Page 70 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
"Terrified. Excited. Like I'm conducting an experiment without controlling any of the variables." I twisted my hands in my lap. "What if it derails everything I've worked for?"
"Kate." Dr. Barnes's voice was surprisingly gentle. "The scientific method applies poorly to matters of the heart. But if I may offer some data from my own experience—the right partner doesn't derail your career. They become an essential component of your support structure."
I blinked, stunned by both the personal nature of this conversation and the unexpected wisdom.
"The trick," she continued, "is determining whether they are, indeed, the right partner. Does he respect your work?"
"He made me dinner the night before my presentation," I said, remembering how Austin had listened to me practice it three times without complaint. "He helped me restructure my publication strategy when Liu's paper came out."
Dr. Barnes nodded approvingly. "And does your work respect him? Can you accommodate the realities of his profession?"
This question hit harder. Hockey meant travel, unusual hours,and public attention—none of which aligned neatly with my research schedule.
"We're... figuring that out," I admitted.
"That's all anyone can do." She replaced the photo, straightening it with precision. "Now, about your distraction. Take the afternoon off."
"What?" I stared at her in disbelief.
"Your bacterial cultures will still be here tomorrow, and you're of no use to science in your current state." She was already returning to her usual brisk demeanor. "Go home, sort out whatever needs sorting, and return tomorrow with your usual focus."
"I... thank you."
As I gathered my things, Dr. Barnes called after me, "Oh, and Kate? Shared intellectual passion is valuable, but so is complementary difference. My husband still can't explain my research to others, but he's built me the perfect home workspace."
I left the lab in a daze, Dr. Barnes's words turning over in my mind alongside Austin's declaration. By the time I unlocked the apartment door, I'd reached a state of cautious optimism that immediately amplified when I stepped inside.
Austin stood at the kitchen counter, his back to me as he chopped vegetables with the same precision he probably used to dissect opposing teams' plays. He wore a simple black t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders in a way that made my mouth go dry, and he was humming—actually humming—something low and tuneless.
Domestic. That was the word for this scene. Shockingly, perfectly, terrifyingly domestic.
"You're cooking," I said, dropping my bag by the door.
He turned, that almost-smile playing at his lips. "Your observational skills are impressive, Dr. Ellis."
I moved closer, drawn to him like he had his own gravitational pull. "I thought you had a team meeting this afternoon."
"Ended early." He set down the knife and pulled me against him, his hands settling on my hips in a way that felt both possessive and questioning. "You're home early too."
"Dr. Barnes kicked me out for being distracted." I wrapped my arms around his neck, rising on tiptoes. "Someone told me they were falling in love with me this morning, and I couldn't stop thinking about it."
His eyes darkened. "Sounds serious."
"Very." I brushed my lips against his, barely a kiss. "Used hockey metaphors and everything."
"What an idiot," he murmured, his hands sliding to my lower back.
"My idiot," I corrected, then kissed him properly, claiming his mouth with a thoroughness that surprised even me.
When we finally broke apart, Austin's eyes had that heated intensity that made my knees weak. "Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes," he said, his voice rougher than before.
"Plenty of time," I replied, tugging him toward the bedroom.
But Austin held his ground, his expression growing more serious. "Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about first."
My stomach clenched. Nothing good ever followed that sentence.
"There's a team event Friday night," he continued. "Charity gala thing, black tie. I'd like you to come. As my girlfriend."
