Her eyes darted from side to side. “I didn’t know that. I’m afraid my knowledge of pufferfish mating habits is limited.”
I had no idea why I was suddenly talking about pufferfish. I tended to blurt out random facts when I got nervous or wanted to change the subject. And that brief but powerful fantasy of ripping Hazel’s shirt off had left me feeling flustered as fuck. So naturally, I kept babbling.
“The patterns he creates in the sand are symmetrical, which makes you wonder what that tells the female about his suitability as a mate. What does the ability to rub against the sand and leave symmetrical tracks have to do with health or virility? Fish don’t care for their offspring, so her instincts wouldn’t drive her to seek a mate who can shelter or protect their babies. All she needs are sperm to fertilize her eggs.”
“Perhaps that’s the answer. The patterns the male creates are a targeting system, designed to show the female a location for depositing eggs that is most likely to lead to fertilization.”
“Good point. That’s a solid possibility. But I kind of feel bad for them. All that work and all the male gets is a pile of eggs.”
“But said pile of eggs satisfies his instinct to mate and he’s able to pass on his genetic material.”
“I know, but he just releases his sperm and that’s it,” I said. “He doesn’t get to actually mate with the female.”
“You’re saying you feel pity for pufferfish because the male’s efforts to attract a mate don’t culminate in sexual activity in the manner of humans or other mammals?”
“Yes, exactly. The poor fish doesn’t even get to have sex.”
“Is it because you think a male should be sexually rewarded by the female for the work he puts forth in the process of attraction?”
The corner of my mouth lifted. She was baiting me into saying I thought a girl should put out. I could feel it. “Not at all. I just think fish who don’t get to physically mate got the short end of the evolutionary stick.”
“Do you enjoy sex that much?”
“Absolutely. I love sex.”
I wasn’t sure if I was more surprised by her question or the fact that I’d answered with so much enthusiasm.
We blinked at each other.
Great, I’d made it awkward.
Or had she made it awkward?
A few more seconds ticked by. It didn’t matter. At this point, we were swimming in awkward.
And then I made it worse.
“Don’t you?”
Her posture stiffened. “Don’t I what?”
“Enjoy sex.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear—a nervous gesture I’d never seen from her before. “Doesn’t everybody?”
“I don’t know. It probably depends on who they’re having sex with.”
“Maybe.”
Had Hazel ever been with someone she’d enjoyed? Maybe she didn’t have a lot of sexual experience.
This wasn’t a conversation we should be having. Especially since only moments ago, I’d been fantasizing about licking her tits. But I’d never been good at saying the right thing.
“I guess if you haven’t had many good sexual experiences, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Are we talking about me, or pufferfish?”
“You. Or the fish. I don’t—”
“I’m not lacking in good sexual experiences,” she said, cutting me off. “I haven’t had an excessive number of partners, but I’m no naïve virgin either.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Why do so many people assume I’m inexperienced? The same thing happens when I say my favorite drink is a vodka martini, dirty, with three olives. Is it so shocking that I enjoy a nice cocktail or two? Can’t a woman who is academically inclined also indulge in alcohol and be adventurous sexually? Those things should not be mutually exclusive.”
Almost involuntarily, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “No, they shouldn’t.”
“I once had very spontaneous sex in the ladies’ room of a restaurant. The guy turned out to be a jerk, but that particular experience was satisfying for both of us.”
Oh god. She really needed to stop. Hearing her talk about sex with another guy—especially one who might have hurt her—riled up my protective instincts. The drive for vengeance stoked the fire of my hate-lust, making it flare hot in my chest.
I wanted to show her just how fucking good spontaneous sex could be. Erase the memory of that other man from her mind forever, replacing it with me. When I was done with her, she’d pity those pufferfish too.
We were back to staring at each other. Her mouth opened slightly, her bottom lip glistening with a bit of moisture from her tongue. Her glasses had slipped a few centimeters down her nose, but she didn’t move to adjust them. Mine also felt askew, but I was trapped in her gaze. Paralyzed except for my pounding heart and my lungs dragging in ragged breaths of air.
“I should go see if I can get this ink off.” She quickly stood and gathered her things, muttering something about a wedding and a bridesmaid dress. “Thank you for a productive meeting.”
Her voice and sudden departure from the room broke my paralysis. But I didn’t get up. I stared at the empty space where she’d been sitting, wondering what the hell had just happened. And how I was going to wipe all the very dirty thoughts I’d just had about Hazel Kiegen from my mind.
Because if I didn’t, I was going to get myself into a shit ton of trouble.
10
Hazel
“A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you.” ~ Elbert Hubbard
To the surprise of no one who knew her, my friend Everly’s wedding was perfect.
For the venue, she’d chosen a winery nestled in the Cascade mountains—Salishan Cellars—and everything from the setting to the flowers to the food had been lovely.
They’d said their vows outside, in a beautiful garden surrounded by vineyards and mountain peaks in the distance. The sun was pleasantly warm, but not too hot, the air fresh and pure. It had been pouring rain yesterday, but the sun had come out for Everly.
She was nothing short of stunning, her blond hair swept up, a sheer veil cascading down her back. Her strapless white gown was fitted, flaring gently at the bottom. A slit up one thigh added a touch of fun and sexiness to the elegant dress. It was all so very Everly.
Her new husband, Shepherd Calloway, wore a perfectly tailored tux, his dark hair and stubble trimmed neatly. But it wasn’t his appearance that caught people’s attention—although he was an objectively attractive man. It was the way he looked at Everly. Like she was the source of all goodness in his world and he’d never been happier than he was today.
Which was saying a lot for Shepherd, because he wasn’t one to be overly expressive with his emotions. Everly used to call him her robot-boss due to his typically emotionless exterior.
But the way he looked at her now as he guided her around the dance floor wasn’t the least bit robotic. And it made my heart ache.
Not because I wasn’t happy. I was absolutely thrilled for my best friend. She’d always believed in love, even when reality had seemed to be trying to tell her it didn’t exist. She’d held to her wish of finding her Prince Charming, and she’d found him. So perhaps a good portion of the ache in my chest was the satisfaction of watching one of my best friends in the entire world share her wedding dance with the man of her dreams.
“Here.” Nora handed me a glass of white wine, then lowered herself into the chair next to me.
I took a sip—the wine was light and refreshing—and set my glass on the table. “Thanks.”
Nora tilted her head, watching the newlyweds. “They’re disgusting, aren’t they?”
“Truly awful.”
“It’s our fault, you know. We’re the ones who made sure Shepherd got his head out of his ass.”
“Indeed.”
Nora and I raised our glasses to clink them together and shared a smile.
After ta
king a sip, Nora set down her glass. “Well, if I have to wear a bridesmaid dress, there’s no one I’d rather wear it for. Except you. Although I take it you’re still stubbornly determined to stay single.”
“Stubbornness is not the driving influence in my decision. And what’s wrong with the bridesmaid dresses?”
We were dressed in similar, but not identical, pale yellow dresses. Nora had helped Everly choose a flattering style for each of her bridesmaids, and the designer had coordinated them by fabric and color, rather than stuffing us all into matching gowns. Mine was long and form-fitting with thin straps and a sweetheart neckline. Elegant and still comfortable.
Nora was impossibly sexy in her long strapless dress, her curves tastefully highlighted. As usual, her hair, makeup, and attire were all perfect for the occasion.
She glanced down at herself. “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with the dresses. They’re lovely and my boobs look great. I’m just referring to the stereotype of the ugly bridesmaid dress. I’d happily wear an ugly dress for either of you. I’d wear one for Sophie, too. Although when she gets married, we’re not even going to pretend she’s allowed to pick any of the clothing.”
Sophie chose that moment to join us, a glass of wine in her hand. But judging by her amused laugh as she sat, she wasn’t offended. “I’m glad you said that, because I was going to beg you to come dress shopping with me. Not that I’m getting married anytime soon. You kind of need a groom for that and the only man I see on a regular basis signs my paychecks and is hopelessly in love with one of my best friends.”
“You need to start putting yourself out there,” Nora said. “You’re not going to meet anyone if the only time you leave the house is to go to work or go running with us.”
Sophie sighed. “I know. I’m just very talented at screwing up when I try.”
At least she hadn’t drawn on herself with a pen in an ill-fated attempt to distract her nemesis by pulling his attention to her boobs. Luckily, the ink had washed off. I supposed the good news was that I hadn’t stuck the pen in my mouth, which had been my first idea. Nora had said to draw attention to my mouth by biting things—but not my fingernails—so I’d considered putting the tip of the pen against my lips or between my teeth.
Although now that I thought about it, I wasn’t sure what would have been worse, drawing a line down my neck or getting ink in my mouth. Upon further reflection, I decided their mortification factor was roughly equal.
I took another—bigger—sip of wine. My attempts at acting sexy in front of Corban had been bungling at best, humiliating at worst. There was my awkward attempt at lip-licking, which I was convinced had made me look deranged. The neck-drawing debacle. A few days ago, I’d dropped a book in the hallway outside his office and slowly bent down to pick it up. When I was doubled over, I’d tried to check to see if he was watching, lost my balance, and toppled right into Pete the janitor.
The only good thing about that situation was the fact that Corban hadn’t been in his office to see it.
I’d already decided not to dwell on the part where I hadn’t looked to see if Corban was actually present to witness my little display before going to the trouble of bending over in the first place.
And also resolved that the next time I was bent double in heels, I needed to be careful not to move my head too quickly.
Nora clutched her wine glass and scanned the room. “Now that our bridesmaid duties are fulfilled, let’s see if we can make the rest of our evening more fun, shall we?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I’m not interested in hooking up with one of Everly’s wedding guests.”
“Why not? None of us brought dates and I spy with my little eye some serious man candy.” Nora pointed to three men in suits talking to each other near the bar. “I’m pretty sure that one is Everly’s bridesmaid gift to me.”
“Which one?” Sophie asked.
Nora tilted her head as if considering. “Any of them.”
The men looked in our direction. One of them met my eyes and his lips turned up in a smile. He lifted his wine glass and nodded.
“Oh damn,” Nora said. “He’s totally into you. Go talk to him.”
“What? No.”
“Why not?”
Why not, indeed? He was an attractive man. Nicely dressed. But the thought of striking up a conversation with him unsettled my stomach.
“Men like him aren’t interested in women like me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Nora sounded genuinely offended. “What, women who are brilliant, sophisticated, and sexy? You must be right, I can’t imagine why he’d be interested in a woman like that.”
I picked up my wine glass, mostly for something to do with my nervous hands. “I’ll take brilliant because my intelligence is objectively documented, but you’re the sophisticated and sexy one. Not me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“We both know I’m right. Look at you. You have excellent fashion sense and confidence in your appearance. You know how to do all the right things to make men notice you.”
“Maybe some of the time—” She paused when I raised my eyebrows. “Okay, most of the time. What can I say, I like the game and I’m good at playing it. But that doesn’t mean you’re not sexy. I know we’re different, but there’s more than one way to be sexy.”
“She’s completely right,” Sophie said.
“I bet you’ve never drawn a line down your neck with a pen in a humiliating attempt to seductively distract a coworker.”
Sophie winced.
Nora’s eyes flicked to my neck. “You did that, didn’t you?”
I straightened my spine. “Yes. I didn’t realize the cap was off.”
She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Hazel, I adore you. I hope someday you’ll see what I see—a beautiful, smart, funny, and sexy as hell woman. And I can tell you one thing for sure, the man who’s worthy of you will see it all.”
My eyes misted with tears. “I hope the mascara you used on me is waterproof.”
“Of course it is. Now go talk to that hottie over there.”
I looked at him again, flurries of indecision keeping me rooted to my chair. Was the fear of rejection making me hesitate? Logically, I knew I ought to be able to put that aside. Nora was right, he’d given adequate signals that he was interested in me.
“Come on, Hazel.” Nora nudged my elbow.
“Do you want another glass of wine first?” Sophie asked.
I still didn’t move.
“Oh, I see what’s happening,” Nora said.
“You do?”
She nodded. “You’re saving yourself for Corban. I can respect that.”
“What? No, I’m not. I don’t like Corban. This has nothing to do with him.”
Nora’s raised eyebrow spoke volumes. She didn’t believe me.
I didn’t believe me.
Which was completely illogical. Corban and I were only coworkers. Two people who barely tolerated each other. We weren’t even friends. So I had absolutely no reason to feel strange or guilty at the thought of engaging in the preliminary stages of potential relationship formation with another man.
“I’ve told you numerous times, I’m not dating anymore.”
“Mm hmm.”
“That’s the only reason.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that.”
I put my wine down. “Nora, I’m serious.”
“I’m sure you’re very serious.”
“This isn’t about Corban.”
“Of course not. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push your buttons.”
“Corban is not a button.”
She brushed a tendril of hair over my shoulder. “Hazel, my love, I think it would do you some good if you admit you want Corban to push your buttons. And by push your buttons, I mean destroy your clit with his tongue. Or his dick.”
Sophie laughed softly.
The mention of Corban’s dick and tongue in such close verbal proximity with the words you
r clit sent a rush of heat to my chronically unsatisfied lady parts. I had to resist the urge to clench my thighs.
“I can assure you I don’t want any such thing.”
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Corban and I were enemies. Any attraction I felt toward him was simply a byproduct of the intensity of my dislike combined with my ongoing sexual frustration. My body was trying to convince me that not only did I need a partner to achieve climax—specifically a human rather than anything that was battery-operated—but that it needed to be one specific human male.
My body was wrong.
Nora was wrong.
“I stand corrected.” I got up from my chair and squared my shoulders. “I believe he was expressing interest and if he asks me for my number, I’m resolved to give it to him.”
Five minutes later, I was reciting my phone number while a charming man named Antonio typed it into his phone. The unease in my stomach hadn’t abated, but I firmly told myself there was no reason for it. I was doing absolutely nothing wrong in sharing my number with him. It wasn’t necessarily going to lead to anything.
Even if it did, I was a single woman. Corban would have no right to be upset.
And of course, he wouldn’t be. Why would a man be upset that the woman he didn’t like but was forced to work with had given out her number?
I didn’t have feelings for Corban Nash. Not the romantic sort, at least. And this proved it.
11
Corban
“Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.” ~ Oprah Winfrey
A bead of sweat dripped down my spine as my muscles strained. I kept my grip tight on the hand-holds and pushed with my legs to move higher up the rock wall.
It felt good to be off the ground, plastered against a near-vertical surface, my skill and strength the only thing between me and falling. There weren’t a lot of activities that were intense enough to quiet my brain, but rock climbing was one of them. I couldn’t think about work, or numbers, or my research, or the annoyingly hot psychologist I had to work with five days a week.
Love According to Science Page 8
