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

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Liam

M y chest felt like it was being crushed as I stood at Emerson’s door. Three knocks. Just three fucking knocks, but my hand shook like I was defusing a bomb.

The sound cracked through the midnight quiet—too loud, too final. Christ.

My fingers found the zipper of my jacket, sliding it up and down, up and down, a nervous tic I couldn't control.

The soft scrape of the lock sent my heart into overdrive. And then—fuck.

There she was, backlit by her apartment like some kind of goddamn angel, wearing that oversized sweater that always made me want to pull her close.

Her hair was twisted up in a messy knot, several strands escaping to frame her face. Those leggings that hugged every curve I'd memorized with my hands, my mouth?—

Stop. Focus.

Her lips parted slightly, eyes wide with surprise, and my chest ached with how much I wanted to kiss her.

The warm light spilling out around her only highlighted the distance between us, this invisible wall I'd helped build with my own stupid hands. The air felt electric, charged with all the things we'd left unsaid, all the ways I'd fucked up.

Words. I needed words. But standing there, watching confusion and something else—hope? hurt?—flicker across her face, every carefully planned sentence evaporated.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice carrying that edge that made me want to grab her and never let go.

“We need to talk,” I blurted out, the words tumbling like I couldn’t control them. “About earlier, in the lab. I’m so fucking sorry, Emerson. I crossed a line and I?—”

She cut me off with a raised hand. “Come inside,” she said softly. “Let’s talk over a drink.”

I followed her into the apartment, the familiar scent of her cherry blossoms wrapping around me.

She led me to the kitchen, where I leaned against the counter. There was something incredibly soothing, yet infuriatingly distant about watching her go through the motions—pulling out the whiskey, grabbing the glasses, reaching for the bitters.

Despite the strain between us, this simple routine felt like an anchor in a storm.

As she handed me my glass, I took a deep breath and started again. “Emerson, I owe you an apology. I let my emotions get the better of me today. I crossed professional boundaries and put you in an awkward position. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

She took a sip of her own drink, her back still turned to me. “I appreciate that. But we need to talk about more than just today.”

We settled onto the couch, the rich aroma of whiskey filling the space between us. Emerson took another sip and met my gaze, her eyes filled with a vulnerability I rarely saw in her. It was like looking at a different person, one who wasn’t the confident, brilliant woman I worked with every day.

“The truth is, I’m drowning, Liam,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “The pressure from Jasper, from this whole damn study... it’s suffocating me. I feel like I’m losing sight of everything.”

I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss away all her worries. I wanted to feel her body against mine, to remind her of the connection we had.

But I had to play this right.

I reached out and squeezed her hand, offering silent support as she continued, her eyes flickering with uncertainty and fear. It wasn’t often I saw Emerson looking anything less than unshakeable. She was the type to tackle a problem head-on, with a fierce determination that could make even the most stubborn of challenges cower.

But tonight, she was different—scared. And fuck if that didn’t make me want to protect her, to hold her close and never let go.

“I’ve always prided myself on being able to compartmentalize,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “To keep my work and personal life separate. But with you... it’s different. And that scares the shit out of me.”

The warmth of the whiskey started to melt away the tension between us. For the first time all day, I felt like we were really seeing each other. Not just as colleagues or lovers, but as two people trying to navigate the chaos of life together.

“I get it, Doc. More than you know,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been scared too. Scared that... that you’ll realize this, us, isn’t worth the risk. That you’ll choose your work, your reputation, over what we have.”

She looked at me then, really looked at me, her eyes filled with emotion that made my heart ache. “Liam, that’s not?—”

“Wouldn’t you though?” I interrupted, my voice rising slightly. “If Jasper gave you an ultimatum… if he threatened to pull funding, what would you choose?”

Her eyes snapped to mine, a flash of something—anger, maybe—sparking in their depths.

“Liam, we agreed. This was supposed to be temporary. It was a fucking experiment, remember? Just like the ones we run in the lab. We both said that when it was over, we’d go back to our lives. No strings, no complications.”

“That was before,” I said, desperation creeping into my voice. “Before I realized how much you mean to me. Before I knew that this—us—wasn’t something I could walk away from.”

Emerson shook her head, her expression tightening.

“We laid out the rules, Liam. We both knew what we were getting into. And now you’re asking me to throw everything away for something that was never supposed to be permanent?”

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel something,” I pressed, my heart pounding. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you laugh at my stupid jokes, the way you touch me when you think no one else is looking. This isn’t just some experiment, Doc. It’s real.”

Her eyes softened for a fleeting moment, and I thought, maybe, just maybe, I was finally getting through to her.

But then she shook her head again, more firmly this time.

“Liam, feelings were never supposed to be part of the equation. We agreed on that from the start. I can’t risk my career, my future, for something that was never meant to be serious.”

“So what? You’re just going to walk away?” I asked, feeling the sting of her words in my soul. “Pretend like none of this ever happened? Like we didn’t just spend the last couple months falling in?—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, her eyes flashing with pain. “Don’t make this harder than it already is. We both knew this day would come. We both agreed.”

I shook my head, a mix of anger and heartbreak roiling inside me.

“Maybe you can go back to pretending, but I can’t. I won’t. I’m not giving up on us that easily.”

Emerson’s expression hardened, and she took a step back, putting more distance between us.

“Don’t you get it? It’s not about giving up. It’s about being realistic. This wasn’t supposed to be forever. And the sooner we accept that, the easier it will be to move on.”

“Move on?” I repeated, the words tasting like bile in my mouth. “How the hell am I supposed to move on when every time I close my eyes, all I see is you?”

The admission hung in the air for a long, tense moment.

I found myself looking at Emerson—really looking at her. She was fucking beautiful, even more so with her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparking with so much emotion.

Almost without thinking, I reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Doc…”

My fingers lingered on her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin.

Emerson’s eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned into my touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and the vulnerability there hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut.

She looked so damn soft, so breakable, and it stirred something primal inside me. I leaned in, unable to resist, and brushed my lips against hers. The kiss was tender at first, almost hesitant, but it didn’t stay that way for long.

The day’s pent-up emotion surged between us, and it felt like all the desperation, all the need, was pouring out in that kiss. Her lips were warm, soft, and fuck, the taste of her was like a drug.

I wanted more. I wanted everything.

Her hands slid up my chest, wrapping around my neck, pulling me closer. Her body pressed against mine, her heat seeping into me. My hands traced the curve of her waist, slipping under that damn sweater to touch her.

Her skin was hot, smooth, and I needed to feel every inch of her.

She sighed into my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair, as she kissed me back with a hunger that matched my own.

The world around us faded; there was only her, only us, lost in this feverish moment.

But then, she pulled back, her breath ragged and her eyes filled with conflict. “Liam, this isn’t right,” she said, her voice trembling. “We can’t do this.”

“Why the hell not?” I demanded, my voice rough with desperation. “Why can’t we just have this moment?”

Her eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and desire. “Because it’s not real! This—” she gestured between us, “—isn’t supposed to be happening. We agreed, damn it!”

“To hell with our agreement,” I growled, pulling her back to me. “I can’t let you go. Not like this.”

Our lips crashed together again, this time with a furious intensity. It was like we were trying to erase all the pain and confusion with physical contact. Emerson’s nails dug into my back. Every scratch, every desperate touch, only made me want her more.

Clothes became a fucking nuisance, a barrier keeping me from her skin. I tugged impatiently at her sweater, needing to feel her, needing to taste her.

She fumbled with the buttons of my shirt, breathless as she struggled.

“Fucking thing,” she muttered against my lips. Fed up, she ripped the shirt open, not giving a damn about the buttons flying everywhere.

The sound of tearing fabric cut through the tension—savage, desperate. Her nails raked down my chest, marking me, claiming me. And in that moment, as my ruined shirt hit the floor, I realized this wasn't just about sex anymore.

This was about demolition. About tearing down walls and pretenses until there was nothing left, destroying everything we thought we knew about love, about science…

…about ourselves.