Only Uni

by Camy Tang

  Trish hurtled into her office room so fast, she bounced off the cubicle wall to an empty desk. She skidded around the edge of her desk in the corner. Paper towels flew everywhere when she dropped them to snatch a pen and her calendar.

  She crashed through the door to the stairwell, then leaped up the stairs. By the time she reached the third floor, her chest heaved, and she expected to see her lungs fly out of her mouth with her next breath. She raced down the carpeted hallway to the conference room.

  Outside the door, Trish glanced at her watch. With a grimace, she eased open the heavy oak door to peek inside.

  Four pairs of eyes zoomed in on her.

  Oops. “Sorry. I had a problem thawing cells this morning.”

  Her supervisor Diana waved her to a seat, then turned to speak to Trish’s redheaded coworker. “Is the study ready to start on Friday?”

  “Yup.” She glanced at their other coworker. “Are you doing the assays on the samples?”

  He stretched and nodded. “Got it covered.”

  Trish plopped into a padded chair and felt her bladder jiggle. She should have stopped off at the restroom. She downed so much coffee that she drank a lot of water to avoid dehydration — she hadn’t slept through all her human physiology classes — which also meant she had to go a billion times a day. She squirmed in her seat but decided it wasn’t too bad yet. Only then did she glance up.

  Spenser Wong from the tumor research group sat across the table. What’s he doing at our group meeting?

  At the last interdepartmental meeting, Trish hadn’t heard a word of his presentation. Instead, she drank in the sight of his lithe body and listened to his deep, dreamy voice and sighed over his chiseled, handsome face.

  Pull yourself together.

  Her coworker flourished a printed email. “Newark said they had a laboratory accident. Compound shipment is delayed.”

  Diana frowned. “When will they have it ready?”

  Spenser shifted in his seat and stretched his arm as if it felt stiff. How could she listen to late shipments when tempted by those broad shoulders straining the knit fabric of an indecently snug shirt?

  Stop looking. Remember your three rules. Trish whipped her head around to focus on Diana, as if compound insolubility fascinated her.

  Movement at the corner of her peripheral vision screamed at her to look.

  No looking. He’s not even Christian. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to remember when she’d seen Spenser last week Monday, his eyes bloodshot and a headache creasing a frown in his forehead. They’d arrived at work at the same time, and she let them in with her card-key. He stumbled through the doors with a groaning “Thanks,” then hauled himself up the stairs to his second-floor office.

  He must be a party animal. Trish no longer drank, so she was now a good girl. The old has gone, the new has come.

  The party animal twirled his pen as her coworkers brainstormed ideas to speed up the study.

  “Couldn’t we cover our bases and add another three groups?” There, that proved Trish wasn’t distracted. She was paying attention.

  Diana paused, then shook her head. “We don’t have enough compound to do that. How about . . .”

  Trish admired Spenser’s long fingers as he flipped the pen around and scribbled a few notes. The other hand reached up to massage his square jaw. “You could change the dosing schedule . . .”

  Trish drowned in the mellow sound of his voice, a sea of swirling, rich dark chocolate . . . She jerked her head up and straightened her spine in her chair. None of that. He was a player, and no way would she ever be interested in someone like her dad. Why, last week she saw him flirting with that long-haired, leggy intern from Hong Kong.

  “Okay, that’s settled.” Diana’s voice pulled Trish back from a daydream about magically transferring all her own fat to the hips of the rail-thin Hong Kong girl. “Now for the big news. Our manager handed a new project to me yesterday. We’ve discovered a novel pathway to prevent bone disease. Trish, you’re in charge of developing a cellular model to screen compounds.”

  Trish jolted in surprise so violently that she started sliding off her seat. She slammed her hands against the table so she wouldn’t end up on the floor. Wow, she got to be in charge of a new pathway study! She eased her rear end back onto the cushion. “Really? That’s great.”

  “Here are some scientific papers about similar cell models for unrelated indications.” Diana pushed a pile of photocopied papers at her. “The problem is that the model has to be tested with biochemical assays — the scientific council wants concrete data, rather than anything ambiguous. This won’t be like the other projects — histological stains don’t give numerical results.”

  “What kind of assays? Will I need to order ELISA kits, or RIAs . . . ?”

  “No, the other investigators in those papers developed special in-house assays.”

  Trish flipped through the papers and started gnawing on her inner lip. She had assay experience but not enough to develop one from scratch.

  Diana wasn’t finished. “Since Spenser has so much experience developing biochemical assays, he’s been assigned to help you develop the model.”

  He met her surprised look with a cool one that dampened her excitement. He probably wished he could work with that prettier Hong Kong girl. He would have at least given her a friendly smile.

  Diana had a calculating look. “Trish — there are three empty desks in your office, right? You’re the only one in that room?”

  Trish fingered the edges of the papers while something gurgled in her stomach. Funny, she had eaten that apple hours ago. “Yes.”

  “This is a high-profile project — everyone in the scientific council will follow this. You two need to work fast and efficiently to get this model ready to screen compounds by the end of the quarter.”

  Trish peeked at Spenser, but her gaze flitted away from his grim expression.

  “So Spenser,” Diana continued, “I want you to move your desk down to that room. You’ll be Trish’s new office-mate.”

  God, I want you to know that you have a very strange sense of humor.I can’t believe I thought this would be easy. How can I keep rule number one with him in my office?

  As soon as the meeting ended, Trish bolted for the door. She needed someplace quiet to recover from the shock. She headed for her office . . . um, no. Bathroom break first.

  The quiet in the echoing restroom didn’t calm her. She washed her hands and wondered what to do. If only Spenser weren’t so yummy. She would be aware of him every time he walked into the room. Whenever she opened her mouth, she would drool and babble like an idiot.

  She needed to calm down. She entered her office, took a deep breath, and collapsed in her chair. Okay, reality check: Spenser was unhappy about the whole thing. Trish would be unhappy too, if she had to move to a different office. But she didn’t know why he objected to working with her — he didn’t really know her.

  His disgruntled attitude cooled her ardor. Eye candy wasn’t as sweet when it scowled at you, like Spenser did after the announcement at the meeting.

  Trish should be overjoyed at his lack of interest. She was getting worked up for nothing. Smooth, sophisticated Spenser in his Structure khakis and Armani Exchange shirts wouldn’t be tempted by the new Trish, proper and devoted to God. Besides, she wasn’t supposed to encourage even a hint of interest. She’d be breaking rule number one.

  She could be calm and professional.

  Trish hid behind her computer monitor, which blocked her view of the doorway. She wondered when Spenser would move in.

  He walked in a second later with a cardboard moving box. He dropped it to the floor with a plunk that betrayed his still-simmering temper.

  Trish eyed his box. That was fast. “How long have you known?”

  “My supervisor told me this morning so I would join Diana’s group meeting.”

  Trish bristled at his clipped tone. Grumpy. She stared at his back, which wasn’t that
broad.

  He tossed pens and his calendar onto one of the two desks at the other end of the room, ignoring the one right next to hers. Refusing to let him get away with his snot-nosed attitude, she leaned back in her chair. “Good idea. I’m sure it will be much easier to collaborate if I have to throw the data sheets across the room at you.”

  Spenser swung his head around to frown at her.

  Trish’s sense of humor took over, and she flashed him a cheeky smile.

  He turned back to the cubicle he’d chosen, then looked at the one next to hers. His glower melted into a rueful expression. Then he had the audacity to wink at her. “You want me close so you can play footsies with me.”

  Trish’s mouth opened in shock before she exploded into peals of laughter. “Yeah, right. Your ego’s not going to fit into this office.”

  Spenser grinned. “My ego wouldn’t fit into this building.”

  She hadn’t thought he was able to laugh at himself.

  He scanned the floor. “I need a power strip. Got one?”

  Trish rummaged for the extra surge protector in her desk drawer and gave it to him. He glanced at the mess of papers surrounding the keyboard on her desk. “Are you finished with your last project?”

  She caught where he was heading. “I’m writing the final report now. I’ll be done by the time you get settled.”

  “Good. We can start on the model this afternoon.” He gave her a satisfied nod. “I think we’re going to work well together.”

  He transformed his brooding face with a blinding, charming smile — and dimples! He had dimples! — that made her mouth go dry and her stomach plummet to her knees.

  Oh God, help me . . .

  “Hey!”

  Spenser heard Trish’s complaint a split second before she smacked the back of his hand. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Put on fresh gloves before you touch my pipettors.” She continued aspirating supernatant from a 6-well cell culture plate.

  Spenser pulled off his gloves, dropped them in the biohazard bag, and reached for new ones in the nearby box. “Want to check under my fingernails, too, Mom?”

  She stuck out her tongue at him. “And remember to put that pipettor back in the right place this time, too.”

  He still didn’t get how Trish’s desk looked like a tsunami had hit, but her workbench had the neatness of Mr. Monk’s house. “Bossy.”

  “Grouch. You’ve only been working with me a week and you’re already complaining.” But she smiled as she said it. “Here.” She passed him the plate she’d been working on so he could do his DNA prep on the cells.

  They worked smoothly in silence for a while. He tended to work quickly, but Trish kept up with him, passing him another plate just as he finished the old one.

  “I’m done with the protocol for the mesenchymal osteoblasts.” Trish pipetted supernatant into a microfuge tube.

  “I’m almost done solidifying my assay for those. The cells — ”

  “I ordered them . . .” She stopped to think. “Yesterday. Did you double-check the micro-plate reader? That one tech from Virology always leaves a terrible mess — I mean, the last time there was reagent spilled all over the counter, and I never heard the end of it from the guys in Arthritis — anyway, he was the last one to use it.”

  Good to know, otherwise he might have lost an entire day in contaminated plates. “I’ll check it today.”

  He had already figured out that Trish might act like a ditz sometimes, but she certainly wasn’t one. It hadn’t taken him long to realize a biologist wouldn’t have gotten to her level of seniority without some brains behind the wide eyes and nonstop mouth.

  “How’s your mom’s flu? Is she feeling any better?” Trish peered closely at the bottom of a well.

  He pipetted cells into the Eppendorf tube. “Sort of.”

  “What do you mean, sort of?”

  “You ever taken Chinese medicine?”

  “No, but my cousins are half Chinese, and their parents do.” Trish passed him another plate.

  “Mom says, ‘If bad taste means strong medicine, you’re cured.’ ”

  Trish snickered. “What’s she taking?”

  “Some new root that she boils on the stove. I walked into her kitchen and thought the cat had died.”

  Trish erupted into laughter.

  He didn’t expect the dazzling smile that made the laboratory lights seem dim. She turned the full force of that smile at him, making him blink in surprise. He felt like someone punched him in the stomach. He had never seen a smile that could make a guy grin back like an idiot.

  “So does it work?”

  It took him a moment to realize she’d asked a question. “She says it does, but when she drinks it, she looks like she’s in pain.”

  Trish hooted. “That’s what my cousin’s mom looks like, too.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and applied herself to her work, a smile still hovering on her mouth.

  He’d never really noticed her features before, how pretty she was. And she was fun to be around.

  She handed him the last plate. “I need more coffee.”

  “You had three cups this morning already.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Nag, nag, nag. I’m going to get something from the cafeteria.” Her face lit up at the prospect of something nuclear-strength and venti-sized from the espresso bar.

  He looked her in the eye. “Your coffee addiction is scary.”

  She laughed and left the lab.

  The lab seemed darker without her in it.

  She’d be a fun date.

  In his office, Spenser studied Trish as she stared at her calendar, as if daring it to defy her careful planning. Her arched brows scrunched under a smooth forehead, already a bit shiny by mid-morning and framed by the straight dark hair that fell from her middle part, with wisps softening her face. She was always well dressed, but usually untidy by noon.

  Spenser tended to prefer tiny, delicate girls. Trish was short, but not delicate. However, her jeans showed off nicely curved hips that weren’t unattractive. She didn’t walk — she bounced with confidence and energy. While she wasn’t as trendy as his other girlfriends had been, she didn’t dress like a slob, either. He wouldn’t mind being seen with her on his arm.

  So why not? He wasn’t proposing marriage or anything. A date would be a casual way to get to know her better. If it didn’t work out, he knew it wouldn’t faze her efficient work ethic.

  She didn’t bother to look up at him. She frowned at her calendar. “Spenser, do you think we’ll see any alkaline phosphatase on day three? Should we collect samples on day five instead?” Her head tilted, as if she still thought about her question even as she waited for him to answer.

  Spenser heard a voice that sounded like his own. “Are you doing anything tonight? Let’s go out to dinner.”

  SEVEN

  No. Way.

  Did six-feet-of-gorgeous just ask her out? She must be hearing things. Was he asking out someone else?

  No, he was looking right at her. Aside from the fact there were only the two of them in the room, guys generally didn’t make direct eye contact with one girl while asking out another.

  When the shock wave receded, her heart started to pound. Six-feet-of-gorgeous had asked her out! He hadn’t even asked that Hong Kong intern to go out to dinner! (She knew because she’d rather slyly asked.)

  Wait a minute, why had he asked her out? Miss Hong Kong was at least thirty pounds lighter and five years younger. Plus, Spenser was always talking with women in the hallways.

  “Uh . . . you mean on a date?”

  Spenser’s smile grew a little strained. “Sure. Why not?”

  Oh no, had Trish been flirting with him? She’d been trying so hard the past few days to not look. It had taken a while for her to get used to the new Trish — the non-animated, proper, and rather boring good girl version. Maybe she’d unconsciously been spewing pheromones, hence this surreal moment.

  Rats! Six-feet-of-gorgeous
had asked her out! She had been working so hard to keep rule number one, but then he had to go ahead and drop this bomb in her lap. This was too much temptation for a girl to bear.

  Because she had to say no.

  “You’re serious?” She chewed her inner lip. Was she crazy? What was she doing? She couldn’t refuse the very man she’d been ga-ga over for the past two weeks!

  “Yeah, I’m serious.” His brow wrinkled and his tone buzzed with annoyance. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m flattered, but . . .”

  “But . . . ?” Spenser’s mouth tightened.

  Trish stood. She hated needing to look up at him so far. “Well, no offense but . . . you’re not Christian.”

  Okay, that hadn’t come out sounding very good. Had she really said that?

  He grew very still. Very, very still. He didn’t even blink. Trish couldn’t quite decipher his expression, and that scared her a bit.

  “I, uh . . . I want to date only Christian guys. You see, God is my top priority, and I want to date someone with the same priority.” Trish gnawed the inside of her cheek, her eyes darting everywhere but at him, while she reached up to fiddle with all three of the earrings on her right side. “It’s like a San Francisco 49ers fan dating an Oakland Raiders fan. Or a Giants fan dating an A’s fan. Well actually, God’s more of a priority for me than a football or baseball team, but you get the picture, right?” She lifted pleading eyes to him.

  Was she crazy? The past two weeks had been horrible. A zillion times a day, she had to drag her eyes away from his dimpled smile and the adorable way his hair waved down over his forehead. It was soooo hard to ignore his muscular grace when he sat on the edge of her desk to discuss something.

  “Ahem. Yeah, sure.” His face seemed rather neutral. Was that good or bad? “So if a Christian guy asks you out?”

  “Well, um . . . I’m trying to commit myself whole-heartedly to God.”

  “And that means?”

  “I want to become a better person and leave it to God to give me the right man, because on my own, boys make me do all kinds of crazy thi — Um, anyway, I came up with three rules.”