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“If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black,” she retorted with a yawn.
“I’d have a snappy comeback, but I like you talking to me.”
“Shut up and tell me about your day.”
And then he would, and it was pretty much the best part of Grace’s day, which was saying something. She got to work beside her best friend, she got to live in a gorgeous city, she was independent, and she was surrounded by a fantastic, if harried, group of scientists she thought of ashers. And in some way, Anton was part of that—hers—even if it was only through exchanged emails and the odd phone call.
It was nice. It was theirs, and it was—well, she didn’t know what it was, but she’d take it. Except now there was an invitation to dinner, and Grace didn’t know how to process that. Did he mean it as friends? Surely he did...but what if he didn’t?
She swallowed hard, rubbing her eyes and blinking at the too-bright screen in the dark of her bedroom.
This was not what she should be doing at this hour. She should be asleep, unconcerned about said dinner invitation until she could run it by Lou. Her best friend would know what Anton meant. After all, they’d been friends for longer than Grace and Anton, so that had to count for something, didn’t it? Her fingers itched to open a web browser and search his name. She didn’t let herself do it though.
It wasn’t professional.
You didn’t internet stalk and drool over someone who was supposed to be your work friend. He’d never crossed any lines with her. He’d been respectful, and easy to talk to. Why was she making such a big deal about this?
It had to be the gin, she decided. She shut off her computer to avoid the temptation of Googling Anton and shuffled off to bed with a groan. She needed sleep if she had any hope of controlling the labs for the full twelve hours required of her. Now was not the time to be thinking of Anton, or his smooth-as-silk voice. Or the fact he had bought her the second in the romance series she had been obsessing over.
She threw herself into her bed and groaned when her mind strayed to what she could remember of his face from all those years ago, when she’d seen him in a magazine. Dark brown hair, dark eyes, of that she was sure—but what else? He was tallish? Or maybe not. In possession of two arms and legs?
Probably.
Maybe?
She couldn’t remember anymore. That sucked seeing as she was hot for him. She frowned at her less than helpful recollection of Anton’s appearance. How damn frustrating. This was going to bother her like a half-remembered lyric looping through her memory. She was certain there was at least one documented case of a person going insane from just such a thing.
It’s not like it really mattered in the grand scheme of things. Grace was hot for the man. He could have three arms. Wouldn’t bother her any.
She yanked the pillow over her head with a grunt. She really didn’t like how honest being drunk made her with herself regarding her feelings for Anton.
“Serves you right. You shouldn’t even be thinking like this. He’s just your friend. Stop making it weird. Go to sleep—you’re drunk.”
She closed her eyes and forced herself to lay still. Any thoughts of Anton were pushed away, G&T buzz be damned. She wasn’t going to reply to his email. She wasn’t going to Google him, she wasn’t going to call him or stay up hoping that he would callher.What she was going to do was get some kind of sleep so that she could function in the morning.
He was her friend. Her sweet, kind, and very platonic friend.
She was a grown woman, in command of her thoughts and libido. She could barely remember if he had two arms. He didn’t even know what she looked like, for Odin’s sake. There was no way he had asked her out on a date.
No way at all. Not even a tiny bit. Absolutely not.
Anton Kovalev wasnot asking her out.
Grace achieved zero sleep that night.
one
“What isresearch but a blind date with knowledge?”—Will Harvey
“Yellow?” Grace answered her phone and shoved it against her shoulder as she balanced a tray of coffees in one hand and snagged her ID lanyard with the other. She bent low to the kiosk that controlled the turnstile gates that allowed her entry into the research building that was still serenely quiet. When she normally arrived it was packed and bustling, but this morning it was quiet and peaceful. Probably on account of the fact that she was early.
Somehow.
Or rather, she knew. It was the slightly drunk sleep she’d had.
She hadn’t slept much and even though booze made a woman fall asleep quickly, it wrought hell on a circadian rhythm. She’d been up before dawn and hadn’t managed to fall back asleep, which meant she had decided to cosplay as a responsible, well rested adult and come into work early.
To the unsuspecting early risers she looked bright-eyed and bushy tailed, but little did they know the gleam in her eyes was not a go-getter taking on the day, but sleep deprivation.
