I took a group of subjects into room A and passed out the questionnaire. It wasn’t long, and with Corban making sure the incoming participants were properly registered and documented, the process would go faster.
The subjects finished and I collected their forms, then handed them off to one of the research coordinators. I went back to the waiting area to collect a new group.
I found Corban surrounded by a small knot of students. Female students. His hands were back in his pockets and he had a smile on his face.
A surge of anger burst through me. I’d studied human behavior extensively, particularly as it related to coupling rituals. Every one of the girls standing around him exhibited telltale signs of flirtation. From their posture to their facial expressions, I could read them like words on a page. No, like a giant billboard with flashing lights.
I had an overpowering—and very strange—urge to march over there and attach myself to him like a koala. Tuck myself beneath his arm and kiss his neck. Show them they were wasting their time with their coy smiles and suggestive body language.
He was mine.
Except he wasn’t. We’d surrendered to our primal urges once, and regardless of how good it had been—good was hardly the word, but I didn’t want to dwell on that—we both knew it hadn’t meant anything. We’d explicitly said it hadn’t meant anything.
So why did seeing him surrounded by those girls make me both enraged and slightly sick to my stomach?
I did march up to him, but refrained from physical contact. “If their paperwork is in order, I can take them back.”
“Um, yeah.” He took a small step backward, his hands still in his pockets. “I think they’re all set. I’ll just see who else needs to be checked in.”
“Will you be out here when we’re done?” one of the girls asked.
He shrugged. “If Hazel still needs me.”
His comment did wonders to soothe my heightened emotions. I met his eyes and smiled. “Thank you again.”
“I just hope we don’t run out of cookies.”
“I can always make more.”
We looked at each other for a long moment. Blinking, I realized I was standing in the middle of the waiting area, staring at Corban.
My cheeks warmed again, and I tore my gaze away. “This way.”
The girls followed me into room A, chatting to each other. They lowered their voices, but I could still hear their comments clearly.
“How cute was he?”
“I know, right? I’m a sucker for a hot nerd.”
“Is he a professor? Because if he is, I’m signing up for all his classes.”
The hot spike of jealousy made my spine straighten, but I didn’t comment. Corban hadn’t bent any of them over the worktable in the copy room, now had he? And it was my cookies he was craving.
I passed out their questionnaires, desperately trying to suppress the confusing swirl of emotions that ate at me. I’d experienced more individual feelings in the last ten minutes than I usually did in a week. This rush of jealousy was so unlike me.
I managed to gather up my emotions into a tight ball and focus. Corban helped me move through the rest of the waiting applicants. Each time I went back to the lobby for a new group of students, a bit of that emotional ball broke apart, scattering feelings like a sprinkling of glitter. And each time, I scooped it all up again, taking deep breaths to maintain control over myself.
Finally, the waiting room was clear. Corban sat on one of the couches, typing something on his phone while I dismissed the last group of students, letting them know we’d be in touch for follow up questions.
The cookie plate was empty, and I found myself wondering why he’d stayed.
He stood and put his phone in his pocket. “Finished?”
“Yes. Thank you again for your help.”
“Sure.”
I glanced at the scattering of crumbs on the cookie plate. “I suppose I owe you a cookie.”
“You absolutely owe me a cookie. Maybe even more than one. To make up for the fact that you ran out.”
“Do I? It’s not my fault college students have an insatiable cookie appetite. I thought I’d be bringing leftovers home.”
“You should have known better. And those kids have nothing on my appetite.”
His appetite for what? Were we still talking about cookies?
I couldn’t ignore the growing pressure between my legs, and he had that predatory gleam in his eyes again. The one I’d seen in the copy room. Like he was about to toss me over his shoulder like a caveman and haul me into one of the interview rooms to—
“How did everything go in here today?”
Someone was speaking to me. Oh god, it was Elliott. My boss. I jumped back from Corban like we’d been caught making out, although we hadn’t even been touching.
“Fine.” I smoothed down my hair and adjusted my glasses. “The turnout was higher than we expected.”
“Excellent. I’ll be here for phase two to oversee the work in the lab.”
“Right. Good. Of course.” I sounded so flustered. I needed to pull myself together.
“Corban, if you have some time in the morning, I’d like to meet to go over your grant proposal.”
“Great, yeah. Morning is fine.”
Grant proposal? Why was Corban writing a grant proposal?
Elliott’s eyes flicked between the two of us. “Okay. Well, I have a class, so I’ll chat with you both later.”
Corban said goodbye and I mumbled something similar. But my eyes were on Corban, a dose of suspicion suddenly added to my emotional cocktail.
“You’re working on a grant proposal?”
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Yeah. Elliott’s working with me on getting funding for my research.”
That made sense. As I’d pointed out—on numerous occasions—Corban’s so-called theory hadn’t been properly tested. The fact that he was seeking funding shouldn’t have been surprising.
But a spark flared in my belly. I was in the process of securing funding as well. “Which grant are you applying for?”
“The Glasner Foundation Grant.”
I clenched my teeth, my body going stiff, and before I could give any thought to how I should respond, I was already speaking. “You can’t apply for that grant.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m applying for it.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why does that mean I can’t apply?”
Logically, I knew it meant no such thing. There was nothing wrong with two people from the same institution submitting proposals. It happened all the time.
But that ball of emotion I was holding so tightly exploded, and logic didn’t stand a chance.
“Because we can’t compete for grant money.” And then I said one of the most childish things I’d ever uttered. “And I started my application first.”
“You started yours first so I can’t submit mine?” He crossed his arms. “I don’t think so.”
I knew I was being irrational. I knew it and I couldn’t stop. He made me absolutely crazy. I mimicked his posture, crossing my arms. “Then prepare for defeat, because I’m getting that grant.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”