In His Wildest Dreams
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He continued to watch as she made tracks in the opposite direction, nearly running into the pink azaleas flanking the stark white lab. If she’d seen him, she was pretending she hadn’t.
He got out of his Porsche. “Hey, Doc.”
She slowed, reluctance in every small jerk of her body as she turned around. “Sorry, I’m running late again,” she called out, slightly breathless.
“You’re not. I’m early.” He closed the car door.
“Give me five minutes, okay?”
“All right if I wait inside?”
She touched the back of her hair, and quickly tucked up a stray. “Um, why don’t I make sure things aren’t a mess. Someone else used the lab after we did yesterday.”
He snorted. “You should see my place.”
She looked hesitant, and then he got it. Maybe she had to get her friend out the back door, although why the cloak-and-dagger was a mystery to him.
“Damn, I forgot something.” He opened his car door. “Can we make it ten minutes?”
“No problem.”
He got into the Porsche and watched her unlock the lab door and then hurry inside without a backward glance. He didn’t bother to start the engine, but waited until the door closed before he got out and strolled around to the back.
No one was there. He started to wait but then noticed there was no back door. He kept walking until he’d made a circle around the small building. Only one door. Obviously the woman had still been inside while he met with Emma. But why would she lie about someone else being there? It didn’t make sense. Unless Doc thought he’d get testy about the confidentiality issue. That was possible.
He gave her a couple of extra minutes before he went inside with the leather binder of notes he’d taken. She was ready for him, sitting at her desk, her glasses perched on her nose, a notebook in front of her, and a tape recorder set on the opposite edge of the desk, closer to the guest chair. Presumably where he would sit.
Man, everything he said was going to be on tape. Immortalized. They would have to discuss that.
“Have a seat.” Those great lips lifted into a tempting smile, and he almost forgot about the tape recorder. “I see you have some notes.”
“Man, do I. It’s amazing I got any sleep at all last night.”
She laughed. “Everyone dreams quite a lot. We just aren’t all lucky enough to remember the details.”
“Well, Doc, I’m not sure you’re going to want all these details.” He opened the binder and flipped through pages and pages of writing.
“Excellent.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. You probably won’t want all this stuff.”
“Are you kidding? This much recall is a gold mine.”
He wasn’t so sure. “Do I just give this to you, or what?”
She seemed surprised. “No, you have to describe the dreams in as much detail as possible.”
“What do you think all this is?”
She gave him a small tolerant smile that annoyed him. “A reminder for you. I promise that as you relate the events of the dream, you’ll begin to recall other details. There is nothing unimportant. Once you begin, keep talking. Let it all flow.”
Hell, this wasn’t going to work. He didn’t do “flow.”
“What’s wrong?” She laid down her pen. “You look distressed.”
“Hell, yeah, I’m distressed. You asked me to record all this stuff, and now you want me to go over it again.”
She had that tolerant, patient look down to a damn science.
“I know this isn’t easy. Dreams seem so personal—”
“Of course they’re personal.” He slouched in his chair, annoyed and frustrated.
“But you don’t have control over them. There’s no reason to be embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed.” He grunted. “That has nothing to do with it.”
She tapped her pencil on the desk with hard rapid intensity. Impatience pulled her lips into a straight line. “Let me be blunt. Brenda explained what we needed to do here before you set foot in the lab. What’s the problem?”
He glared back at her. Dammit. She was right. “Okay, you want the details. Here are the details…” He set his notes aside. He didn’t need them. One particular dream he remembered with so much clarity he still had a hard-on.
“Wait a second.” She flipped on the recorder.
“Is that necessary? You have my notes.”
She didn’t answer him. Just gave him one of those tolerant looks again, and then leaned back in her chair with a pencil in her hand. “Begin whenever you’re ready.”
Next year too soon? He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “I’ll start with my first memory,” he said, and she nodded. “I was in this—look, it’s going to sound weird.”
“Don’t worry about it. Most dreams do. Go on.”
He shifted to a more comfortable position. “There was this room with a bunch of chairs and sofas, almost like a waiting room, except there weren’t any people there, only me. Seconds later, women started to parade in, most of them topless. Some of them were big-busted, like really big, like augmented big. The blonde with the tassels started to unbutton my shirt.” He paused. “Can I have some water or coffee or something?”
Emma stared at him, wordlessly, and then she blinked. “Of course. I should have asked you before we started.”
They both stood at the same time.
Nick motioned for her to sit back down. “Tell me where it is. I’ll get it.”
She shook her head. “We have colas, orange juice and water. If you want coffee I’ll start a pot.”
“We?” Now he had her.
“I share this place with two other graduate students and we all chip in to keep the fridge stocked.”
Another graduate student. Of course.
“Water’s fine.” He sank into his seat, and watched her out of the corner of his eye as she hurried into the back room.