Love According to Science

by Kingsley, Claire

  I grabbed my lunch and took it down the hall to the staff lounge so I could store it in the fridge until later. There were several cafeterias and restaurants on and around campus, but I hadn’t been sure what to expect on my first day, so I’d brought a sandwich.

  A professor I hadn’t met yet sat at one of the round tables with a cup of coffee and an open book in front of her. She glanced up and gave me a friendly nod when I came in. The rest of the tables were empty, as were the cluster of armchairs near one of the windows. There was a half-full coffee pot on the counter and a few mugs sitting in a dish drainer by the sink.

  I went to the fridge and found a spot for my brown lunch bag. Another, similar brown bag caught my eye. It was on the top shelf next to a large bottle of coffee creamer. But it wasn’t the fact that someone else had brown-bagged it today that made me pause with the refrigerator door hanging open. It was the name on the bag.

  Hazel.

  There was that flare again, a spark that made my blood run hot in my veins. Narrowing my eyes, I stared at the lunch bag, as if it were the source of my frustration.

  I was struck by the way she’d written her name. If I’d taken the time to think about what sort of handwriting Hazel would have, I’d have assumed neat and tidy. Writing that was as precise and careful as her appearance. But these letters looked hastily scrawled, like she’d whipped her pen across the crinkling brown paper in a rush.

  Why was I analyzing the handwriting on her lunch bag?

  I was just about to close the refrigerator door when an impulse took hold. I grabbed Hazel’s lunch, took it out of the fridge, and deposited it in the freezer.

  Without looking at the professor with her coffee, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and wandered back to my office. Nothing to see here. I hadn’t done anything. Nope, nothing at all.

  I hesitated for a moment outside my door. Hers was mostly closed, a gap of six or seven inches between the door and the frame. A nameplate on the wall next to the door read Dr. Hazel Kiegen.

  Was putting her lunch in the freezer childish and petty? Yeah. It really was. There was a logical guy somewhere inside of me who knew I was being dumb. Who tried to tell me I should really go back and take it out.

  Did I listen to that guy? No. No, I did not.

  Instead, my lips turned up in a subtle grin and I felt a spring in my step as I walked into my office.

  It was time to get to work.

  * * *

  I almost forgot about Hazel while I dove into the department’s current data analytics system. My mind buzzed with ideas. There were so many ways to make this process more efficient. Shortcuts and algorithms that would streamline data analysis across studies. Ways to manipulate and display their raw numbers that would make it easier to tease out the meaning behind the data.

  My stomach brought my attention back to my physical reality. There weren’t many things that could get me to stop once I got excited about a project, but hunger was one of them.

  Hazel wasn’t in her office when I left to go to the staff lounge. Not that I looked very hard. But her door was open more than the crack it had been earlier, and I didn’t see her at her desk.

  I wandered back to the lounge, a few comic books tucked under my arm, and felt a twinge of anxiety. Nothing like I would have as a kid. Back then, eating lunch in the crowded, noisy cafeteria had been the worst part of my day. Mostly because I usually sat alone, and being the kid who sits alone in the cafeteria sucks balls.

  Sometimes Molly had taken pity on her nerdy brother and sat with me. But she’d been a popular social butterfly. I’d known I couldn’t count on her to rescue me from my social isolation. So most days I’d eaten alone, or with a handful of other awkward kids, generally doing my best to disappear. Wishing that eating while doing extra credit math assignments had been as cool as it was fun.

  But I wasn’t an awkward kid anymore. I was geeky as hell, and I knew it, but I’d learned to embrace who I was. Discovering I could work out and look physically powerful had helped. By the time I was a senior in high school, I hadn’t exactly been homecoming king—that had been Molly’s boyfriend, and of course she’d been queen—but no one had messed with me either. Bullies were usually cowards who preyed on the weak. Big biceps made it clear I wasn’t weak, even if I’d spent my lunch hours studying advanced calculus.

  However, there was still that nerdy kid inside me who got nervous in new situations.

  The staff lounge was only about half-full, and much quieter than a school cafeteria. A few of the tables were occupied, as were most of the armchairs. I grabbed my lunch out of the fridge, took a seat at a table, and flipped through my comic while I ate.

  My skin prickled and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Lifting my eyes, I wondered why the air suddenly felt like it was full of static electricity.

  Hazel. Of course it was Hazel.

  My eye twitched and I felt my heart thump. She was dressed in a cardigan over her blouse and a pair of slacks instead of a skirt today. Still very much the hot librarian, especially with her dark-rimmed glasses.

  Oh shit. I’d put her lunch in the freezer this morning, hadn’t I?

  For a second, I regretted it. The logical guy in my head got loud, reminding me that being dickish wasn’t going to help.

  Then our eyes met. Hers narrowed with a look of challenge and the coal in my gut flared hot. It chased logic back into the recesses of my brain, replacing it with childish glee.

  I tore my eyes away and pretended she didn’t exist. Or tried to. Every one of my senses reached for her, seeking feedback. I could practically feel her displacing the molecules in the air as she walked to the fridge.

  She stood just inside my peripheral vision. I forced myself not to turn and look while she opened the refrigerator door. Swallowed a chuckle as she leaned down and moved things around, looking for her lunch. She straightened, glanced around the room, and resumed her search.

  Her hands went to her hips and she tilted her head, still standing in front of the open refrigerator. After another few seconds, she opened the freezer.

  She made a little noise in her throat and reached in to draw out her bag. I coughed, trying to suppress the chuckle attempting to work its way up from my chest.

  Hazel spun around, clutching the frosty bag in a tight fist. I could feel her eyes on me. Feel her staring me down, daring me to look at her. To meet her eyes and betray my guilt.

  The sense of smug amusement that stole through me was very un-Corban-like. But damn it if riling up Hazel Kiegen wasn’t satisfying as hell.

  Slowly, I lifted my gaze. She was rooted in place, staring me down like a wild animal ready to charge.

  One corner of my mouth hooked upward. Her eyes widened. I went back to my lunch.

  I didn’t look up again as she huffed and marched out of the staff lounge.

  Shots fired.

  6

  Hazel

  “Everyone has their weak spot. The one thing that, despite their best efforts, will always bring you to your knees, regardless of how strong you are otherwise. For some people, it’s love. Others, money or alcohol. Mine was worse: calculus.” ~ Sarah Dessen

  The spring air was pleasantly warm, the sun shining behind me. Students milled around the courtyard, backpacks and bags in tow. Some wandered by, headed to classes or to get lunch or coffee. Others clustered in small groups, finding spots at tables or spreading out on the grassy areas.

  I sat on a bench with my legs crossed at the ankles, the remains of my lunch—not frozen, today, thank you very much—in a bag next to me, and watched.

  A guy in a t-shirt smiled at the girl next to him and angled his body to lean closer. The confident set of his shoulders and suggestive grin indicated flirtatious intentions. Her body language sent clear signals of acceptance. She tilted her head and fingered a lock of her hair. Smiled up at him. Shifted her feet in a subtle movement to square her body with his.

  Moving my attention to a small group on the grass, I watched
them talk. Animated hand gestures and serious expressions suggested a weighty topic. Perhaps even a debate.

  I loved it when the sun came out. Students and staff seemed to come out of the woodwork to soak up the sunlight. Seattle came by its reputation for clouds and rain honestly, so when the weather dried up, it was as if everyone came outside to replenish their stores of vitamin D. Which made for excellent people-watching.

  People fascinated me. They always had. As a child, I’d been considered quiet, but it hadn’t been shyness that had kept me on the outskirts of the social goings-on around me. I’d simply been watching. I liked to see how people interacted. Puzzle out their nonverbal cues and make guesses as to their personality traits based on what I observed.

  The world was my laboratory and people were my subjects.

  But even people-watching on a sunny afternoon wasn’t enough to keep my mind from wandering to Corban Nash. I knew he’d put my lunch in the freezer yesterday. He hadn’t fessed up, but I’d seen it in his eyes. In that smirk he’d given me.

  The man was infuriating.

  What I needed was a way to get back at him. I’d see his childish prank and raise him one of my own.

  I was peripherally aware that contemplating revenge was very unlike me. But Corban made me irrational.

  My phone buzzed with a text, so I picked it up to check.

  Nora: I’ve been thinking about your problem, Hazel. If you really want to get under his skin, go for his weakness.

  Me: I don’t know what his weakness is.

  Nora: He’s a man. They all have the same weakness.

  Sophie: Ooh she’s right.

  Everly: I have to agree.

  Me: What weakness?

  Nora: YOU are his weakness, my sexy little minx.

  Me: I’m not following.

  Nora: For a genius, you’re adorably clueless. I honestly love that about you.

  Sophie: She means you can distract him by being sexy.

  Everly: I feel a little bad for liking this plan. But he did freeze your lunch.

  Me: Corban doesn’t think I’m sexy.

  Nora: He does. Trust me. And if he doesn’t realize it yet, you’re going to show him.

  Me: How? I don’t like him. I don’t think I can flirt with him.

  Nora: You don’t have to flirt. Just find ways to emphasize your hotness when he’s watching.

  Sophie: Wear skirts as much as possible.

  Everly: You do have gorgeous legs.

  Nora: Use your natural gifts. You have a banging body underneath all those cardigans.

  Me: What’s wrong with my cardigans?

  Nora: Nothing, love. Your style is beautifully you. My point is, use your assets to drive him crazy.

  Everly: Is it bad that I’m giggling?

  Nora: Remember the trifecta of man distractions: Mouth. Boobs. Butt. Starting with your mouth. Touch it. Lick your lips. Bite something, but not your nails.

  Me: I don’t bite my nails.

  Nora: Good.

  Everly: Nibble on your lower lip.

  Sophie: Lick food off your fingers.

  Nora: Boobs: Leave the top of your blouse unbuttoned. Let your bra show.

  Sophie: Pretend you got something on your shirt and brush it off.

  Everly: Wear a necklace and play with it so it draws attention to your neck and chest.

  Nora: Butt: Touch your hips. Carry a pen and drop it so you have to bend over to pick it up.

  Sophie: Ask him if you got something on your pants.

  Everly: Wear that polka dot skirt you always say isn’t work-appropriate. It makes your butt look amazing.

  Nora: For maximum impact, try combinations. Lean over a desk or table and tap a pen against your lips.

  Sophie: Take a bite of something, lick your lips in slow motion, then suck on your fingertips.

  Nora: Good one, Soph.

  Sophie: Thanks!

  Everly: Don’t forget to look at his lips while he’s talking to you.

  Nora: Absolutely. Stare at his package too.

  Me: I’m not going to stare at his genital region.

  Nora: I didn’t say genital region, I said package. And why not? Is his package not worth staring at?

  Me: I don’t know.

  Nora: Yes you do, you just don’t want to admit it.

  Me: I can’t stare at his penis.

  Nora: I’m all for using valid names for things, but penis is one of the world’s unsexiest words.

  Me: Calling it “package” is better?

  Nora: Clearly better. Also cock, manhood, bulge, etc. But we’re getting off track. Trust me on this, Hazel. There won’t be any better revenge than making him want you.

  Everly: Good luck, sweetie!

  Sophie: You’ve got this!

  I let out a breath, still looking at my phone. I knew Nora could easily pull off the type of behavior she was suggesting. She was not only gorgeous, but enviably comfortable with her sexuality. Everly as well. They possessed a natural aptitude for this sort of flirtatious—or faux-flirtatious, as it were—behavior.

  I’d never been good at this. I often felt stiff and awkward around men. Especially men I found attractive.

  Not that I found Corban attractive.

  I put my phone in my purse and went back to people-watching. Observing was easier.

  Picking at the remains of my lunch, I watched Ivy Cole, a literature professor I’d met on my first day, greet a man with a kiss. Her husband, presumably. He had a large white dog on a leash and a little girl in his arms. Ivy hugged the child, then crouched down to pet the dog. They were a lovely family, but what captured my attention was the way Ivy’s husband gazed at her. The look of adoration on his face made my chest ache.

  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.”