What would it be like to have someone look at me that way?
The back of my neck tingled, the prickly sensation pulling my attention away from little family across the courtyard. Blinking, I glanced around.
Corban.
He stood a few feet away, one leg in front of the other, as if he’d stopped walking mid-stride to look at me. His plaid shirt was partially untucked—could the man not dress himself properly?—and the way his hair stuck up in front made it look like he’d been raking his fingers through it.
For the briefest moment, I wondered what his hair would feel like if I raked my fingers through it.
I sucked in a quick breath. That sly jerk. Did he have a Nora giving him advice as to how to get under my skin? Was he trying to use his effortless sexiness to disarm me?
That was not going to happen.
“I know it was you,” I said, straightening my spine.
His eyes widened and for a split second, he looked like a little kid who’d been caught stealing a cookie. “What was me?”
“You put my lunch in the freezer.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a quick laugh. “That’s crazy. Why would I freeze your lunch?”
“Fine. Don’t fess up. But I know you did it.”
“What was in your lunch?”
“Nothing that was ruined by your attempted prank.”
“Then I guess there was no harm done.”
“Indeed there wasn’t.”
He hesitated for a beat. “I should probably be afraid to leave my lunch in the staff lounge, shouldn’t I?”
“Perhaps.” I lifted the corner of my mouth in a subtle smile, which reminded me of what Nora had said.
Mouth. Touch it. Lick your lips. Bite something.
My tongue darted out across my lips. Wait, Sophie had said to do it slowly. Had Nora meant slowly? I pulled my tongue back in. That had been fast. Maybe I needed to try again. I poked the tip of my tongue out of the corner of my mouth and slid it between my lips.
This didn’t feel particularly sexy. My upper lip rolled inward along the surface of my tongue, so I pushed my tongue out farther to compensate. Now I was basically sticking my tongue out at him. Maybe curling it would help. All that did was leave a trail of saliva on my lip.
But now I was committed. My tongue completed its slow sweep from one corner of my lips to the other. All while Corban stared at me.
At least he was looking at my mouth?
Feeling awkward and suddenly nervous, I clasped my hands in my lap and avoided Corban’s eyes.
“Female bats give birth hanging upside down and catch their babies with their wings before they fall,” he said out of the blue.
“Excuse me?”
He cleared his throat. “It’s just an interesting thing I read and thought of just now.”
Maybe my attempt at seductive lip-licking hadn’t been as terrible as I’d thought. Had I flustered him?
“Are bats your favorite animal?” I asked.
“No, penguins,” he said, then cleared his throat again. “Or wait, no. Something big and fierce. Grizzly bears? Lions? What’s yours?”
I shrugged. “I don’t really have one.”
“Why not?”
There was no reason for his question to irritate me. I’d broached the subject of favorite animals. But it did. My tongue felt too thick, my brain racing with too many thoughts to straighten them out before I spoke, and the net effect was a rush of potent irritation.
“I don’t know why not. Does everyone have to choose a favorite animal? How would one even come up with the proper criteria for an objective choice? There are a variety of attributes an animal might possess that could make it a favorite.”
“That’s true. It would probably be better to divide the concept of favorite into categories. Maybe by class or major ecosystem.”
“Ecosystem presents all sorts of problems, unless you want to get specific by species. Some animal varieties inhabit multiple ecosystems. Besides, that misses the entire point of discussing favorite animals in the first place.”
“What point is that?”
“To learn something about the other person. What does their favorite animal say about their personality? You said penguin, so presumably I can discover something about you by the fact that you like penguins so much.”
“I didn’t say penguin.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I didn’t mean penguin.”
“Well, you said it.”
“I took it back.”
I breathed out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, grizzly bear or lion, then. The point is, when a person asks for your favorite animal, they’re using that information to make inferences about your personality.”
“So what does it say about you that you don’t have a favorite?”
“We’re not talking about me.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re talking about you. And penguins.”
“Not penguins.” He held up a finger. “And I know exactly what it says about you that you don’t have a favorite.”
I crossed my arms and he paused for a beat, his mouth still open.
Wait, did he just look at my boobs?
Keeping my arms crossed, I lifted them slightly so they pushed my breasts up.
“What does it say?” I asked.
“What does what say?”
Oh my god, was it working? Was he distracted by my boobs? Maybe he was thinking about the way they’d feel in his hand, my nipples hardening at his touch.
My cheeks flushed with warmth and a rush of arousal hit me between the legs. No, this was all wrong. I was distracting myself. That wasn’t how this was supposed to work.
His tongue slid out along his lower lip and for a second, all I could think about was what it would feel like to have his tongue on me, gently lapping my sensitive nipples.
Oh no, he was doing it again.
Distracted by Corban sex fantasies? What was I thinking? I didn’t even like him.
I needed to get my mind back on track. “What does my lack of a favorite animal say about my personality?”
“That you don’t like being labeled.”
I pressed my lips together. That was an insightful answer. But I didn’t like the idea that I’d given something away. Not to him.
“Well, I know what it means that you said penguin, then quickly changed your mind. You’re concerned about how others perceive you and are afraid of appearing weak.”
He crossed his arms. “That’s fascinating, but wrong. I’m not weak, so I’m not afraid of people thinking I am.”
It was true, he didn’t appear weak in the slightest. Certainly not physically. His wide shoulders, broad chest, and muscular arms indicated strength. And I had to admit, he’d displayed strength of character as well. He’d risked—and received—criticism for his research, yet stuck to his principles.
I didn’t want to be impressed with him, so I decided that meant he was just stubborn.
It was possible I was still being irrational. But I wasn’t in the mood to admit it.
“I have to go.” I started gathering my things.
“So do I.”
“Good.”
He hesitated for a second. “Good.”
Keeping my lips pressed firmly together, I watched him turn and walk away. He was so aggravating. How was I supposed to work like this?