The 90-Day Experiment (The Expiry Date Diaries #1)

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Liam

T he days had started bleeding together, marked only by the cycle of fluorescent lab lights and Emerson's skin under my touch.

During the day, I'd watch her through a maze of data… watch that asshole Jasper pile more onto her plate, grinding her down with impossible demands, my blood pressure spiking every time he'd slap her with another "urgent" deadline.

But the nights... Christ, the nights made up for everything.

We'd barely make it to her place before clothes started hitting the floor, all the day's tension finally breaking loose.

I was learning her body like a map I'd been born to navigate—exactly where to touch, to kiss, to bite until those stressed little sighs turned into sounds that haunted my dreams. Until she'd finally relax, finally let that brilliant mind of hers stop spinning with data and pressure and expectations.

It was probably stupid, letting myself fall deeper into this. What could I really offer her? I was just the lab tech who handled her reports, who watched her grow more exhausted each day under the weight of corporate politics and impossible deadlines.

But every time she reached for me in the dark, every time she curled into me afterward, finally peaceful—it did things to me I wasn't ready to examine too closely.

Which was probably why I'd been avoiding visiting Gran. That woman could read me like a book with extra-large print, and I wasn't sure I was ready for her particular brand of insight.

But after dodging her calls for too long, I'd run out of excuses.

The moment I walked into the assisted living apartment, I knew I was in trouble. Gran had that look—the one that said she'd spotted something different about me before I'd even opened my mouth.

My stomach did a nervous flip as she lowered herself into that ancient floral armchair of hers—the one that looked like someone had murdered a garden and used its remains to upholster furniture.

She adjusted her cardigan—all slow and calculated, like a chess master plotting their next move—which told me I was seconds away from an interrogation that was about to put the FBI to shame.

"Well, look who finally got some action." Her voice had that razor-sharp edge of triumph, the one she'd used my entire life whenever she caught me doing something. Those shrewd eyes of hers might have gotten a bit cloudy with age, but they could still pin me to the wall like a preserved butterfly.

"Who's the lucky lady, Liam? And don't even think about lying to your old Gran."

Heat crawled up my neck. Christ, how was I supposed to explain Emerson? The woman who made my pulse speed every time she walked into the lab, whose smile could knock the air right out of my lungs?

Unfortunately, my traitorous brain decided to pick that moment to replay highlights from our encounters—Emerson's breath hitching when I kissed her neck, how she arched against me, those little sounds she'd made...

I shifted my weight, trying to think about tax forms or history textbooks or anything else that might keep my body from embarrassing me in front of my grandmother.

But it was that nagging voice of insecurity worming its way in that finally did the trick. Emerson was the whole package—brains, beauty, and a body that could make a saint sin. And what was I? A grunt in a lab coat, barely scraping by.

“How do you always know these things, Gran?” I asked, trying to play it cool.

"Years of experience and a nose for bullshit, dear."

She attacked her tea with sugar, fixing me with that penetrating stare that had extracted every secret I'd ever tried to keep.

"Now, spill the beans. Who's got you glowing like a firefly in June? And if you leave out any juicy details, I'll know."

I exhaled heavily, knowing resistance was futile. Gran could smell a secret like a bloodhound on the trail. "Her name's Emerson, Gran. She's... well, she's something else." The words felt inadequate, like trying to describe a supernova as 'pretty bright.'

"Something else, huh?" Her eyebrows shot up. "That's code for 'she's got you by the balls,' isn't it? Good for her!"

She settled deeper into her chair, eyes gleaming. "Now, tell me everything, and don't skimp on the dirty bits. I need to live vicariously through you since my own love life is deader than disco."

I chuckled, but my mind was starting to wander just talking about Emerson.

Sitting here with Gran, I felt like a damn teenager, trying to hide my raging hormones. My thoughts were a mess of lust and longing, all mixed in with a hefty dose of uncertainty.

Gran was still waiting, her eyes twinkling with curiosity and amusement. “Well, don’t just sit there with that lovesick puppy look. Spill it. What’s she like?”

“She’s... perfect, Gran,” I said, my voice a little rough. “And she’s driving me crazy. I can’t stop thinking about her.” I hesitated, but Gran’s expectant look pushed me on. “She’s got me hooked, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Gran’s laughter rang out, full of life and mischief. “Oh, Liam, you are in deep. Good. It’s about time someone shook you up. Tell me more. This is the only interesting thing I’ve heard in months.”

I let my eyes wander around Gran's cramped living room, desperately hoping the clutter of memories would distract me from thoughts of Emerson.

The place was a museum of Gran's life, every surface crammed with trinkets that had followed her from the old house.

That one-eared porcelain cat that guarded the windowsill, a collection of snow globes from places she'd never visited, and the "haunted" typewriter lurking in the corner, its keys still frozen in mid-stroke from the time Gran swore it had typed out lottery numbers in the middle of the night.

She probably should have played those.

"So there's this viral relationship challenge," I started, then winced at how ridiculous it sounded already. "Ninety days of... well, a twisted social experiment to fast-track falling in love."

Gran's eyebrows shot up. "And you're doing this because?"

I sighed. "Emerson's cousin wrote this scathing takedown of the whole thing, basically predicting anyone trying it would end up crying into their ice cream at 3 AM, and Emerson and her family are the guinea pigs."

Gran shook her head. “Ah, young love. So silly,” she sighed, her voice full of nostalgia. “Reminds me of a whirlwind romance I had in my youth. He was a rebellious artist with a penchant for trouble and a jawline that could cut glass.”

Her eyes glazed over into a wistful gaze. “Marcus was the kind of guy my mother warned me about but who could resist? Our chemistry was wild, electric. Our first kiss was in the back of a movie theater, and we missed half the film because we were too busy exploring each other’s tonsils.”

She waggled her eyebrows at me, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Once, we got caught making out behind a church after mass. The priest nearly had a heart attack.” Gran cackled, lost in the memory, as I shifted in my chair and wished I could stop myself from hearing any more of it. Honestly, where was an ear lid when you needed one?

“One night, we snuck into the town’s art gallery after hours. He wanted to show me his latest piece.” She cleared her throat and smiled. “Let’s just say, artwork wasn’t the only piece I saw. Paint everywhere, clothes off—it was straight out of a scandalous novel.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, even though my stomach was squirming. “Gran, seriously?”

“Oh, don’t act so shocked, Liam. You kids think you invented sex. We were doing it before it was cool,” she said, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“The thing about love, Liam,” she continued, leaning in as if she were sharing a state secret, “is that it comes when we least expect it, and in ways that make us question our sanity. But when it does arrive, we need to grab it by the balls and hold on tight, even if logic and reason are screaming at us to let go.”

Gran kept on chatting about God-knows-what—probably more “dalliances,” as she liked to call them, that she’d had as a young woman, but, to be honest, my brain had checked out.

My mind had gone rogue again, daydreaming about Emerson’s perfect body… under me in bed, slick with water from the shower, or that first night bathed in moonlight, like some kind of celestial peep show just for me.

But then Gran decided to lob a verbal grenade right into our conversation, so casually I nearly spilled my tea.

“Gosh, those poor twin girls,” she said quietly, shaking her head like she was discussing foul weather. “Such a shame what happened with their family all those years ago.”

My curiosity was instantly piqued. She had to be talking about Emerson’s mom and aunt Victoria. “What do you mean?” I asked. “What happened?”

Gran hesitated, her fingers tapping a slow, thoughtful rhythm on the arm of her chair. Her eyes narrowed, clearly caught in a mental tug-of-war about whether to spill the beans.

“Oh, there were whispers of a scandal, some juicy secret that nearly tore the town apart. I never got the full dirt, but I remember how distraught the girl’s family was at the time. Suddenly, there were two new babies in town, and Emma Grant—that’s the twins’ mother—somehow got ownership of that old hotel.”

She shifted in her seat like she could feel something crawling up her back. “As far as I know, the father is still a mystery. It was all very scandalous back in the day.”

Questions swarmed my mind like over-caffeinated bees, each one more insistent than the last. But I could see Gran regretted having brought it up, the way her eyes darted away and her usual sass took a backseat.

So, like a semi-decent grandson, I steered the conversation to safer waters.

“So, what’s new in your world?” I asked, my voice a bit too eager.

“Absolutely nothing other than you finally coming to visit me. And since I don’t get to see you often enough, I think it’s time to give an old girl a kick. Tell me a story about that sex lab of yours,” Gran demanded, her eyes full of mischief.

Fuck.

The woman was nothing if not an expert at the old guilt game. I came to see her every week without fail until a couple of weeks ago when my schedule became a little more… full, but somehow she could make me feel like I’d neglected her for years.

Decidedly uncomfortable, but knowing Gran would tell me one of her own sex stories just to spite me if I didn’t oblige, I took a deep breath and began recounting one of the sessions we’d had that week.

“Alright, Gran, but you asked for it,” I said, giving her a look and trying to keep my voice steady. “So, we had this couple come in for one of our more... physical experiments. The idea was to study the chemical reactions of love in its most intimate form. They were in one of our private rooms, hooked up to all sorts of monitoring equipment—heart rate monitors, brainwave scanners, you name it.”

Gran leaned in closer, clearly intrigued. “Go on, and do not even think about leaving out the saucy bits.”

I cleared my throat, feeling the heat creep up my neck. “Well, once they got comfortable, we instructed them to engage in, uh, intimate activities while we monitored their reactions. The data we get from these sessions is incredible—real-time readings of how their bodies respond to different stimuli. And let me tell you, the screens in the main lab area were lighting up like a Christmas tree.”

Gran chuckled. “I bet they were. So, what did you learn from this love fest?”

“Well, aside from some damn interesting data on how physical intimacy can mess with brain chemistry, we also figured out our equipment can take a beating.”

Gran’s face lit up, absolutely delighted at the idea of that.

“Emerson was in her element, analyzing the data points and making sure everything was running like clockwork. At one point, the guy’s heart rate spiked so high we thought he might be keeling over from a heart attack, but thankfully he was just... very enthusiastic.”

Gran nearly toppled out of her chair with glee. “And this is actual science? Sounds like fake news to me.”

I nodded, trying to keep a straight face. “Absolutely. It’s groundbreaking work. We’re learning a ton about human connection and how love screws with our physiology.”

Gran wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “Well, kiddo, I have to hand it to you. You’ve got one hell of a job. Maybe you should hook up to one of those monitors yourself.”

I laughed, feeling a bit more at ease. “I think I prefer to stay behind the screens.”

She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Well, if you ever need a test subject, you know where to find me.”

Gran volunteering for one of our experiments was enough to make me laugh out loud, you know, to keep from curling up into the fetal position. “I’ll keep that in mind, Gran.”

As the afternoon wore on, I got busy doing the small chores that Gran always saved for my visits—changing a lightbulb, fixing that squeaky door hinge, and deciphering the enigma that was her TV remote.

These everyday tasks kept my mind busy, a welcome anchor in the emotional storm that had been roaring in there lately. Gran watched me with a thoughtful expression, her eyes tracking my every move like a hawk zeroing in on a particularly juicy mouse.

“Is everything alright, hon?” she asked softly, her voice gentler than usual. “You seem preoccupied.”

I assured her I was fine, just wrangling with some things involving Emerson. She nodded, her eyes twinkling with that all-knowing Gran wisdom.

“Love is never easy. But if that girl has your heart doing more acrobatics than a monkey in a banana tree... she’s worth the hassle. No matter what happens, you’ll always have my love and support. Family looks after each other.”

Gran's words swelled in my chest until I could barely breathe. Before I could overthink it, I wrapped my arms around her tiny frame. How did she always know exactly what to say? I squeezed a little tighter, trying to pack three plus decades of thank-yous into one hug.

But the buzz of my phone cut through the moment. I fished it from my pocket, that familiar twist of dread already coiling in my gut before I even saw the screen.

There it was—another notification from my bank. Christ. The warmth of Gran's hug vanished, replaced by that ice-cold weight that had taken up permanent residence in my gut lately.

The walls of Gran's cozy apartment suddenly felt too close, too warm, like they were pressing in with the weight of all my failures.

"What's wrong, kid?"

I looked up to find Gran studying me with those sharp eyes that had caught every lie I'd ever tried to tell.

For a split second, I considered telling her everything—the mounting bills, the crushing debt, the sleepless nights spent wondering how I'd pay for it all.

But I couldn't dump that on her. Not when she had her own worries.

"Nothing, Gran," I lied, pressing a kiss to her paper-soft cheek and praying she wouldn't see through me.