Chapter 7 #2
“And you’re a beautiful disaster who names your bacteria strains after characters from The Office,” Angel finished with a smile. “Opposites attract, honey.”
“For hookups, maybe. Not for anything real.” I traced the condensation on my glass, surprised by the direction of my thoughts. “And I think...I might want something real with him.”
Angel’s expression softened. “Tell me more.”
I struggled to put it into words. “When we were texting, before we knew who each other was, it was the most honest connection I’ve had with someone in a long time.
He was funny and thoughtful and vulnerable in ways he never is in person.
But now I’ve seen glimpses of that person in the real Austin too. Like today, when he danced with me...”
“He danced with you?” Angel’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, and he didn’t even get a nosebleed from the fun.” I laughed. “For like five minutes, he wasn’t NHL star Austin ‘Stone’ Callahan with all his walls and rules. He was just...Austin.”
Angel reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “That sounds like more than a potential hookup, Kate.”
“Which is exactly why it’s terrifying,” I admitted. “What if I’m reading too much into it? What if he just wants to scratch an itch? Or worse, what if he doesn’t even want that anymore now that he knows it’s messy, chaotic me on the other end of those texts?”
“If he didn’t want anything to do with you, he wouldn’t have danced in his living room today,” Angel pointed out reasonably. “And from what you’ve told me about Mr. Control Freak, dancing is pretty far outside his comfort zone.”
She had a point.
“So, what do I do?” I asked, desperate for guidance.
“Stop overthinking everything, for starters,” Angel said firmly. “You’re approaching this like one of your experiments, trying to control all the variables. Relationships don’t work that way.”
“They should,” I grumbled. “It would be so much more efficient.”
Angel laughed. “Listen to yourself! You sound like him now.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine. So, your advice is...?”
“Follow your instincts. Stop analyzing and just feel.” She signaled the server for another round. “And maybe wear something other than those bacteria-covered pajamas to bed.”
“They’re microbes, not bacteria, and they’re cute,” I protested.
“They’re not getting you laid, Kate.”
I slumped in my chair. “God…Nothing is getting me laid at this point. I’m pretty sure I’ve friend-zoned myself with all my science rambling and coffee spilling.”
Angel’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “You never know. Sometimes all it takes is the right moment.”
By the time we settled into the backseat of our rideshare three hours later, I was pleasantly tipsy and oddly optimistic. Angel always had that effect on me.
The car stopped first at Austin’s building. Angel gave me a teasing grin. “Text me details,” she whispered loudly as I opened the door. “Every. Single. Detail.”
Laughing, I waved goodbye, the icy Minnesota air quickly clearing my head as I hurried into the warm lobby. Angel’s advice echoed reassuringly through my mind as the elevator rose to the eleventh floor.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I was overthinking this.
I leaned back against the elevator wall, rehearsing casual greetings in my head. I was determined to act normal—like someone who definitely hadn’t spent three hours discussing him with her best friend.
“Hey, how was your team thing?” Too casual.
“Evening, Austin. Lovely weather we’re having.” Too formal.
“Ready to pick up where our texts left off?” Absolutely not.
The elevator dinged, and I still hadn’t settled on an approach. Typical. I fumbled with my keys, eventually managing to unlock the door and step inside.
The apartment was mostly dark, save for a lamp in the living room casting a warm pool of light. I assumed Austin had already gone to bed until I heard a grunt of pain from the direction of the light.
I dropped my keys on the entry table and moved toward the living room, curiosity overriding my anxiety about seeing him.
What I found stopped me in my tracks.
Austin was in the center of the living room, dressed only in basketball shorts, his muscular torso gleaming with sweat as he attempted to stretch his injured knee. His face was contorted in a grimace of pain as he tried to extend his leg at an angle that was clearly causing him discomfort.
“You’re going to make it worse doing it that way,” I said before I could stop myself.
He looked up, startled, then immediately straightened, as if caught doing something forbidden. “I thought you’d be out later.”
“Clearly,” I replied, dropping my purse on a chair. The alcohol in my system made me bolder than usual. “That stretch is all wrong for an ACL injury.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Since when are you an expert on knee rehabilitation?”
“Since I spent three days reading every medical journal article on ACL recovery after you mentioned your injury,” I admitted, stepping closer.
A hint of amusement crossed his face. “You researched my injury?”
“I research everything that interests me,” I said simply, then immediately felt heat rush to my face at the implication.
What the hell did I say. Why can’t I put a stop to the words coming out of my mouth.
His eyes darkened. “And my knee interests you?”
“Among other parts,” I replied, the cocktails making me dangerously honest.
Austin’s breath audibly caught. “Kate...”
“Let me help you,” I offered, closing the distance between us. “I understand the biomechanics. There’s a modified stretch that would be more effective.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Show me.”
I knelt beside him, suddenly very aware of my proximity to all that bare skin. Focus, Kate and please keep your mouth shut.
“Lie back,” I instructed, pleased when my voice came out steady. “Extend your good leg flat on the floor.”
Austin complied, lowering himself to the carpet. I placed my hands on his injured leg, trying to ignore how the muscles jumped beneath my touch.
“The key is to maintain alignment while gradually increasing the stretch,” I explained, gently guiding his knee into a better position. “How’s that feel?”
“Better,” he admitted, watching me with an intensity that made my skin tingle. “Where did you learn this?”
“I dated a physical therapist in grad school,” I said, adjusting my grip on his calf. “Before he turned out to be sleeping with his receptionist.”
Austin’s eyes narrowed. “His loss.”
The simple statement sent warmth flooding through me that had nothing to do with the alcohol. I shifted position to demonstrate the next stretch and found myself practically straddling his good leg.
“This one might be a bit uncomfortable,” I warned, leaning forward to guide his knee into the correct alignment. The movement brought my face inches from his.
“I can handle discomfort,” he said, his voice dropping to that lower register that made my insides melt.
“I remember,” I murmured, echoing his words from earlier. “From our texts.”
His eyes flashed with heat. “You remember a lot of things from those texts?”
“Everything,” I admitted. “I have an eidetic memory.”
“Everything?” he repeated, his hands coming to rest on my hips.
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Like how you said you wanted to taste every inch of me. How you described what your fingers would do if they were mine.”
“Fuck,” he breathed, his grip tightening.
“That too,” I whispered.
We stared at each other. I was suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact between us—my hands on his thigh, his fingers digging into my hips, my hair falling forward to brush his chest.
“This is a bad idea,” he said, but he made no move to pull away.
“Probably,” I agreed. “Most of my ideas are.”
And then, because three cocktails and a lifetime of scientific curiosity made me brave, I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to his.
For one terrifying second, he didn’t respond. Then his hand slid up to tangle in my hair, and he was kissing me back with an intensity that stole my breath. His lips were firm and demanding, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he was claiming territory.
I moaned, the sound swallowed by his kiss as he sat up, pulling me fully onto his lap. The movement pressed my core against the growing hardness beneath his shorts, and I gasped at the contact.
“This what you want, Lab Bunny?” he growled against my lips, his hands sliding under my shirt to span my waist. “Been thinking about it since I saw you dancing.”
“Yes,” I breathed, rocking against him shamelessly. “Fuck, Austin. I’ve been thinking about it since those texts.”
He made a sound low in his throat, something between a groan and a growl, before capturing my mouth again. This kiss was even deeper, hungrier, his tongue exploring my mouth with devastating thoroughness while his hands roamed my body.
“Too many clothes,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of my shirt. I raised my arms, letting him pull it over my head, leaving me in just my bra and jeans.
His eyes darkened as they swept over me. “Christ, you’re gorgeous.”
Before I could respond, he’d flipped our positions, pressing me back against the carpet, his weight deliciously heavy over me. His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, then down my neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
“This what you imagined?” he asked, his voice rough as he nipped at my collarbone. “When you texted me about wanting my mouth on you?”
“Yes,” I gasped as his hand found my breast, kneading it through the thin fabric of my bra. “But the reality is so much better.”
He groaned, his hips grinding against mine in a way that made me see stars. “Need to taste you,” he muttered, moving lower, his stubble scraping deliciously against my sensitive skin as he kissed his way down my body.
His fingers worked open the button of my jeans with practiced ease, and I lifted my hips to help him slide them down my legs. The cool air hit my overheated skin, making me shiver with anticipation.