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 your 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.