Were we actually talking? This was new.
It was nice.
“That’s cool about your friends. Do they live around here?”
She nodded. “They do. What about your sister?”
“Yeah, she and her husband live about ten minutes from me.”
“So you’ll get to see the baby a lot.”
“I hope so. I don’t really know anything about babies, but I’m excited for Molly. She and her husband really wanted kids.”
“How long have they been married?”
“Five years. They were one of the first couples to use my questionnaire when I was developing my theory.” I cut myself off. Damn it, I shouldn’t have brought that up. We’d actually talked for more than a sentence without fighting, but my research was the war zone between us. This was dangerous territory.
Hazel adjusted her glasses. “Were they dating prior to that?”
Her non-combative question caught me off guard. “No. They knew each other, but not well.”
“And your questionnaire made them fall in love?”
“It’s more complicated than that. The process of answering the questions together develops a level of intimacy that usually takes months or years. Going through the questionnaire accelerates it. In Molly and Martin’s case, they started dating immediately and got engaged a few months later.”
“Sounds like it worked well for them.”
“Yeah, it did. They’re great together.”
She wrapped her hands around her mug. “Thank you for sharing the picture of your unborn niece.”
I put my phone back in my pocket. “Sure. I’m just glad we’re humans and not long-tailed skinks.”
One side of her lip twitched in an almost-smile. “Why?”
“Unlike many lizard species, long-tailed skinks raise their offspring. But if a mother skink feels too threatened, she’ll eat her babies.”
“Then I’m also glad you don’t have to be concerned that your sister will consume her offspring. The animal kingdom can be a brutal place.”
“Yeah, it really can.” I decided now was the time to cut my losses. We’d had a nice conversation. And if there was anything I knew about myself, I was good at screwing up normal human interactions. I didn’t know where that skink comment had come from. Definitely time to go. “I have more data to analyze, so I better get back. I’ll just eat at my desk.”
Meeting my gaze, Hazel smiled. Her lips curved and her eyes brightened. It was the first time she’d ever really, truly smiled at me, and it hit me like a blow to the chest.
I was so fucked.
17
Hazel
“Science is not only a disciple of reason but, also, one of romance and passion.” ~ Stephen Hawking
The lobby of the research lab was packed with volunteer subjects. Someone had brought in plastic chairs to handle the overflow, and there were still students standing along the walls and in small groups. I couldn’t be sure, but I liked to think the cookies I’d brought in had helped with the turnout. One particularly enthusiastic male subject had come through the door sniffing and decided to sign up for the study.
Unfortunately, my sugary temptation had worked a little too well. We wanted the numbers—more data was a good thing—but I hadn’t planned to process this many study applicants at once.
I passed out more application and disclosure forms, still warm from the copy machine, and tried not to let my mind stray to Friday night’s encounter in the copy room. But the faint scent of paper and ink and the quickly dissipating warmth of the crisp paper sent a pleasant—and unwanted—tingling through my body.
Really, Hazel? Copy paper does it for you now?
“Hey.”
I turned at Corban’s voice behind me, suppressing a gasp at the fluttery feeling in my stomach. “Hello.”
He wore a navy sweater vest and the front of his button-down shirt hung out over his slacks on one side. His hands were stuffed in his pockets. “It’s busy in here.”
The first response that came to mind was a sarcastic, oh, I hadn’t noticed, thank you for pointing out the obvious. But I stopped myself from saying it. Corban and I had been getting along. We seemed to have reached an unofficial truce, and I didn’t want to be the one to break it.
“Yes, very busy. I should have brought in more grad students to assist, but the turnout is unexpected.”
He sniffed the air and cracked a small grin. “I bet it’s the cookies. You can smell them all the way down the hall. Did you make them?”
“I did. I thought it would be a good way to keep people occupied while they wait.”
“Good thinking. They smell amazing.”
I didn’t want to preen at his comment, but it filled me with warmth. I adjusted my glasses, trying not to smile too much. “Thank you.”
He glanced around the waiting area. “Can I help with anything?”
“Yes, actually. We need to make sure everyone has their forms filled out properly with the necessary signatures. Then they need to be taken into room A in groups of three or four to fill out the initial questionnaire.”
“Got it.” He grinned again. “When we finish, do I get a cookie?”
“Yes, if—” I stopped because the look in his eyes made me wonder if he meant one of the chocolate chip cookies I’d baked, or something else entirely. Was cookie a euphemism? Was he thinking about sex?
I was thinking about sex.
Sex with him.
Flustered, I shoved the stack of paperwork at his chest. “Cookie. Yes. If there are any left.”
He pulled his hands from his pockets and took the forms. “Okay. I’ll get started.”
“Thank you.”
Why was my heart beating so fast? And were my cheeks red? I sincerely hoped not, but I felt the telltale flush of blood into my facial capillaries.
I always felt a high level of emotion when I was with Corban. Which was perplexing. I’d never been an overly emotional person. But he brought out something in me, as if everything was heightened. At first, it had been almost entirely feelings of antagonism. Then attraction. Lust, if I was being truthful; attraction was too mild of a word for the scorching fire he produced in me.
Now I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. It was similarly hot—hence the flushing of my cheeks—but no longer fueled by anger or irritation. At least, not entirely. I still felt a streak of argumentativeness. But there was something else.
Did I actually like Corban Nash? The man I’d deemed my nemesis?
I glanced across the waiting area where he’d gone to begin checking application forms. He didn’t have to be here. He certainly had plenty of his own work to do, and processing study applicants wasn’t one of his responsibilities. Was the scent of chocolate chip cookies enough to lure him from his spreadsheets, tables, and databases?
Maybe I’d been the tiniest bit wrong about him. He clearly had a number of redeeming qualities. When we weren’t picking at each other, he was interesting and funny. Passionate about his work.
Yes, I decided I did like Corban.
I liked what he had in his pants, too.
Blowing out a breath, I adjusted my glasses. This was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about that.