This is part 3 of the "Erotica Made to Order" series. This installment was inspired by Helicase.
Erotica Made to Order 03: A Bottle of Cognac
"I can hardly believe that it's been two years," chuckled Liam, "Two years of squinting down microscopes and collecting data."
The professor and his graduate assistant sighed in unison. Grace glanced down at the over-stuffed binders on his desk. That was just the final output, she reminded herself. There were boxes full of raw figures and observational notes back at the lab.
"Two years," Grace repeated flatly. Her mind was somewhere else.
Seeing the project to completion represented a monumental accomplishment, not to mention the final hurdle for her Ph.D. She thought back on all the work that went into those pages- the long hours, the late nights. There were times when thought she would go blind or insane from all the detail-obsessed, toilsome work, but now that the study was finally complete, she was overcome with the sudden realization that she would miss it all immensely.
She looked up at Liam, his wavy salt-and-pepper hair jostling about as he gestured. He was talking about a follow-up study that delved more deeply into specific aspects, a "sequel" so to speak, but that wouldn't include her.
Now that she would soon have her doctorate, she was expected to head off to some small Midwestern college and teach biology, and though she was eager to meet the challenge, she knew that whatever she might have had with Liam would soon dissolve into the dust of memory.
Over the last four semesters, the two had grown fairly close. A year before, when she broke up with her long-time boyfriend, he offered a cardigan-clad shoulder to cry upon. Not only that, Liam and his formidable intellect served as a huge inspiration. To her, he stood out as a shining example of what pure research could and should be. She pushed herself harder than she thought possible just in the hopes of impressing this man whom she respected so much.
Brilliant and easy to talk to are not traits that often appear side by side in the same person, and yet somehow in Liam they manifested acutely. It was a combination so rare as to be considered statistically impossible. Looking at him now, it seemed like a fitting description, not only for him but also for her situation.
"We really should celebrate," he suggested casually. "A drink at the Mare's Head."
She put a finger in her short reddish-brown hair and twirled. "Tonight?" she asked. As if by reflex, she was thinking up an excuse in order to spend her time on the project, forgetting that the project was now complete. "Yes," she said, remembering herself. "Tonight."
"I need to run home and get a bite to eat." He pulled on his corduroy jacket in one fluid motion. "How about eight?"
"Eight," she repeated as he sped off.
She forced herself not to consider the possibilities of a night such as this, even though the odd thought did pop into her brain now and again as she got ready for this celebratory drink. Not a date, she told herself. No pressure. Wear something that looks like you didn't spend any time at all thinking about what to wear.
A few hours later she paused for a moment between the double doors at the Mare's Head. She checked her reflection in the nearby mirror: a black knee-length dress with shoulder straps covered with a green cardigan. The outfit said everything she wanted to say, just not too loudly.
The shoes, however, were a bit less understated. In a different context, one might have interpreted them as "bad girl pumps," black patent leather heels with a pointy toe. She told herself that the footwear had nothing to do with fashion. If she were mugged on her way to or from the car, she could use the sharp, angular heels to defend herself.
She spotted Liam sitting in a booth near the far end of the tavern. He didn't notice her entrance at first, lost in thought as he often was.
She soon grabbed his attention through the insistent clicking of her shoes on the wood flooring as she approached. His head snapped up and he regarded her for a moment. Although he must have expected Grace to dress up a bit, he didn't seem prepared to see her in this new context. He smiled with a crinkle in the corner in his eye.
As she carefully took her seat across from him, she found something waiting for her. He had already ordered her a dry martini, her favorite. He must have heard her mention them ages ago. She was impressed.
"Thanks," she said enthusiastically. "Yummy."
The two raised their glasses in a wordless toast. "As you know," he said, sipping his whiskey. "I've been doing this for a long time."
"Indeed," said Grace playfully. "I would make a joke about bearing witness to the invention of the microscope but I think that would be cruel."
"Well," he began, choosing to forge ahead with his original thought. "I know you're going to fly off and do amazing things wherever you land next, butβ¦" his voice trailed off.
This isn't like him, she thought. She wondered what he was having so much difficulty saying.
"I have really enjoyed working with you," he said.
That was a bit of a let down.
"By that, I mean that you're the best damn grad student I have ever had. It's not that you do the work and do it well- you have a real passion for it, a real zeal for it."
"I'm sure you were just like this when you were in your mid-20's."
"Sure, sure," he laughed. "I was. But my point is this: I'm going to miss you," he said and raised his glass in a toast to her.
Suddenly the realization struck her. This was what he had been trying to blurt out the whole time.
She desperately wanted to open up to him about the torch she had held for him since her undergraduate days. She wanted to spill her guts and tell her about all the daydreams and fantasies she harbored for him- but she knew better than to read too much into "I'm going to miss you." If she hinted at what she really felt, this evening would very likely end badly. Very badly, indeed. She couldn't risk spending the next ten years ruefully remembering her last moments with Professor Liam.
She smiled as warmly as she would allow herself to. "I will definitely miss this place. I'll miss the lab. I'll miss you, too."
He smiled widely as if an idea had just popped into his head. "You know what? I think I've had enough of this joint's bottom shelf rot gut. What would you say to a glass of the good stuff?"
"How good?"
"The best."