“Look, I’m a nobody compared to him. He’s the undergrad turned PhD turned postdoc who’s been around for nearly a decade, while I’ve been here for a measly four years. He and Dr. Anderson are practically best friends—my relationship with him isn’t as close. I can’t say anything that’ll make him see my side, not when he’s only ever gotten the best of Arjun.”
Nate’s eyes stay hard after that confession, but he doesn’t comment on it, which I appreciate. This is my battle to fight, not his. Maybe, with time, I’ll get to the bottom of Arjun’s hatred for me, but for now, I’ll have to deal with it.
With a nod, he gestures in the direction of the floor, prompting me to follow his lead as he takes a seat. I shake my head in refusal, but the second Nate gives methatpointed look, I place my ass down on what I can only assume is the filthiest floor.
“We might catch something,” I say as he sets the box between us and hands me a fork. Our fingers brush, and oureyes lock—it feels electric, impossible to ignore, but I somehow find it in me to look away.
“I say this kindly, but you aren’t one to talk with the state of your lab coat.” Nate moves on like our exchange didn’t affect him. “The sleeves look radioactive. I’m positive the floors are cleaner.”
I look down to notice that he’s every bit right.
The once-white cotton is stained in varying shades of yellow and beige, with the occasional Sharpie mark. He, on the other hand, is dressed in the nicest black suit he’s worn to date. If he’s okay sitting on the floor, so should I.
“Do I want to know the last time you washed that thing?” Nate asks, tilting his head to the side in concern.
“Probably not.”
“That’s what I thought.” He nods firmly, but the twitch of his lips doesn’t go unnoticed. “Oh well, time to dig in!”
Hearts practically take over my eyes at the lineup of tiramisu flavors. I dive in, piling my fork with as much as gravity will allow me to without making a mess. A moan accidentally leaves my mouth at the taste, and I nod in approval. This might be the best thing I’ve tasted to date.
“Does your reaction mean I’m forgiven?” Nate asks, taking a mouthful of some chocolate cake.
I’m tempted to shake my head to mess with him, but I settle on a nod.
“Unfortunately,” I admit.
“That doesn’t sound very convincing.” He chuckles.
The teasing. The dimpled smile. The spark in his eyes when he looks at me. Something is so intoxicating about this man, yet I still can’t put my finger on it.
“Why the PhD?” Nate asks as he swallows his bite.
I shrug, not wanting to get into it. “I thought it’d be fun to suffer for half a decade.”
Nate chokes on the bite he’s chewing. “Is that what you usually tell people?” he asks.
I give a firm nod.
“That can’t be the full story.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I furrow my brows and tilt my head, putting on my bestIhave no clue what you’re talking aboutface.
“Vivienne.” There’s a warning tone to his voice.
I look him in the eyes, unyielding, as I take another large bite of tiramisu.
“You seem ticklish,” he says, studying me. “It’s your choice—spill it, or I’ll tickle the information out of you.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Does that even work onanyone, Nate?”
“It does on my three-year-old niece.”
“Then I’m afraid your tricks won’t work on an adult.”
A loud squeal of surprise slips past my lips as Nate leans toward me, arms outstretched. I move to stand—determined to escape his advance—when a hand clasps my wrist.
With a kick of his foot, the pastry box is pushed to the side, and after a sharp tug, I land in his lap. Just as promised, Nate tickles the absolute life out of me, dragging loud, chaotic laughter out of my chest until I finally fess up.
