“Aren’t you tired?” he asked, his voice gravelly, fatigued.
“No.”
“It’s three in the morning.”
“Crap. I have to be back in four hours.” At a quick glance, it didn’t appear that we had done anything all night. The place was clean and organized, but the reports weren’t done. I returned to work on the diagnostic reagents.
“You’re staying all night, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yep. I want this staff to walk in and realize that I stayed here all night to catch up on their work.”
“To make them feel bad?”
I shook my head. Of course not. “To encourage them. A short while ago, I was their coworker and their friend. If they see that I care and will do the work, that I’m not above them, then…maybe they’ll step up. But you can go home, get some sleep. You don’t need to stay here and torture yourself.”
“And leave you here alone at three in the morning?”
“Nothing will happen. We have a security guard.”
He ignored me and took out his phone, obviously answering emails or taking notes. But that was okay, because I was back in the zone quickly enough. He faded away, and before we knew it, the doors opened and staff trickled in.
They paused at the door, lab coats and goggles in hand.
“What’s going on?” Amar asked.
Jay stood, nodded at me, and excused himself.
“Since we’re not reaching our production quota, I’ve been staying all night to catch up,” I replied.
“Oh…are you taking the day off then?” Amar asked.
“Nope.” I brushed past him. “I still have my own work to do.”
I placed the lab coat on its hook and returned to my office. At lunch, I could run home, take a quick shower, and change clothes. Even if everyone knew that I’d worked twenty-four hours, there was no need to look or smell the part.
A few people upped their game over the next few days, but I kept working extended hours, took naps in the office, and had brief dinners with Jay when he insisted on staying with me during those long evenings. The nights became shorter as more staff worked harder, but getting home before midnight seemed to be a thing of the distant past. Jay didn’t talk much, and after the first night, he brought his own things to work on once he finished the underling tasks.
Friday hit hard. We made it to midnight, and I could’ve passed out. My eyes drooped. Jay’s were bloodshot, and I felt a little bad, but not that bad. No one asked him to stay.
He gave me a ride home, which I admittedly took advantage of. I was too tired to drive, and he already knew where I lived.
“See you this afternoon for the baby shower?” he asked, his words almost slurred. Okay. Now I felt awful.
“Yeah.”
He nodded. We pulled up to the front lobby of my apartment complex, and he leaned over to open my door. His arm brushed against mine. His hair was a black shadow beneath my chin when he froze and slowly backed away.
“All right,” he muttered.
“Are you going to make it home safely?” I asked, worried.
“Yes. Don’t worry.” He struggled to keep his eyes open. I didn’t imagine that he had been able to sneak in naps during the day.
I groaned. “Who told you to stay all this time?”
“I dunno. My conscience? I’m fine, unless you’re going to offer for me to crash at your place.”
My cheeks flared, but he added, “I’ll text you later.”
“How much sleep have you gotten?”
“A few hours this week.”
I rolled my eyes and pointed at the parking lot. “Park.”
“Liya, I said I’m fine to drive home,” he protested, more alert now.
“Just park the car. I’m not getting out until you do.”
“I live less than fifteen minutes away.”
I crossed my arms. “This is me being nice. Park the damn car.”
He groaned and sloppily parked the car. We walked across the sidewalk and took the elevator up to my apartment.
I tossed the keys on the counter as he locked the front door behind us.
I flipped on the lights and said, “Feel free to sleep as long as you want. Eat or drink whatever. The couch is pretty comfortable.”
We slipped off our shoes in the foyer, and I grabbed a prefilled bottle of water from the fridge. Halfway to the bedroom, I untucked my blouse and had it partway unbuttoned before I remembered he was here.
Jay was quiet as he turned away from me. He peeled off his button-down shirt and laid it over the back of the chair. Still in his undershirt, he unbuckled his pants…and I closed my bedroom door.
Chapter Fifteen
Jay
I awoke to the smell of coffee and bacon. I expected to roll onto my side and see my bedroom. Part of my brain wondered who made breakfast before the other part remembered where I was.
Light pushed through the tiny slits between the blinds, and I squinted before fully opening my eyes. I sat up on the plushest couch I’d ever been on. Liya hadn’t lied when she said it was comfortable. I stretched my neck one way, then another, and looked around. Liya’s door was closed, but a pot of coffee brewed in the kitchen.
Snatching my pants off the chair, I put them on but left them unzipped since I was headed to the bathroom anyway. I’d barely pushed the door open when Liya swung it back and jumped.
“Sorry. Thought you were in your room,” I said, my voice miserably hoarse. She wore short pink shorts and a matching tee, her hair pulled back, her face bare. For a passing second, all I wanted to do was back her into the wall and feel her body pressed against mine. I had to stop that thought before it went any further.
“It’s fine. All yours.” She sidestepped the same way I went, and again the other way.
I finally stepped back and said, “As much as I love bumping into you, we can’t keep this up all morning.”
She pushed hard against my stomach, and I sucked in a breath. “Don’t pee in your pants!” She laughed extra hard and walked away while I made a mad dash for the bathroom.
When I emerged, she was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. I sat on the barstool and stared at her. She was exceptionally beautiful first thing in the morning.
“Yes, this is for you, too.” She pushed a cup of coffee and creamer toward me.
“What are you making?” I asked, focusing on pouring creamer and prying my eyes off her.
“My usual Saturday fare: crepes with sweet cream cheese filling and strawberries…and bacon. Because…bacon.”
I scrunched my nose as she flipped a crepe onto a plate and spooned filling from one bowl onto it, folded it, and added a syrupy glaze from another bowl.
“What? I know you’re not lactose intolerant or a vegetarian.”
I guess we’d had enough meals together for her to know that. “I’m surprised that you can cook.”
“Because?”
“Uh. Because you’re Liya Thakkar, feminist extraordinaire.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
I smiled. “I thought with all the work and independence, and anti-Indian stuff, that you were also anti-cook.”