Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Emerson
I pressed my back against the cool wall, using my drink as a social force field between me and whatever fresh hell this department party was supposed to be.
The ice in my glass played its own little symphony while I observed what I liked to call "When Nerds Go Wild: The Documentary.”
Seriously, what was I doing here? Besides auditioning for the role of "Most Awkward Wallflower Ever," obviously.
The room buzzed with that special brand of nerd-speak that only came out at these things—those heavy on vocabulary words we all learned to drop casually into conversation to justify our student loans.
A DJ who clearly hadn't read the room was desperately trying to turn it into an actual party, but these people were about as likely to dance as they were to spontaneously combust.
Though honestly, spontaneous combustion might have livened things up.
My fingers tightened around my glass. I'd rather be getting a root canal than be there, but there I was anyway, doing my best impression of decorative wallpaper and calculating how long I needed to stay before I could escape without looking completely antisocial.
And then there was Liam. Because, of course, there was Liam, holding court in the center of the room like some kind of social butterfly on steroids.
His laugh carried across the space, rich and warm, making my stomach do that annoying flip thing. No, bad stomach. We talked about this.
But watching him was like watching a National Geographic special on "How to Human Successfully."
It was infuriating how natural he made it look, drawing people in like he was generating his own gravitational field. Everyone wanted a piece of him, hanging on his every word like he was giving away the secrets of the universe instead of probably just telling another one of his ridiculous stories.
Heat rose in my chest—partly irritation, partly something else I refused to think about. How did he do that? Just... exist in social situations without feeling like every word might trigger some kind of diplomatic incident?
Meanwhile, here I was, more comfortable with computer screens than people, treating small talk like it was advanced calculus with missing variables.
Then—sweet baby Einstein—his eyes found mine across the room, and this beautiful menace had the audacity to wink at me. Actually wink. I jerked my head away so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash, my face burning like I'd stuck it in a Bunsen burner.
Smooth, Emerson. Very professional. Acting like a teenager with her first crush just because your ridiculously attractive lab assistant threw a wink your way.
My fingers fumbled for my phone, desperate for escape. The group chat with my sisters and cousins would save me—it always did.
A few taps and I was home, surrounded by the familiar chaos of family drama and inside jokes, light-years away from this suffocating party and those dangerous blue eyes that kept trying to pull me in.
Emerson: So Mack…that article. It’s blowing up.
Quinn: OMG yes! “Colder than a penguin’s ballsack.” I nearly choked on my coffee.
Mackenzie: What can I say? I speak the truth, and sometimes the truth is chilly.
Kennedy: Leave it to Mack to turn relationship advice into a roast session.
Avery: I lost it at “shitting hearts.”
Mackenzie: Well, if Cupid can shoot love arrows, I figure hearts can take all kinds of exit routes.
Taylor: As a therapist, I should probably disapprove... but damn, it’s hilarious.
Harlow: “Fast-tracked fuckery” is my new favorite phrase. Using it for my next event disaster.
Mackenzie: Feel free. I’ll only charge you a small royalty fee.
Shelby: I have so many patients who need to read this. Might “accidentally” leave it open on the computer during sessions.
Emerson: I can’t believe you compared your vibrator to a 90-day relationship.
Mackenzie: Hey man, my vibrator has never asked me, “Where is this going?”
Quinn: Plot twist: The vibrator wrote the article. Mack’s just the face of the brand.
Mackenzie: Quinn! Don’t expose my co-author like that!
Kennedy: But seriously, can we talk about how you just dragged the entire dating industry?
Mackenzie: Someone had to do it. I’m just the messenger with a potty mouth and a thesaurus.
Harlow: Maybe I should create a “90-Day Breakup Party” package. Could be lucrative.
Mackenzie: If you do that, I want in. We’ll make millions off of other people’s misery.
Shelby: You two are terrible! ...but also, can I invest?
Emerson: You’re all awful. I love it. Thanks for the distraction, guys. This party is a snooze-fest.
Mackenzie: Anytime. Remember, if all else fails, you can always write a scathing article about it. Works for me.
Quinn: Or find yourself a 90-day disaster of your own!
Emerson: Ha! I’d rather eat glass. Back to my wallflower duties.
Mackenzie: Atta girl. Stay strong and snarky!
A few moments later, like he’d read my thoughts, Liam was suddenly at my side, his fresh, stormy scent washing over me as I fought the urge to lean in closer.
I slipped my phone back into my purse.
“Why so serious, Doc?” he teased, his voice low and playful. “You know this is a party, right? It’s okay to relax a little.”
Rolling my eyes, I tried to ignore the way my heart sped at his closeness. “Someone has to stay focused on the work, especially with our funding situation being what it is.”
The words came out shakier than I intended, and I saw recognition flicker in his eyes. He knew what this research meant to me.
He murmured, and I swear the sound did things to me that I refuse to admit out loud. “Speaking of which, I’ve been thinking a lot about our chat about love and science.”
I groaned. “Seriously? You’re like a dog with a bone, Liam. Let it go already.”
His eyes twinkled. “No can do, Doc. Your brain’s too sexy when it’s all fired up and argumentative. Gets me all hot and bothered.”
I turned away slightly, but Liam stepped around to face me. He'd always had this uncanny ability to see past my defenses, to read the fear behind my walls of logic and data.
"Well, someone has to keep your romantic notions in check," I managed, but my voice betrayed me, coming out soft and uncertain.
He leaned closer, a glimpse of vulnerability in his expression making my breath catch. "Fair enough," he said, grinning. "But hear me out. What if we're both right? What if love is this beautiful dance between science and mystery?"
I raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of my drink to steady myself. "I'm listening."
His face lit up with that boyish enthusiasm that had first drawn me to him—the same look he got when we made breakthroughs in the lab.
"Okay, so we've got all this data, right? The chemical reactions, the hormones, the neurotransmitters. That's the foundation, the science of it all."
I nodded, my analytical mind automatically mapping out the neurological pathways he was describing.
"But then," he continued, his voice dropping to that intimate register that seemed reserved just for me, "there's this... spark. This inexplicable connection that can't be quantified. It's like... like quantum entanglement, you know? Two particles inexplicably linked, defying our understanding of space and time."
My smile was genuine this time. "Are you trying to seduce me with physics metaphors?"
His laugh filled the space between us, warm and genuine. "Is it working?"
Our eyes met, and time seemed to slow. In that moment, I saw everything we could be.
I cleared my throat, trying to find solid ground. "It's an interesting theory, I'll give you that. But how would we test it?"
Liam's eyes sparkled with something deeper than mischief—understanding, maybe, or hope. "Maybe that's the point, Doc. Maybe some things aren't meant to be tested in a lab."
"Which is the exact problem with the theory," I said, my heart racing, skin humming with awareness.
Our "debate" was heating up faster than a microwave burrito, and every word out of his mouth was specifically engineered to make me want to either throw my drink in his stupidly handsome face or, you know, jump his bones.
“You can explain love scientifically all you want,” he said, stepping closer, the heat of his body radiating toward mine, making it hard to concentrate. “But that doesn’t change how it feels. Can you really tell me that when you’re with someone, all you think about is chemicals and neurons?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. His eyes bore into mine, the blues dark and intense, a challenge and an invitation all at once. The air between us was charged, crackling with tension that was almost palpable.
“You’re missing the point,” I said, my voice faltering slightly. “Understanding the science doesn’t diminish the experience. It enhances it.”
He smirked—actually smirked, the absolute jerk—and moved even closer until I could feel his breath tickling my skin. At this point, my fight-or-flight response was playing rock-paper-scissors with my libido, and neither was winning.
"I think you're just scared to admit that love is more than just science," he murmured. "That it's something you can't control or predict."
Pushing back against my scientific view of love like he was some kind of romantic knight battling the dragon of my skepticism was, annoyingly, working. I was getting flustered as I defended my research with more passion, each word sounding more desperate.
Was I trying to convince him, or myself? Hell if I knew anymore.
People around us started to notice, their eyes drawn to our heated exchange like moths to a flame. They probably thought we were having some kind of intellectual foreplay.
Maybe we were.
But I barely noticed them. I was too busy riding the Liam rollercoaster, equal parts pissed off and turned on. He made me question things I’d always believed, and, unsettling as it was, I couldn’t pull away. His infuriating charm was like a drug, and I was hooked.
As our argument reached a fever pitch, I resorted to citing studies and data points, my voice growing louder and more insistent.
I was determined to prove the validity of my work, to show him that love could be proven as a series of chemical reactions and predictable patterns.
Liam, of course, countered with anecdotes and philosophical musings, his conviction unwavering and maddeningly compelling. We were so close, our bodies nearly touching as our words tumbled over each other in a dizzying tangle of science and sentiment.
Just as I was about to deliver my coup de grace, my ultimate argument that would surely leave him speechless, a polite throat-clearing interrupted us.
We turned to find a man in an impeccably tailored suit standing nearby, radiating confidence. He looked to be in his early fifties, with the sharp eyes of someone who knew how to spot an opportunity.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said, his tone direct but friendly, "but I couldn't help overhearing your discussion. The way you're approaching the quantification of emotional responses—it's exactly the kind of innovative thinking we've been looking for."
Liam and I exchanged a quick glance, immediately picking up on the word "we."
The man stepped forward with the practiced ease of someone used to commanding boardrooms, offering a firm handshake.
"Jasper Nielsen, CEO of Nielsen Biotech. We've been looking to expand our investment portfolio in neuroscience research, particularly in projects that bridge the gap between clinical applications and human behavior."
As I shook his hand, my mind rapidly shifted gears from our debate to potential funding opportunities.
"Dr. Emerson Grant," I replied, straightening slightly. "And this is Dr. Liam Larson. We're conducting research on the neurological mapping of emotional responses here at the university."
Jasper gave us both the once-over, looking like a kid in a candy store. “Nice to meet you. Your debate caught my attention because it embodies the very essence of progress in a way that aligns with my interests—challenging ideas and pushing boundaries. I’d love to hear more about your perspectives, perhaps in a more professional setting?”
Liam’s eyes met mine, a silent exchange of surprise and intrigue. This was unexpected, but the prospect of discussing our work with someone influential could be invaluable.
“That sounds intriguing,” I said.
Jasper’s smile widened. “Excellent. How about we continue this conversation in your office tomorrow? I have a proposition that I believe could be mutually beneficial.”
His words hung in the air. Liam’s gaze didn’t waver from mine, his eyes burning with challenge and something deeper, something that sent a thrill of anticipation through me.
“Of course, we’d love to,” I managed to say, my voice shakier than intended.
“Great, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jasper said, turning away.
The weight of the moment settled over us as Liam leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear.
"To be continued, Doc," he murmured, his voice doing things to my internal organs that would require several peer-reviewed studies to properly document.
I wanted to roll my eyes, to dismiss his words with a sarcastic retort, but the truth was, Liam had this ability to rattle me, to make me question everything I thought I knew.
“Alright,” I said, my voice softening, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips. “Let’s see what Jasper has to say tomorrow. But don’t think for a second that I’ve given up on proving my point.”
Liam’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Doc.”
His words were a challenge, a promise, and as he stepped back, giving me space to breathe, I knew that this was far from over.