Love According to Science

by Kingsley, Claire

  Alex and Caleb shared another look, but they let me drop the subject.

  Weston passed me the ball, effectively dividing us into teams—me and Weston versus Alex and Caleb. We played a tough game of two-on-two. By the time we finished—Weston and I won by three—I was exhausted and drenched with sweat.

  Good. Maybe I’d sleep better tonight.

  After our game, we all wandered to the side of the court to hydrate and grab our things. Alex and Caleb chatted while they put on their sweatshirts. I took a long drink from my water bottle and wiped my forehead on the back of my arm.

  “You don’t hate her,” a low voice said next to me.

  I glanced over at Weston. “What?”

  “You don’t hate her, or you wouldn’t give a shit about any of this.”

  As much as I wanted to say I hated Hazel, he was right. I didn’t. I didn’t know what I felt for her. But it wasn’t hatred. It was a lot more complicated than that. “Yeah, maybe.”

  He eyed me for a second, like he wasn’t sure if he was going to bother continuing the conversation. “If it had been some other woman’s shirt popping open, would you have fucked her?”

  “No,” I said with a lot more vehemence than I expected.

  “Didn’t think so. That’s your problem.”

  “What?”

  “You care. Sex isn’t meaningless if you care. So that means it wasn’t.”

  “Wasn’t meaningless?”

  “Nope. She’s under your skin. Maybe she does drive you crazy, but that’s because you care about her, and you care what she thinks of you.”

  This was the most Weston had ever spoken to me. And he was hitting too close to the truth for comfort.

  “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “Fuck if I know.” He took a long drink from his water bottle. “Caleb’s right, no one should listen to me for relationship advice.”

  I rolled my eyes. So he was just bullshitting me. “Great, thanks.”

  “There is one thing I do know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If she has the power to fuck up your insides this much, you only have two choices.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Get as far away from her as you can so you never have to see her again.”

  My gut churned at the thought. “Or?”

  “Marry her.”

  Without another word, Weston slipped on his sunglasses and walked out.

  I didn’t know why, but I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that he was right.

  15

  Hazel

  “Relationships are the most transformational space, whether it’s with your children, your parents, or your loved ones, because you can’t control the other person.” ~ Neil Strauss

  The lemon meringue pie had baked approximately four minutes longer than necessary, browning the edges too much. I glared at it, as if it had over-baked itself on purpose, and shoved it down the counter. It joined a pile of sugar cookies, two dozen chocolate cupcakes decorated with multicolored sprinkles, and a plate of apple turnovers.

  It was early afternoon, but my legs and back ached with fatigue. I’d started my day with a run—solo, this time, but if I was going to be ready for a half-marathon, I needed to stick to my training regimen.

  I’d spent the rest of my day baking. I needed something—anything—to take my mind off last night.

  Off Corban and his superhuman ability to drag an orgasm out of my previously stubborn body.

  I felt both infinitely better and so much worse. When I’d slid on my panties after my shower this morning, my clit hadn’t momentarily buzzed at the brush of contact from the fabric. That had been a pleasant change.

  But the memory of him inside me—the blissful pressure of his thickness—made me ache.

  I’d told him I wouldn’t want him again, and I’d known it was a lie when I’d said it. I did want him again. Or rather, my traitorous body did. My brain understood the reality of our situation. My body did not.

  How had I let this happen? Was an orgasm—a glorious, mind-blowing orgasm—worth it? I had to work with him on Monday. Look him in the eyes and speak to him.

  I hauled a fresh bag of flour out of the cupboard and set it on the counter with a thump. Puffs of white billowed in the air and I waved my hand, coughing. There was already flour everywhere from my marathon baking session.

  “Don’t be so judgmental,” I said to Erwin.

  He cracked an eye open and one ear twitched.

  “I know what you’re thinking. You said yes, Hazel. You told him you wanted it. And now you have to live with the consequences.” I grabbed a dirty mixing bowl out of the sink—I’d used every one I owned at least once today—and started cleaning it out. “And you’re right. I did. But rubbing my face in it isn’t helping.”

  I dried the bowl with a towel and set it next to the flour just as the oven timer dinged. I’d whipped up a batch of shortbread cookies while the lemon meringue pie baked and tossed them in the already-hot oven after it had come out.

  “Erwin, where did I put my oven mitts?”

  My cat offered no suggestions, so I poked around the mess of mixing bowls, utensils, measuring cups, and ingredients I hadn’t put away. Finally, I found them beneath a torn sheet of parchment paper and pulled the shortbread cookies out of the oven. They’d spread more than they should.

  Another fail.

  Frustrated, I set the baking sheet down so the shortbread could cool. This was so unlike me. I was usually an excellent baker.

  Perhaps my subconscious was acting out. My baking mistakes were an outward sign of my inner turmoil. A rather Freudian notion, but it probably had some merit.

  With my hands on my hips, I contemplated the new bag of flour. What to make next? I could make muffins, although muffin batter required a fair bit of finesse. Over-mixing was a danger, and I doubted my ability to be gentle at this point. I needed something forgiving—something I couldn’t ruin.

  “Hazel?” Nora’s voice came from the front of my apartment.

  I’d texted her earlier to let her know I was baking and she should come over to take some of it off my hands. If I was left alone with all this, I’d be gaining a lot more than a bra size.

  “In the kitchen.”

  “God, why is it so hot in here? And why does it smell like—” She stopped, both speaking and walking, when she rounded the corner to my kitchen. “What happened?”

  I groaned. “Well, the cupcakes are a bit dry and I think the frosting is too thick. The sugar cookies are uneven, and the turnovers are too chewy. The meringue got too brown, and—”

  “Hazel,” she said, cutting me off. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing.” My voice was oddly high-pitched. “Nothing at all. I just can’t seem to get these recipes right.”

  Nora’s eyes swept over the disaster that was my kitchen. I blinked in surprise, as if seeing it for the first time. The sink piled with dishes. The growing mound of imperfect baked goods. Smears of butter and shortening, a sugar spill on the floor, and a light coating of flour dust on just about everything.

  “Why didn’t you tell me something was wrong?” Nora stepped over Erwin and took my hands, leading me out to my couch. “I would have come over sooner.”

  “I sent you a text.”

  “You said I should stop by because you made cookies. You didn’t say you were therapy-baking, nor that you’d gone through twenty pounds of flour in half a day.”

  “I have more flour.” I gestured toward the kitchen as she nudged me onto the couch and sat beside me.

  “That’s not my point, and you know it. Now tell me what’s going on.”

  I adjusted my glasses and blurted it out. “I had sex with Corban last night.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You had sex with the man you’ve been complaining about?”

  “Yes.”

  “The one you call your nemesis?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you two even here?
Or was it at his place?”

  “Neither. It was at work. In the copy room.”

  Nora blinked at me. “I’m sorry, honey, what did you just say?”

  “I had sex with Corban Nash in the copy room at work,” I said miserably, my shoulders slumping.

  Without a word, she got up and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard cupboards opening and the clink of glass. Erwin got up from his spot on the floor and moved a few feet over to his kitty bed.

  She came back loaded down with a bottle of gin, tonic, a lime, a knife and cutting board, and two glasses filled with ice.

  “I’m going to be honest,” she said as she started prepping drinks on the coffee table. “I don’t know if I’m equipped to handle this alone. Did you have to get yourself into this mess while Everly’s on her honeymoon?”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I know you didn’t, sweetie. I just don’t know if I should be the one to walk you through this. My first instinct is to ask about his dick size and how many orgasms you had, and I have a feeling that isn’t what you need right now. Everly would know how to begin. I’m better as backup. Or styling, but there’s nothing I can do with that.” She gestured to me.

  “Hey.”

  “You’re covered in flour. So, how big was his dick and how many orgasms did you have?”

  I raised my eyebrows at her.

  “See? We need Everly.” She handed me a gin and tonic. “Drink that, and no more baking.”

  I sipped my drink while Nora got up and fished her phone out of her purse. She tapped her foot while she sent a text, then waited, her eyes on the screen.

  Her ringer chimed and she quickly swiped to answer. “Everly, you are the best, most beautiful friend in the entire world. I’m so sorry to bug you, but Hazel had sex with her nemesis.”

  She wandered into my kitchen and lowered her voice, although I could still hear her.

  “Yes, she had sex with that Corban guy. At work. I just got here, and she’s already made enough desserts to open a bakery. I got her out of the kitchen and mixed her a drink.”

  Nora paused, but I couldn’t hear what Everly was saying.

  “Good idea, I will. At this point, I think I’ll just cancel my plans for tonight and we’ll stay in and get tipsy.”

  Another pause.

  “You’re a goddess. I love you. Go fuck that hot husband of yours on the beach and pretend I didn’t interrupt.”

  I took another sip of my drink while Nora came back and sat down next to me.

  “This isn’t that big of a crisis,” I said. “You didn’t need to call Everly.”

  “The pile of baked goods on your counter says otherwise.” She finished another text and set her phone down. “Besides, you know I count on Everly to balance out my advice when it comes to men. She suggested I call in Sophie as backup.”

  Erwin waddled over and sat at my feet, looking up at me with sleepy green eyes. I scooped him up and set him on the couch next to me.

  “What have you been feeding him?” Nora eyed my cat.

  “That’s an odd question. Cat food. What else would I feed him?”

  “Are you sure he’s not gorging on cookies?”

  I ran a hand down Erwin’s back. “Cats don’t generally eat that sort of thing. In fact, they don’t have the taste receptors for sweet flavors.”

  “You know I’m not pro-dieting as a general rule, but I think he needs to go on a diet.”

  “No he doesn’t.” I kept petting him. “He’s just fluffy.”

  Nora raised her eyebrow. “Okay.”

  “He’s not fat,” I argued.

  “Hazel, he can’t even jump up on the couch.”

  My brow furrowed. “He’s getting older. And he’s not fat. He’s fluffy.”

  She just patted my leg and took a sip of her drink.

  Sophie didn’t live far away, so Nora and I had only finished half our drinks by the time she arrived. She came in wearing a pink shirt and distressed jeans, her curly hair down around her shoulders.

  “I got here as fast as I could. What’s the emergency?”

  Nora started making another gin and tonic. “Have a seat, Soph. I know Everly isn’t here, but I have her blessing. I think it’s time we extend the circle of trust.”

  Sophie slowly lowered herself into the armchair next to the couch. “Circle of trust?”

  I knew, without reservation, that Nora was right. Everly, Nora, and I had been a tight-knit group for years, and the circle of trust was the cornerstone of our friendship. Sophie fit in with us like a puzzle piece we hadn’t realized was missing.

  “I agree.” I put my drink down and extended my arms to clasp each of their hands, forming a circle.

  “The circle of trust is sacred,” Nora said. “What we share in the circle stays in the circle.”

  “And it’s a no judgment space,” I added.

  “Mostly,” Nora said. “If one of us is being an idiot, I’m going to be honest about it. And I expect you all to do the same for me.”

  “Fair point.”

  Sophie held our hands and nibbled on her bottom lip. “I don’t know what to say. This feels like such an important moment.”

  “It is.” Nora squeezed, then let go. She dropped a slice of lime into Sophie’s drink and handed it to her. “Okay, Hazel. Circle of trust. Tell us everything.”

  I recounted the events of the previous evening. How I’d stayed late. How Corban had surprised me in the copy room. My shirt buttons and his subsequent reaction. And my ill-advised acceptance—no, encouragement—of his advances.

  “Oh my god.” Nora fanned herself. “He just bent you over the table and took you. That’s so hot.”

  Sophie grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled on it as if trying to create a breeze. “Ten out of ten, Corban. But I thought you didn’t like him.”

  “I don’t,” I said quickly.

  “But you were all in when he started kissing you,” Sophie said.

  Nora gestured with her drink. “To be fair, you don’t have to like someone to have brutally hot sex.”

  “I shouldn’t have done it.” I sank back into the couch. “But I hadn’t had an orgasm in months. Nothing has worked and there he was with his thigh between my legs and he’s an excellent kisser, which is so unfair. I threw common sense out the window. This is so unlike me.”

  “It really is, but sweetie, is that such a bad thing?” Nora asked. “See, this is why we needed another opinion, because I don’t look at this situation and see a disaster. Especially if your orgasms had gone missing, which is news to me, by the way. You could have told me.”

  “I know, but I assumed you’d prescribe sex—with a man, not with anything that requires batteries—and I’d already resolved that I wasn’t dating or having sexual relationships with men.”

  “I probably would have,” Nora said. “And clearly, I’d have been right.”

  I scowled at her.

  “Okay, let’s look at this logically,” Sophie said. “The sex was consensual, so that’s not the problem.”

  “Correct.”

  “The problem is that you don’t like Corban.”

  “He’s my nemesis.”

  Sophie nodded. “And now that you’ve slept together, things are going to be awkward at work.”

  I took a deep breath. “We didn’t just sleep together. We gave in to our most primal urges in a completely inappropriate time and place.”

  Nora lifted her drink. “Hell yes, girl.”

  “What if someone had walked by?” I asked, ignoring Nora’s enthusiasm. “What if we’d been caught? We could have both lost our jobs.”

  “At least he didn’t bend you over the copy machine and you accidentally hit start and it made a hundred copies of your boobs,” Sophie said.

  Nora and I looked at her.

  “Not that something like that has ever happened to me,” she said quickly. “Not exactly, at least.”

  “I still don’t think this is a bake-enough-carbs-to-fe
ed-an-army crisis,” Nora said. “Yes, you gave in to your lust-filled urges, and yes, it was at work. I know that sort of semi-dangerous sexual adventure isn’t typical for you. But maybe that’s exactly what you needed. How was the orgasm?”

  My shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh I couldn’t contain. “Unbelievable.”

  Nora took my now-empty glass and stood. “See? You had sex. You both enjoyed it. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

  “And you didn’t get caught,” Sophie added. “Worrying about what could have happened isn’t helping.”

  “This is exactly why we needed you,” Nora said. “Thank you, Soph.”

  She smiled. “My pleasure.”

  “We didn’t use protection.”

  Nora paused, her mouth slightly open. “Well, that’s not ideal, is it?”

  “Are you on anything?” Sophie asked.

  I nodded. “I stay on the pill to keep me regular. But this is what I’m talking about. It’s not just two people who had sex and it’s nothing. My behavior was reckless. A few months of sexual frustration is no excuse for throwing good judgment out the window.”

  Nora went into the kitchen and came back with fresh ice in my glass. She sat back down on the couch and mixed me another drink. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Own it. Don’t walk by his office and look away, hoping you don’t make eye contact.”

  “Are you sure? Because that’s what I’d like to do.”

  “Nope. Own your sexuality. You did something you wanted to do, you enjoyed it while it lasted, and there’s absolutely no shame in that.”

  “I agree,” Sophie said. “If you pretend it didn’t happen, it’ll only make things worse.”

  Nora handed me the glass and I took a deep breath. “So you’re saying I didn’t make a terrible mistake by having sex in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong man.”

  “I don’t know if he was really the wrong man,” Nora said.

  “He’s my nemesis.”

  “You’ve mentioned that,” she said with a smile. “But your body doesn’t think so.”

  Which brought me back to the core of my dilemma. On a deep, physical level—in the depths of my primal brain where logic had no influence—I was attracted to Corban. Intensely attracted to him. More than I’d ever been attracted to any man in my life.