Page 75 of Faking It with the Bad Boy

"Very improper preservation protocols," Tommy added.

But we didn't care because some things - like love found between Victorian medical texts and hockey practices, like bad boys who quoted literature and museum girls who broke rules, like being the real you, even when it didn't fit anyone's categories - were worth any risk.

Later that night, in our usual spot in the rare books section (now with notably improved security cameras), Jack traced patterns on my skin while I reorganized his study notes by date and significance.

"You know what's funny?" he said, watching me color-code his surprisingly detailed analysis of nineteenth-century surgical techniques. "I used to think I had to choose - be the hockey star or be the guy who gets excited about medical history. Be the bad boy or be the secret nerd who organizes books by historical period."

"And now?"

"Now I know some things can't be categorized." He smiled, soft and real in the library's quiet. "Like how you organize everything except your feelings. Like how you make medical history sound like poetry. Like how falling in love with you made me brave enough to be everything I am."

I found a note in my museum locker the next morning:

***

"Some things can't be categorized. Some rules need breaking. Some love stories start with dental tools and end with moral turpitude.

Meet me in the rare books section? For purely academic purposes, of course. I found a fascinating text about Victorian medical practices that requires immediate scholarly attention.

Though perhaps we should check for security cameras first.

Love, Your favorite inappropriate study partner

P.S. - I may have organized the medical texts by date AND subject. Your influence is clearly corrupting my carefully cultivated chaos."

***

I filed it under green - for things worth risking everything for.

And went to find my bad boy with a reading habit, ready for whatever historical discussions might arise.

Even if they violated proper preservation protocols.

Especially then.

Because some victories aren't measured by board votes or hockey scores, some wins come in quiet moments between bookshelves, in the way someone looks at you like you're worth every risk, in finally being brave enough to be exactly who you are.

Even if who you are is a medical historian who falls for hockey players with hidden depths. Even if who you are is a bad boy who secretly color-codes his notes and quotes Victorian literature during plays.

Even if who you are doesn't fit into anyone's careful categories.

Chapter twenty-two

New Normal

My dental tool collection had mysteriously migrated to Jack's apartment, appearing piece by piece between his growing library of medical texts and first editions. I discovered this while attempting to catalog my Victorian-era forceps and finding them already arranged by date and significance on his bookshelf, complete with color-coded labels in his precise handwriting.

"Jack," I called from his living room, where I'd been reorganizing his surprisingly extensive collection of nineteenth-century medical literature. "Why do you have my 1856 tooth extractor?"

"Because it matches the surgical kit?" he suggested from the kitchen, where he was cooking dinner instead of ordering post-practice takeout like a normal college athlete. "Also, your organizational system makes more sense than having them scattered between your apartment and the museum."

"You organized my dental tools?"

"With proper preservation protocols," he assured me, appearing in the doorway with an apron that read "Kiss the Cook(After Proper Sterilization)" - a gift from the team that perfectly summed up our bizarre blend of worlds. "Even used those humidity-control packets you're always going on about."

Sometimes, I still can't believe this is real, I thought, watching Jack meticulously adjust the humidity controls around my dental tool collection.That the bad boy of Preston University not only understands my organizational systems but improves them. He handles these pieces of history with the same care he shows me. And somehow, between breaking rules and making new ones, we built something that feels like it was always meant to be.

The sight of Preston University's notorious bad boy carefully preserving historical medical instruments while wearing that apron should have been ridiculous. Instead, it made my heart do complicated things that probably required Victorian medical attention.

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