with him? I couldn’t exactly blame her, but I envied how easily it came to her. She could make even a simple question sound sexy while I sounded like a nut-job.

“Puerto Vallarta,” he said without skipping a beat.

Cassie’s elbow found my rib cage in an unfortunate twist since his answer had knocked the wind out of me. “No fucking way! We’re headed there, too. Planning to hit the bars?”

“His family lives in Puerto Vallarta,” I butted in before I could think.

“I’m surprised you remember that.” Roman’s gaze searched my face, his expression entirely unreadable.

Crap. That sounded totally stalker-y. I just remembered things, especially things about Roman. Not that I should share that with him unless I wanted a restraining order taken out against me.

“She has a good memory,” Cassie said nonchalantly. “So you’re going to see your mom and dad?”

“My grandmother,” he said. “Most of the family has moved away. I’m actually the closest person she has left. The rest of us are scattered all over the globe. My sister’s in Spain.”

“It’s really nice of you to go see her,” I said in a quiet voice.

“She spoils me,” he admitted, “and the beach isn’t bad either. Do you like the water?” He turned his warm eyes on me.

I opened my mouth to answer, but Cassie jumped in. “She loves it. Maybe you could take her swimming.”

I hated the water, and I didn’t swim. Cassie knew that, and she was clearly up to something. And by something, I suspected she wanted me to hook up with our ex-prof.

“I’d like that,” Roman said. “It’s always nice to have someone to share the beach with.”

His chocolate brown eyes smoldered into mine, and I forgot to breathe. If anyone could talk me into drowning, it would be him. Just the thought of him in shorts, wading out into the waves with his shirt off, made my thighs clench together.

“I need to use the bathroom before we board,” I said, coming up with the first convenient excuse I could think of. “Back in a sec.”

Cassie nodded and returned to her conversation with Roman. I strode away, contemplating the strange turn in events. I knew Cassie was trying to play matchmaker, but was it my imagination or was Roman flirting with me? He’d asked me to go swimming. Hadn’t he? I thought of his casual comment about sharing the beach with someone. With me. Maybe he was just being friendly, but something in his eyes said he wasn’t. My body had reacted to it with a palpable desire I hadn’t felt before. It was why I’d fled to the bathroom.

We hadn’t even gotten to Mexico and I’d already found myself in trouble.

Somehow Cassie had finagled us seats in first class. I didn’t ask how, because I had a feeling it had something to do with the emergency credit card Trevor had given her a few months ago. He was always flashing his money around her, and if our roomy flight accommodations were courtesy of his screw up, I wasn’t surprised. Not that I approved of Cassie using his card for revenge, but it was nice to know I’d get some work done on the plane. Plus, we got to pre-board, which meant that I was already seated and relaxed. I even opted for some white wine when the flight attendant came around to take our cabin’s orders.

Lounging back with my glass, I watched the parade of travelers struggling with their bags while Cassie organized a stack of magazines to read in-flight. Maybe a few days in the heat won’t be so terrible after all.

Cassie leaned close to me and whispered, “So Markson is hot for you.”

“Bitch, please,” I said loudly and the woman across from us shot me a withering glare. I smiled back. Putting a girl in first class didn’t mean she had to behave.

“I suppose I don’t need to ask how you feel.” She giggled triumphantly and settled back in her seat.

No, she didn’t. Try as I might to calm myself, I’d become a bundle of nerves since we ran into him. I tapped my fingers on my tray, wishing I’d dragged Cassie away from that bar earlier. I glanced up and spotted Markson getting on board. My clit sent a distress signal at the sight of him. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and wondered if a quick bathroom masturbation break counted as joining the mile high club.

The line of people inched forward and Roman flashed me a crooked smile. “Have a safe flight.”

I grinned like a fool and nodded. The second he was out of sight I slumped against my headrest and swallowed the rest of my wine in one exasperated gulp.

“You should totally nail him. On the flight. Become a full-fledged member of the real mile-high club instead.” Cassie said as if she could read my mind.

“What?” I turned toward her, sure she was joking. “I am not nailing Roman.”

“You want to nail him.”

“I do not want to nail him,” I repeated a bit too loudly and a few heads swiveled to stare at me. The woman from early shook her head in disgust. This time, I shrank into my seat and pretended I was invisible.

Who cared if Roman Markson was on this plane? Or if he looked incredibly hot? I had bigger things to worry about. My focus needed to be on getting into med school, not men, and I'd ensured that would be the case by telling Brett “no” before we left. I'd just dumped a perfectly nice guy to focus on my own goals.

No. Now wasn’t the time for romantic entanglements. It was the sensible play. The trouble was that my body seemed to have more mutinous sentiments.

Cassie laughed and tossed me a Cosmo. “You so want to nail him. There are 200 Sex Lessons in there. Maybe you can play teacher. Did you bring a plaid skirt?”

“Remind me to kill you as soon as we land.”

“Isn’t that against the Hippocratic Oath?” she asked me as she waved the flight attendant over and ordered two more wines.

I stiffened at the joke. My friends loved to tease me about my dream profession, calling me Doctor Jess and buying me Grey’s Anatomy T-shirts. I knew that getting into med school required a lot more than saying I wanted to be a doctor and surviving a residency meant hard work and no social life. Yet another good reason to keep Roman in my fantasies and out of my bed. “I’m not a doctor yet.”

“Jess!” Cassie rolled her eyes. “For the last time, it’s not a jinx if we talk about you being a doctor. You’re going to be one. You’re right on track, but it wouldn’t kill you to let loose this week.”

It was easy enough for Cassie to say that, but she didn’t know how hard it was to get into med school—or to survive med school for that matter. Being able to earn that title was the one thing I couldn’t absolutely count on in my five-year plan and I hated that little variable.

Almost as much as I hated the near constant stress I felt. Could Cassie be right about letting go and having some fun? Would a week off from studying be all that bad?

Or was I just trying to find the excuse I needed to open a door for Roman?

“Truce?” Cassie suggested as she held up her wine glass.

I nodded and took a drink just as she added, “You still want to nail him.”