Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Oh, sweet, merciful Jesus. Thank everything. I saved it. I saved it, Lexi!”
I pump a small fist in the air in celebration. “Yay.”
Ginger laughs and sinks back into the chair, her head falling back in a dramatic thud. “One day, I’m going to have it as together as you do.”
I sigh. “It’s not always as glamorous as it seems. Trust me.”
She giggles and shakes her head. “Well, given your history of being right about stuff, I’m going to believe you. But from my perspective, I can’t see how it could be any worse than being as Type B as I am.”
I smile and click through my email to avoid opening the not-related-to-my-dissertation app I’ve been spending way too much time on. I already know what emails are in there, but I refuse to let anyone see that I’m spending an inordinate amount of time on Blake Boden research.
After having to be surrounded by his magnetism and handsome smiles for two hours straight yesterday at MKC, I obtained a lot of new data.
Ginger yawns, stretching to standing and pushing her chair into the desk. “What are you doing here anyway? If I were finished with my dissertation already, I’d be lounging on the beaches of Mexico right now. Or, at the very least, Long Island.”
The truth is way too embarrassing—that I’ve taken my obsession with a guy so far that I’m using my research to back it up—so I settle for a white lie instead. “Just buttoning things up. I found a couple of bugs over the weekend, and I want to make sure it’s perfect before I turn it in.”
Ginger isn’t what I’d call a best friend, but the truth is, I don’t know that I’d use that terminology for anyone. I’m more of a loner planet, who occasionally allows other people to enter her orbit. In some cases, I could see how people might think that’s sad, but I’m most content in the confines of my head.
The only company I’ve ever craved, ironically, is the company I spend most of my time turning down—Blake Boden.
“I’m sure it’s brilliant,” Ginger says kindly, gathering her headphones, drink cups, and various snack bags, and packing them into her light-pink tote. “I guess I’m going to go try to get some sleep in a real bed before returning later to drudge through some more data. Will I see you then?”
I shrug. “I guess it depends how sucked in I get. Who knows, maybe you’ll find my face in a keyboard.”
Ginger laughs. “Sounds like a plan. Later, Lex.”
“Bye.” I offer a small wave before turning back to my computer screen, clicking into my self-made romance analysis app after, and only after, I hear the door to the lab close behind her with a resounding click.
I open my spreadsheet first, entering all the carefully collected data from camp yesterday.
Good with kids
Patient
Confident around celebrity figures
Likes to tease
Self-deprecating at times
Flirtatious but funny advances that make it hard not to smile
An image of Blake stretching at the front of the group comes to mind.
Muscular thighs
I hit enter to populate another run of my AI-assisted analysis and, once again, get a result in the high nineties that Blake Boden in my life would be a good thing. So far, no inputs are moving the needle downward, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m going about this all wrong.
Maybe it’s not all about Blake. Maybe, just maybe, I need the app to run the analysis as a comparison instead. With both of our information, I could set up an algorithm for compatibility.
My phone pings in my bag, so I take a drink of my coffee with one hand and reach blindly to dig it out with the other. I’m expecting a message from my mom—she makes a habit of getting in a few messages first thing in the morning—but instead, it’s a message from Blake.
Blake Boden: Good morning, Lab Girl. Discover anything Nobel Prize-worthy yet this morning?
I scoff. Holy hell, if he only knew.
Me: Just having my morning coffee. The Nobel Prize will probably take another hour or two.
Blake Boden: Wow. Slacking today, huh? I’ve already conditioned, run drills, and jogged three miles.
Me: Am I supposed to be impressed or depressed? Because that sounds miserable.
Blake Boden: What? Not a fan of exercise?
Me: I don’t particularly like being uncomfortable. Or sweaty. So, no.
Blake Boden: Ah, well. I imagine when your brain burns as many calories as yours does, it’d be way too tiring to do anything more.
It’s an obvious attempt at coddling me, and surprisingly, I find it flattering.
Me: You’re being nice.
Blake Boden: I’m always nice.
Me: I don’t know about that.
Blake Boden: Then you don’t know me well enough yet. That means we need more time together. Let’s go get breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. Whatever meal you want. Hell, I’ll even settle for an after-lab snack.