Page 27 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
KATE
Istared at the email on my phone for so long the words began to blur. Then I read it again, just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating from too much lab time and too little sleep.
“Holy shit,” I whispered to the empty apartment. “Holy actual shit!”
My research proposal had been approved. Not just approved—fully funded with access to advanced equipment that most post-docs only dreamed about. Dr. Barnes had personally endorsed it, calling my methods “unconventional but potentially groundbreaking.”
I clutched my phone to my chest, heart racing. This was everything I’d worked for, everything I’d moved across the country for. After weeks of analyzing bacterial plasmids until my vision swam, reworking protocols, and doubting myself constantly, it was real. It was happening.
With no one around to witness my complete breakdown of professionalism, I cranked up my “Victory Dance” playlist and stripped down to the oversized Minnesota Blizzard t-shirt I’d “borrowed” from the clean laundry pile and my cotton shorts. The irony of dancing around in Stone’s team merchandise wasn’t lost on me.
Taylor Swift blasted through the apartment as I jumped on the couch, using a wooden spoon as a microphone.
“Take that, imposter syndrome!” I shouted, spinning in a circle. “Who’s the bacteria queen? I’m the bacteria queen!”
Mid-spin, I froze. Standing in the doorway, gym bag slung over his shoulder, was Austin, watching me with an expression somewhere between amusement and bewilderment.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he said, his voice doing that deep, rumbly thing that made my insides tighten. “The bacteria queen was just hitting her stride.”
Normally, I would have died of embarrassment. Melted into a puddle of mortification right there on the pristine hardwood floors. But the euphoria of my professional victory overrode my usual social anxiety.
“My research proposal got approved!” I announced, still standing on his couch. “Full funding! Lab access! Science is happening, Stone! And Dr. Barnes fully endorsed it.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “That’s amazing, Kate. Seriously.”
I hesitated, my enthusiasm tempered by lingering insecurity. “I honestly didn’t think she even liked me. My first day was a disaster, remember? I overslept, showed up late, and everyone stared at me like I was some incompetent impostor.”
He set down his bag and approached me. “And yet she still supported your proposal. Sounds like maybe you impressed her more than you thought.”
“I guess so,” I admitted, biting my lip. “I’ve been so anxious about fitting in there. They all seem so put-together, so professional. But yesterday—when I was running samples, fine-tuning my plasmid isolation methods—I felt like I finally belonged. And now this...”
“You deserve this,” he said quietly, sincerity clear in his voice. “You love your work. People notice passion, even if they don’t say it outright.”
His words eased some of the lingering tension I’d been carrying and warmth filled my chest. “Thanks. That means a lot. “
He smiled back, looking genuinely pleased for me. Impulsively, I reached for his hand, tugging gently.
“Dance with me?”
He stared at me like I’d suggested we strip naked and run through the streets of Minneapolis in January. The latter might have actually shocked him less.
“I don’t dance,” he said flatly.
“Everyone dances,” I countered. “Some people just need more convincing. Come on, Stone. One dance to celebrate science saving the world.”
“I’m not dancing to Taylor Swift.”
I grinned and hopped off the couch, grabbing my phone to change the music. “Fine. What’s your poison? And don’t say ‘none’ because that’s not a real answer.”
He set down his gym bag, contemplating me with narrowed eyes. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Nope.” I scrolled through my playlists. “Classic rock? Hip hop? Oh wait, I bet you’re a secret country fan.”
“Classic rock,” he admitted grudgingly.
I pumped my fist in victory and put on “Start Me Up” by the Rolling Stones, which seemed appropriately on-the-nose for a guy named Stone.
“See? The universe wants us to dance,” I said, grabbing his hands before he could retreat. His palms were warm and slightly rough against mine, and I felt that now-familiar electric current race up my arms at his touch.
