Holy shit. What had just happened?
I untangled myself from her, a fleeting thought about her impressive flexibility darting through my mind. But the sudden loss of contact made me feel empty, a jarring contrast after coming so hard.
My vision swam and I realized I wasn’t wearing my glasses. I located them on the floor—no clue how they’d gotten there—and got off the bed to retrieve them.
By the time I turned back to Hazel, she’d put her glasses back on. She was still naked on the bed, her hair a mess, her eyes darting around like she wasn’t sure what to do next.
I wasn’t sure what to do next either.
Part of me wanted to get in bed with her, wrap her in my arms, and fall asleep holding her against me.
But I knew she didn’t want that.
She didn’t want me. Not really. This primal attraction was purely physical. We’d tried to get along and it hadn’t worked. Our hormones and brain chemicals simply hadn’t caught up yet.
I picked up my clothes and quickly hauled my boxers and pants on. Her warm body in that bed called to me, tugging at something in my chest. I cast a quick glance at her, out of the corner of my eye. She sat on the edge of the bed, holding the sheet up over her chest.
“I’ll see you at the keynote?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
I fastened my pants, wondering if I should ask her to have dinner. We both needed to eat. Neither of us knew anyone else here. It made sense to have dinner together.
Except, she’d just said she’d see me at the keynote. That was after dinner.
It was just sex. She didn’t want anything else from me.
Of course she didn’t. She didn’t even like me.
I pulled on my shirt. She was still on the edge of the bed, the sheet clutched in her fist, like she was waiting for me to leave so she could get up and put her clothes back on.
“Corban—”
“I know.” I cut her off, not wanting to hear what I knew she was going to say. “It won’t happen again.”
She flinched and I didn’t understand the flash of pain in her eyes. She’d already said it wasn’t happening again. I was only agreeing with her.
My legs felt oddly heavy. I just wanted to lie down. Maybe I should have said something else, but I didn’t know what to say. If I tried, chances were I’d make things worse, not better. Or a random fact about animal behavior would pop into my head—my brain served those up at the worst times—and I’d blurt it out.
I was so fucking awkward.
Raking my hand through my hair, I turned to go. “See you later.”
She didn’t answer.
So I didn’t stay.
20
Hazel
“Math is like love—a simple idea, but it can get complicated.” ~ Anonymous
Corban was avoiding me.
No, it was more definitive than that. Avoidance could have involved a lack of eye contact or a reluctance to engage in conversation. It could have meant sitting on the other side of the room at the keynote address last night. Perhaps slipping out before circumstance had an opportunity to push us together.
He wasn’t avoiding me. He simply wasn’t here.
I hadn’t seen him at the keynote. Nor among the attendees mingling and drinking cocktails afterward. I hadn’t seen him in the lobby this morning, nor had I caught sight of him heading to the first conference session.
The conference was large, but not so populous that he could have gone completely unnoticed. Not with how intently I’d been looking for him.
Only out of professional concern, of course. Naturally I’d wonder where my colleague was.
It had nothing to do with what we’d done yesterday afternoon. That had been a mere opportunistic sexual encounter. Two people who’d already determined their physical compatibility, engaging in a mutually pleasing act. That was all.
Which meant it shouldn’t have stung so much when he’d abruptly left my room. But it had.
He’d hesitated, half-dressed, and for a moment, I’d wondered if he would ask to stay. Or suggest we have dinner together. And in that moment, I’d stupidly let myself yearn for it. My illogical heart had swelled with hope.
But he hadn’t. He’d left.
And that was precisely why I was so anxious to see him again. I needed to show my silly heart that it didn’t need to be involved where Corban Nash was concerned. There wasn’t anything between us. No reason for my heart to be hurting today.
I slipped out of the first session approximately one minute early. Adjusting my glasses, I scanned the lobby outside the conference rooms. There were a handful of people—attendees with name badges around their necks—but no Corban. I checked my phone, but he hadn’t replied to my texts.
Of course, he was probably in the neighboring conference room, listening to a different session. Perhaps he’d arrived a few minutes late, when I’d already taken my seat in the first room, and I’d missed him.
Or maybe he’d decided to skip the morning session in favor of a walk on the beach. That was possible. It didn’t seem like him, but the weather was beautiful.
The sessions ended and all four conference room doors opened. Attendees filed out and the hum of noise in the lobby grew. Some headed for the growing line at the coffee bar. Others checked their schedules or their phones. Small knots of people formed, introductions were made, conversations began or continued.
Still no Corban.
Where was he?
My phone hadn’t vibrated with a notification, but I checked it again anyway. Nothing. Feeling agitated and jittery, yet still assuring myself this was only professional concern, I peeked into each of the conference rooms. Maybe he was talking to someone. One of the presenters, perhaps.
He wasn’t there, either.
A sick feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. Had he left? We weren’t supposed to go home until this weekend, but he could have called the airline and changed his flight.
Had he gone home because of me?
I debated what to do. Press on with the conference and assume there was a logical explanation for his absence? Ask the front desk if he’d checked out? Call Elliott to see if he’d heard from Corban?
There were fifteen-minute breaks between sessions. Plenty of time to go upstairs and knock on his door. I’d simply go up there and find out for myself what was going on.
Because he had to be there. He couldn’t have left.
The elevator seemed to move in slow motion, rising from floor to floor as if it had no reason at all to hurry. I tapped my foot and tugged on my name badge, growing increasingly impatient.
And increasingly angry.
Corban had given me one of the most intense orgasms of my entire life—vying for the title with the copy room orgasm, also courtesy of Corban—and then disappeared. If he’d decided to blow off the conference, the least he could have done is text me to let me know. He had to realize I’d expect to see him, if not last night, then certainly this morning.
The elevator doors opened on our floor. I barely noticed the humidity of the outside corridor. I was too busy fuming at Corban. My heels clicked on the ground, my gait going from a walk to a determined march. I wasn’t hurt that he’d abandoned me. I was angry at his rudeness.