Page 17 of Love in the Lab
Jonathan
Aweek has passed since the jelly donut prank. As I come up the stairwell at the lab, I peek around every corner. When I get to my desk, I test my chair before sitting and carefully slide open the desk drawers, just in case. At lunch, I pull apart the layers of the sandwich I brought from home and stored in the breakroom refrigerator, making sure only the turkey and Swiss I put in there remain. As Willy Wonka said, “The suspense is terrible! I hope it’ll last.”
It’s a silent prank war. We don’t discuss it, don’t acknowledge it. Our unspoken rules are to never interfere with the specimensand samples, and don’t let Dr. Gantt find out. We’re sticking with unobtrusive tricks. The parameters make thinking of ideas all the more exhilarating.
I’m still shocked Molly decided to prank me in the first place. I could tell the idea made her uneasy. She’s been clear that she doesn’t tolerate nonsense at work. That day, as I tried to put on what I thought wasmylab coat and quickly realized what was happening, an emotion bubbled up inside of me that I can only describe as giddiness. Excitement was mixed in there, too. Was straitlaced Molly Delaney loosening up forme?
Post-lunch, I feel confident that today is not the day for Molly’s next prank, which is why I don’t think twice when Molly calls me over to her workbench as soon as I walk into the lab, before I even have a chance to finish putting on my safety goggles.
“Can you please check this specimen?” She gestures at the microscope. "I need a second opinion. Does this look like residue from pesticides?"
She’s asking me for help! I must be making progress if she’s willing to ask my opinion.
Feeling smug, I sit on a nearby stool and peer into the microscope at the specimen.
I straighten and look at Molly. “No, it looks clean to me.”
Molly smiles … or actually, she looks like she’s trying to hold back a smile. “Ah, cool. Thanks.”
Wait a minute. Molly’s being too nice to me. She hasn’t insulted me once since I walked over here.
Her lips clamp together as her face turns red.
I narrow my eyes. “What did you do?”
She shrugs and turns away, her shoulders shaking. She’s laughing. Something is definitely going on.
I bend close to the microscope again and study it. I run a fingertip along the eyepiece, and it comes away smudged withsome sort of dark, creamy substance. I groan. I pull out my phone and open the camera, flipping it into selfie mode to use like a mirror. Yep. There are black rings around my eyes.
Molly turns back around, her fist pressed against her mouth. “You’ve got … you’ve got some gunk on your face, there, Dr. Stanch.”
“Whatisthis stuff?” It’s gloopy and soft and smells vaguely of … coconut?
“I’m sureIdon’t know. Looking at it for the first time, which is what I’m doing now, it looks like it could be lip balm mixed with charcoal powder.”
No longer bothering to hide her mirth, Molly is outright beaming now. It’s a glorious sight. So much so that I’m mesmerized and not remotely prepared when she lifts a paper towel to my face. I hadn’t noticed it sitting on the lab table.
“I’m sure it will come right off. Let’s see…”
Molly places one hand on my shoulder to stabilize herself, then gently dabs around my eyes with the damp towel. She leans close as she focuses on her work—so close that she’s standing between my knees where my legs extend off the stool, so close I can feel her breath on my nose. It smells like spearmint. The tip of her pink tongue peeks out from between her lips as she concentrates on cleaning my face.
With every delicate swipe, the tightness in my throat grows. She puts more pressure on my shoulder with her fingers, and the hair on the back of my neck rises, my skin heating despite the layers of clothing that separate it from her touch.
I want to raise my arms from where they’re currently immobilized on my lap and grip her hips. I want to bring my knees together, containing her against me. I want to tilt my head and slant my lips closer to hers. I want to kiss her.
I don’t do it.
Primarily because she’s given no indication she’d welcome that kind of contact, but also because it would complicate things. We have to keep working together as long as Dr. Gantt says, and my goal is to work harmoniously with Molly, not make things awkward.
When she finishes and steps away, I shiver in the absence of her body heat. I swallow hard and search her face. She looks calm, collected. Seemingly unaffected by our proximity five seconds ago.
“I think I got it all. Good thing whatever that substance is cleans off so easily. Should be easy to remove from the microscope, too.”
“Thanks,” I croak.
She smirks. “Be more careful next time.”
I’ve got no smart-aleck retort, not even a charming line. I’ve got nothing. My mind is mush. “Yep,” I stutter, standing from the stool so quickly it crashes to the vinyl floor with a thud.
