I stand outside Eloise's dorm--my palms sweaty, my collar tight, my heart in my throat. I have no choice but to knock; any hope of scurrying away is unavailable. I raise my fist and tap on the door three times. I think I'll lose my voice when she answers the door. Through the wood, I can hear the muffled noise of a chair being pushed. I hear her feet pad on the floor. When I hear the latch leaving the strike plate, I'm certain I'll vomit. She answers the door with a gentle smile, and my stomach somersaults.
"Reece, hi. Come in," Eloise says, stepping out of the way. My name in her mouth makes a shiver run down my spine, and I want to ask her to repeat it, to hear her say its syllables over and over again.
"Hey," I reply, and my voice squeaks--as I knew it would. As I place my bag by the now-closed door, I take in the small dorm.
Her room is rich with the scent of jasmine. It's heavy on my tongue, to the point that I can almost taste it. An essential oil diffuser whirs and billows white mist into the air. Her room is so girly it makes me want to giggle. Her bedspread is a pale pink, almost swallowed whole with a collection of pillows and stuffies. A circular thick pink-threaded rug in the middle of the room consumes most of the white linoleum floor.
We sit in front of her desk, which is not big enough to accommodate us both, and we cramp awkwardly, trying not to touch. Eloise's laptop is already open, and the data program has already pulled up. Our conversation does not drift from our work, and we're focused on composing the conclusion of our assigned lab report. Yet, I think my body will explode from being so close to her. My stomach bursts with butterflies and my palms are slick with sweat and my heart hammers against my ribs and I'm afraid to breathe wrong and there's nothing poetic to this feeling. I'm certain I'll vomit if I so much as look at Eloise.
"Hold on, Reece, wait," she says, and I almost jump out of my seat. "This part doesn't make sense with the rest of our findings, and I think that screws with what we claimed in our second data table."
I look at her, and my heart tightens at how cute Eloise looks when her eyebrows are scrunched. In her hands, she holds the paper she wrote our raw data down, and as we perform the transaction, my forefinger skates across the knuckle of her thumb. She snatches her hand back, and I keep my eyes trained on the paper while I imagine the clamminess of my sweat brushing her skin. What would typically be embarrassing now comes across as humiliating.
"Do you see it?" Eloise prompts.
"Yeah, yeah, I do. Right there. We fucked up those trials, which don't match the other Condition 2s. Good catch," I respond, the words tumbling out of my mouth. I haven't even actually looked at the data. I hold the paper out toward Eloise, and, this time, her fingers brush along the back of my hand as she takes it from me. Her skin is cool compared to mine. I tuck my face into my elbow and face away from Eloise, pretending to cough as I hide the rush of color to my cheeks.
"You good?" She asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Yes," I respond, my voice coming out strangled at the shock of her touch. "Just, y'know, a tickle in my throat or some shit. All good. I'm fine. Thank you." I sit back up, and Eloise removes her hand as I do. I'm tempted to double over again in hopes she'll touch me again. "Okay, so what should we do?"
"We'll have to redo all our Condition 2 trials," she answers. "Yay, back to the lab!"
I let out a huff at the plasticity of her cheer. "It won't take us too long. You're quite the accomplished scientist. I'm so lucky to have been partnered with you--not that I'm not gonna do my share of the work. I'll do my part, obviously. I'm here now, right?" I bite the inside of my cheek.
Eloise rolls her eyes at me, but I notice the way she purses her lips and smiles to herself at the compliment. A rush of pleasure erupts in my gut with satisfaction to see that I've flattered her.
"Okay, let's get back to work," she says. Eloise points at the computer screen to redirect our attention. I stare at her for a few milliseconds before forcing myself back to the laptop. Although, her eyes have not followed mine. I can feel Eloise's gaze on me, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Gooseflesh erupts along my arms despite how my skin feels as if it's burning, and I am terrified of what she's thinking.
"Should we just move on?" I say, my voice coming out lower than I anticipated. I immediately cringe, but it's a bittersweet relief to have her gaze off me.
"Sorry, I got lost in thought for a few seconds there. Anywhere, where were we?" Eloise leans closer as we stumble our way through our third data table. Her knee brushes against my lower thigh, and she props her right arm up on her desk, cupping her chin. Eloise's knee stays where it is, and I pretend my whole body isn't centered on that one point of contact, as if I'm not cataloging every detail of what touching her feels like.
Fifteen minutes later, Eloise says, "Wait, this part doesn't make sense." Putting her left hand on the back of my chair, she reaches forward to tap the screen with her right index finger. "I think you just need to switch the words around."
The way we remain still touching makes my whole body hum, and while another part of me feels like it will suffocate from the feeling, I'm tempted to mess up our work so that I'll get to stay here longer, my thigh to her knee. I glance over at Eloise and feel all the blood rush to my face as the collar of her shirt dips down. My breath catches at the sight of her lilac bra cupping her breasts, the way they spill forward with her positioning. I can even see down to her stomach. Flooded with embarrassment--and, worse, turned on--I turn my face back to the screen, trying to ignore how my dick twitches.
"Thanks," I say, biting the inside of my cheek. "I see what you mean." I had my eyes on Eloise for less than a second, but the image had carved itself onto the backs of my eyelids. I feel my mouth grow dry. I begin to bounce the leg her knee isn't pressed against, and we sit in a thick silence as we finish.
"Reece?" Eloise asks. "You good?"
"Yeah, El, I'm all good," I answer, but my voice is slightly hoarse. I wonder if she likes the sound of her name in my mouth. Does her spine tingle at it? I look over at Eloise, and our eyes meet for the first time since we sat down. My heart leaps into my throat.
"You just seem...really agitated? We can always do this at a different time if there's something else you're stressed about or whatever. It's not that big of a deal." My eyes are trained on Eloise's lips and how they move when she speaks, and I feel my own begin to burn as I try to asphyxiate the desperate urge to kiss her.
"No, no, no, I'm good. I'm happy to be here. I'm so glad I'm here." Fuck. "Just, y'know, uh. It's kind of hot? in here. Could you maybe, like, get me a glass of water or something?"
"Yeah, of course," she says, fingers darting across her lips as she notices my gaze. I cringe at myself when her back is turned. Eloise grabs a cup off a shelf and leaves the room.
I drop my head back, my neck pressing against the cool back of the wooden chair. "Fuck," I say, dragging my hands through my hair. "Jesus Christ, I need to get myself together." I give my head a good shake, trying to get the tingling sensation of desperate need out of my body. I want to get up and leave so badly so I can crawl into my bed and scream my humiliation into my pillow.
I can hear Eloise's laugh in the hall as she talks to someone. I hate how I respond to it--I feel my whole soul practically latch itself to the sound. She enters the room a minute later and hands me the cup. We sit in silence for five minutes as we finish. I'm ready to bolt when she closes her laptop, and am immediately up on my feet.
"You seem like you're in a bit of a rush, but, uh, if you've got time, do you wanna sit and chat for a bit?" Eloise asks, her voice soft.
"No, no, I'm not in a rush at all. Sorry, just antsy. You know, all that sitting. My butt's sore from the chair. But I'd love to stay. Thank you."
"You're welcome to sit on the bed," she offers, then gives me a weak smile. I'm not sure how to interpret it and am afraid she's only offering it to me to be polite.
"I can just sit on the floor. You have a very fluffy rug." A safe answer, although I wouldn't mind sitting on her bed, hoping my scent would cling to the comforter and press her nose to it once I left. Jesus Christ, I can hardly stand my own thoughts.
I clumsily lower myself to the ground, my limbs feeling rubbery. I stretch my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankles, and put my hands behind me to support myself.
Eloise gets up and out of her chair and puts it back in what I assume is its usual place. She joins me on the rug by my knees, and I'm unsure how to interpret the face she makes. Is it a grimace? Or a nervous smile? She tells me about the essay she's currently writing for her English class. I don't take my eyes off her, wholly mesmerized by what she has to say. And this is what it's usually like. I cherish her every word because I know I'll ache for her company as soon as I leave. I'll think about her as I fall asleep; she'll be my first thought when I wake. To the point that sometimes I find myself blurting her name out into my empty dorm room as soon as my alarm goes off.
Nor can I stop staring at her lips, and the burning in my body begins to make me giddy. As the conversation progresses, I gradually start moving toward her. I'm now sitting up fully, and our legs are touching again.
