Love According to Science

by Kingsley, Claire

  Hold on.

  I hesitated, the sticky chunk of sweet and cinnamony heaven just inches from my mouth.

  Had she done something to my piece?

  Everyone else, including our boss, was happily eating. They were moaning, licking fingers, and showering her with compliments. Their cinnamon rolls were obviously fine. More than fine, they were clearly extraordinary.

  But could she have saved the tainted one for me? Was that why she was personally handing them out? She had to be sure the one filled with… what could she have filled it with? Pepper in the cinnamon? No, this smelled fantastic. Had she put something gross in the frosting? It didn’t look any different from the rest.

  It was official. I’d gone crazy. I was actually wondering whether my coworker had baked a huge batch of cinnamon rolls and ruined one of them just so she could get back at me.

  I was undoubtedly making it weird by standing here with a chunk of cinnamon roll halfway to my open mouth. So I took the bite.

  The soft doughy roll melted in my mouth, giving me an immediate rush of euphoria-inducing neurotransmitters. She hadn’t ruined it with unappetizing ingredients. It tasted perfect. Fluffy and sticky. Sweet with a savory kick from the cinnamon. If she’d poisoned it with something I couldn’t taste, I decided it was worth it. This wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

  “Oh my god,” I groaned around the bite.

  Hazel pursed her lips, the corners hooking in a little smile.

  “I’m glad you’re both here.” Elliott wiped his fingers on a napkin. “I know this is last minute, but the Personality and Social Psychology Conference is coming up soon. Would either of you be interested in attending?”

  “Yes.”

  “Absolutely.”

  We answered at the same time and our gazes darted to each other’s. Her eyes narrowed. I slowly chewed another bite of cinnamon roll.

  The Personality and Social Psychology Conference was a big deal. Not only was it a chance to network with other professionals in our field, the sessions covered a wide range of topics—including research grants and funding.

  I wanted that spot.

  “Both of you,” Elliott said, tossing his napkin in the trash. “Great. I know the conference organizers, so I’m sure we can make that happen. Since it’s so soon, get with Maggie this afternoon to make arrangements.”

  He was sending us both? So it wouldn’t be a gladiatorial match to death to compete for the conference ticket. That was probably best. And I probably needed to take a break from comic books.

  But an out-of-town trip with Hazel? Our eyes met again, and I wondered if she was dreading it. Or regretting that she’d spoken up. Did the thought of spending a few days at a conference with me make her sick? I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, either.

  “Thank you,” Hazel said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “It’s a very well-run conference,” Elliott said. “You’ll get a lot out of it. Since you’re both going, coordinate with each other so you hit different sessions. Then you can share notes, cover more topics that way.”

  “Sure, we can do that.” I nodded and shoved the last bite of cinnamon roll in my mouth.

  Of course we could. We were both adults. Professionals. Elliott didn’t know he kept shoving the two of us together against our will.

  Although this cinnamon roll was so good, it was making me question everything. How could a woman who was so evil produce such heavenly food?

  We thanked Elliott again and he went back to his office to email us more details.

  Hazel transferred the remaining cinnamon rolls into one of the trays and covered it with foil. “I suppose we ought to take a few minutes to review the conference sessions and divide them up.”

  “Now?”

  “My schedule is packed for the rest of the week. I’d prefer to deal with this now, rather than letting it linger on my to-do list.”

  “But we haven’t even looked at the sessions yet, and I have a lot to do this afternoon.”

  “We can look at them now.”

  The competing urges to be near her and to fight with her warred inside me.

  Just agree and get this done.

  No, you can’t give in.

  She gave you a cinnamon roll.

  Insist on meeting with her tomorrow so she doesn’t get her way.

  Her boobs look fantastic in that shirt.

  Wait, where had that last one come from? It was true—one of the buttons looked like it might come undone and the thought of it popping open was so arousing I got a little dizzy—but her boobs were beside the point.

  She drew the foil back, revealing her tantalizing desserts. “Would you like another one?”

  Temptress.

  But yeah, I really did.

  “Sure, thanks.”

  She cut another cinnamon roll, put it on a napkin, and handed it to me. After replacing the foil on the tray and tucking it neatly beneath the lip, she moved to the empty table near the window and sat.

  I brought my cinnamon roll and took the seat across from her.

  “The conference sessions should all be listed on their website.” She tapped her phone screen. “Yes, here they are.”

  I had to lick the gooey frosting off my fingers before I could get my phone out of my pocket. Hazel scrolled, her eyes darting back and forth while she read the descriptions. I brought up the conference website and started reading through the options, absently picking at the cinnamon roll with my other hand.

  Her phone dinged and she muttered, “I’m working, Nora, I’ll answer you later,” under her breath.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. My eyes were on my phone, but I wasn’t really seeing the session descriptions. My brain kept circling around the fact that I had to go to this conference with her. Why did it seem like the universe was conspiring to throw us together? I couldn’t avoid her. Certainly not at work. And even in my off hours, I found myself thinking about her.

  This was some nerd-level obsessiveness, and I needed to make it stop.

  Her phone dinged again. But this time her eyes widened, and she fumbled her phone, almost dropping it.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Um…” She swiped the screen, her brow furrowing. “Yes. It’s nothing. I mean, it’s a text, but it’s not important.”

  I shrugged and pinched off another bite, hoping it looked like I didn’t care. Because I didn’t. I wasn’t the least bit curious about what kind of text she’d just gotten that had her so flustered.

  Not curious at all.

  Okay, a little bit curious.

  Why were her cheeks turning pink?

  “Did your new boyfriend text you a dick pic?” I tried to inject humor into my voice, like my suggestion had to be a joke because obviously it couldn’t be true. But as soon as the words left my mouth, it felt like I’d just blurted out the worst-case scenario.

  Her lips parted and her eyes didn’t leave the screen.

  Wait, did she have a new boyfriend? Had he sent her a dick pic? A dick pic she’d asked for? God, that was even worse. At least if it was an unsolicited dick pic, I could call him out for being douchey and it wouldn’t seem strange. But if she’d wanted the dick pic…

  “What did you say?” She finally looked up at me.

  I turned my attention back to my phone, mumbling a reply. “I was just joking. Your boyfriend. Dick pics. I don’t know.”

  “Oh. No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

  I looked up in alarm. “He’s not your boyfriend but he sent you dick pics?”

  “What? No. No pictures of any kind, and certainly nothing showcasing his genitalia.”

  “Oh. That’s good. Then why did the text freak you out?”

  Her eyebrows drew in and she adjusted her glasses. “Why would you assume the text freaked me out?”

  “Because it obviously did. You seemed surprised and then you started blushing.” Tendrils of heat snaked their way through
my chest while I spoke. Who the fuck had made Hazel blush?

  She touched her cheek. “I’m not blushing.”

  “Your face is red.”

  “If my face is red, it’s because it’s warm in here, not because of the contents of this text. It’s nothing. Just a man I met last weekend. I didn’t expect him to actually text, so the fact that he did surprised me.”

  Grinding my teeth together, I kept my gaze lowered. If she looked into my eyes right now, I didn’t know what she’d see, but I knew I didn’t want to have to explain it. How could I, when I didn’t understand it myself?

  A man she’d met this weekend was texting her. Why did that make me so fucking angry? I wanted to reach through her phone, grab this asshole by the throat, and tell him to stay the fuck away from her. He wasn’t getting her or her cinnamon rolls.

  What I needed to do was keep my mouth shut. Let this stupid rush of insane emotions pass.

  Did I do the right thing and stay quiet? Of course not.

  “Did he ask you out?”

  She chewed her bottom lip for a second before answering. “Yes. He invited me to meet him for coffee.”

  “Are you going to say yes?” Shut up, Corban.

  “I…” Abruptly, she set her phone down. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “I was just wondering. You’re the one getting all flustered over some guy texting you at work.”

  “I’m hardly flustered.”

  I shrugged again, a bad attempt at appearing nonchalant. “Sure, but he made you blush.”

  “I’m not blushing because of him.”

  “Okay.” I held my hands up in a gesture of surrender. “You’re not blushing because of him.”

  “It’s none of your concern who makes me blush, or who texts me, or who asks me out, or whether or not I say yes. If I want to go out with him, I will, and it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  She was right, obviously, but my sense of rationality liked to go missing when it came to Hazel. “Yeah, I know. If you want to go out with some random guy, who am I to stop you? Just don’t call me from the bathroom when it turns out he’s a psycho and you’re worried he slipped something in your drink.”

  “That scenario is highly unlikely. He’s not that sort of man.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her. “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. I have better judgment than to give my number to a psychotic person.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck with that.”

  “Why are you being such a jerk?”

  That was an excellent question. Why was I being such a jerk?

  Because Hazel made me crazy. It wasn’t a good excuse. But it was true.

  Jealousy ran hot through my veins, stoking my temper. My brain searched for a justification, a reason she made me so mad. But I didn’t come up with anything coherent. She just did.

  I needed to get out of here.

  “I’ll look at these and email you.”

  She watched me as I stood so fast, my chair almost tipped over behind me. I left the remnants of the cinnamon roll on the table and walked out without another word.

  13

  Hazel

  “Physics is like sex: sure, it may give some practical results, but that’s not why we do it.” ~ Richard P. Feynman

  I had three perfectly logical reasons for working late on a Friday night. One, attending the upcoming conference was an unexpected schedule change and it would benefit me to get ahead on my work before spending several days out of the office.

  Two, tonight’s evening run with my girlfriends had been canceled. Everly was of course on her honeymoon, Sophie was dealing with a family issue, and Nora was attending a work event.

  And three, the thought of spending an evening at home with only Erwin, Netflix, and my useless vibrators for company held no appeal.

  The absence of my girlfriends was particularly disappointing. Not that I held it against any of them. We all had our own lives and they often took precedence over our plans. But I wanted some advice regarding the frustrating departure of my orgasms. I should have brought it up months ago—no doubt Nora would have a list of solutions—but I’d hoped things would return to normal on their own.

  They had not. And I was afraid to admit that something about me was clearly broken.

  Work, however, was not sexually arousing, and would therefore not contribute to my growing discomfort and frustration. So, working late it was.

  I looked at the check marks on my list with satisfaction. I’d been very productive since my coworkers had left for the weekend, the quiet of the empty building doing wonders for my ability to focus. Corban still hadn’t sent me his choices for the conference sessions, so I’d have to transfer that item to Monday’s list. But otherwise, I’d accomplished almost everything I’d tasked myself with completing tonight.

  “Corban,” I muttered to myself, tapping my pen against the desk.

  I shouldn’t have given him a second cinnamon roll. Who did he think he was, commenting on my potential date? It wasn’t any of his business if I went out with Antonio for coffee.

  Although I’d turned him down.

  After Corban had rudely stormed out of the staff lounge, I’d typed a furious acceptance and almost hit send. But something had stopped me.

  I’d taken some deep breaths and analyzed my feelings. The truth was simple: I didn’t want to go on a coffee date with Antonio. And I didn’t want to rope myself into a date just to spite Corban.

  So I hadn’t accepted.

  I adjusted my glasses and put down my almost-completed list. Dwelling on my irritating coworker wasn’t helping my mood. I’d simply have to force him out of my mind, finish a few more things, and go home to feed Erwin.

  I needed to make some copies, so I grabbed the necessary stack of folders and got up from my desk.

  The nameplate outside my office was turned around, the blank side facing out. Again. With an irritated growl, I slid it from the holder and turned it so my name was once again visible.

  Corban didn’t have a name plate yet, but when he did, I was going to do him one better. Instead of turning his around, like he kept doing to mine, I was going to have another one made. I was still mulling over ideas for what to have printed on it. Asshole would probably get me in trouble. Perhaps his name spelled wrong. How long would it take before he noticed it said Norban Cash outside his office?

  I walked by his closed door, toward the copy room at the end of the hall. My heels clicked against the floor, their echo making the building sound eerily hollow. The unusual silence made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It was so rarely this quiet. Even Pete the janitor had gone home for the night.

  The copy room was a small space, with the requisite copy machine, a worktable, and shelves full of office supplies. I flipped the light on and got to work.

  The copier light flashed and the machine whirred, spitting out several warm copies onto the side paper tray. Holding my stack of folders with one arm, I lifted the lid and pulled off the original.

  A loud bump behind me made my heart leap into my throat and I gasped, dropping the folders. Papers fluttered down. I whipped around, sucking in another breath, and braced myself to face an attacker.

  It wasn’t an attacker. Corban stood in the doorway staring at me with his mouth open.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I snapped. “You can’t go sneaking around the building at night.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking.” His button-down shirt was actually tucked in, but he was still wearing Converse with his work clothes. He raked a hand through his thick hair. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

  “I’ve been in my office. You didn’t see me?”

  “I was in the lab. I didn’t notice everyone else left.”

  I let out a breath and crouched down to pick up the papers strewn around my feet. Corban helped me scoop them up and I stood, tapping them
into a neat pile as best I could. I’d have to reorganize everything at my desk.

  “Um, Hazel?”

  “Yes?”

  He cleared his throat.

  I took my copies off the paper tray and tucked them into a folder. “What?”

  “Your, um… buttons.”

  I looked at him first, before his words registered. His eyes flicked down to my chest and suddenly everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. His tongue did a tantalizing dance across his lower lip, drawing it into his mouth. Then he caught it with his teeth in a bite that sent a very unexpected rush of heat straight between my legs.

  Suppressing a gasp, I clenched my thighs. And then I realized what he’d just said. My buttons.

  I glanced down and sure enough, not just one, but two of my shirt buttons had popped open while I’d been gathering my papers off the floor.

  I’d already worn my shirt with the top button undone—perfectly work-appropriate—but with the loss of two more, my chest was on full display. With all the sexually frustrated baking I’d been doing lately, I’d put on a few pounds, and most of it had gone to my boobs. If a girl had to gain a little weight, that wasn’t a bad place for it. But it also meant my clothes didn’t fit quite as well in the chest.

  And right now, my boobs were not only spilling out of my open shirt, they seemed to be trying their hardest to pop right out of my bra cups.

  I stood frozen. Transfixed by the predatory gleam in Corban’s eyes. By the conflict I could see raging through him. I could feel the effort it took for him to tear his gaze away and a part of me, way in the back of my brain, recognized that for the gentlemanly action that it was.

  Then he made eye contact.

  A potent mix of intense desire and irritation poured through me. How dare he sneak up on me and make me drop my things so I had to bend over and make the buttons on my shirt pop open so he got a good look at my boobs!

  “Why are you even here?” I snapped.

  “I was working.”

  “You shouldn’t have scared me.”

  He took a step closer. “It was an accident.”