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As I walk through the doors of Bardot, I brace myself for the awkward morning after chat where we try to pretend like nothing happened between us last night. But when I get into the lab, my fears quickly dissipate.
Vanessa is buzzing around, bright and cheerful as ever.
"Good morning, Dr. Ashford!" She greets me in a chipper tone. It's almost creepy how happy she sounds.
"Good morning...," I answer slowly.
"Hold on a second," she snips, holding up her finger as she types furiously into her computer. "Sorry. It's been a busy morning!" She continues to work at a manic pace like she's on some sort of deadline.
"Is everything all right?" I ask.
"Everything is perfectly splendid," she replies, not taking her eyes off the screen.
I stand there and study her for a moment, thinking to myself - maybe I did do something good for her work last night. I knew I was right about how badly she needed to get laid, and her mood this morning just further proves it. Stop it, man. Don't even go there. You can not justify sex with her as a way to improve work performance.
Even though I know I can't, that doesn't make it any less tempting to try. Doesn't help that it makes so much damn sense. Why don't high-stress jobs like ours supply people with escort services to help them keep a clear mind and relaxed libido? Oh, that's right. It's not just any sex that boosts someone's mood that way. This is a special thing between us. It's only like this when we sleep together.
"Earth to Ashford!"
I startle to attention, looking up to see Vanessa waving her hand in front of my face. "You in there?"
"Sorry, sorry. I, uh…yeah, I'm fine. Let's get to work."
We dive right in, and it doesn't take as long as I thought it would for us to get into a good work groove that doesn't feel so awkward. We make it through the day with zero incident, zero reference to last night or anything in the past for that matter. We manage to do the same the next day and the day after that. The days turn into weeks, and before I know it - Vanessa and I have been pulling this whole professional colleague thing off for nearly three months.
Late one night when we're working in the lab, she catches me staring at her. She's kind about it, and doesn't tease me. I kind of wish the old days when she would give me more of a hard time. The more she brushes it off, the harder my eyes burn into her.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I want to tell you something," I reply. "I promise it's one hundred percent professional."
"Okay…," she answers slowly, turning away from the microscope to face me. She crosses her arms and stares back expectantly. "I'm a little afraid, but…go on. What is it you want to say?"
"You're really impressive, Vanessa," I smile. "Your work is impressive. This is the most productive fun I've ever had at work. It feels like we're finally getting somewhere with all of this."
She finally gives in and smiles back. "Thank you. I have to admit…you're really something too. Dare I say, we make a good team. At work, I mean."
The next day we go out for lunch, which has become a new normal thing for us now that we've put all the lusty angst behind us. I'd like to think it's more like we're bonding, but I keep getting the feeling that if I call it that she'll set me straight with all the ways in which we're not bonding. She's always quick to assign us tasks to do on these lunches, solidifying they are in fact for work and absolutely nothing else. She does anything and everything to avoid admitting that we're getting along better than ever. She sure as hell doesn't want to admit that maybe, just maybe, we actually still enjoy each other's company.
I really do like her, though. And I'm not just saying that to keep the peace or anything. I mean it. Quite a lot, actually.
She's brilliant and beautiful, and yes...sexy as hell. I do my best to keep that feeling under wraps now, but I'm not blind.
Thankfully, though, I think she still feels the same way about me. Even the sexy part. I can see it in her eyes sometimes, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.
We slide into our usual booth and order the same thing we always do these days - I get the soup and sandwich combo and she gets a salad with grilled chicken. The moment our food is delivered, I give half of my sandwich to her and she gives me half of her chicken. It's the same routine every day, and as much as I've always loathed the idea of getting into a routine with any woman - when it's with her, like this...I'm actually pretty fond of it. I would miss it if it stopped.
I study Vanessa as she stabs a fork into her salad and swishes it around in the dressing, then draws the big bite to her mouth - never once breaking her eyes away from the notepad that she's furiously scribbling work notes in with her free hand.
Even though we have been getting along and working closely together day in and day out - I still know surprisingly little about her life these days. I don't know where she goes when she leaves work early. I don't know how she spends her evenings. I never ask because I'm afraid if she told me she has a boyfriend that I'd go into a rage of jealousy.
I still don't even know why or how she got into biochem. That's a lingering question that feels safe to broach. Surely there's no present-day boyfriend lurking in her answer to that.
"You never told me what happened," I say finally.
She dabs her mouth with a napkin. "What do you mean?"
"Why did you switch majors in college?"
