The Sizzle Paradox, page 5
My shoulders relax for the first time since I woke up this morning. I even manage a smile. “You know what? I just offered to hook him and Zoey up, so maybe that had something to do with it. And I remember thinking something about the Sizzle Paradox during the dream.”
Charlie slaps the table with her flat palm, making the napkins jump. “There you go, classic stress dream. Your brain just inserted Kian in there because you’d talked to him last, probably, before going to bed.”
I nod before she’s even done speaking. “Exactly. Exactly. We were studying together until pretty late in the night.”
Charlie gives me an I’m a genius look and pretends to buff her fingernails. “Yep, told ya. Nothing to freak out about.”
I relax so much I’m sure I look like a deflating balloon. “So … I’m not a depraved, sex-crazed maniac?”
“Hell no.” Charlie leans back in her chair. “You’re a woman with a healthy sex drive and a stressful career. Nothing wrong with either of those.”
I blow out a breath and smile. I’m okay. Everything’s fine.
Charlie lifts her cup to her lips and then pauses. “Seriously, though? You’re gonna set him up with Zoey?”
“Yeah, why? What’s wrong with Zoey?”
“Nothing. She’s really cute.” Charlie waggles her eyebrows. “I just don’t see the two of them together is all.”
I shrug. “Yeah. Kian kinda said the same thing. But he’s in a dating rut and as his best friend, I think it’s my duty to help him out of it.”
Charlie nods and takes a sip of her latte. “Well, if you ever want to help me out of mine, please do. But I’m only looking for a relationship that can exist outside of the confines of the twenty-three hours a day I spend on my career.”
I snort. “I hear you. How’s the thesis coming along?”
“Oh, same old same old. Man, I can’t wait to graduate in two years. It’ll be here before I know it.” Charlie grins. “I’m lucky my advisor let me expand on my master’s thesis. It’s saved me so much time on data collection.” She sobers up when she sees my expression. “I’m guessing you’re still having problems moving forward?”
I put my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. “So. Many. Problems. I feel like a total fraud, Charlie. I’m seriously starting to wonder if I’m in the wrong field altogether. I mean, what makes me the expert on something I clearly have no experience with? I’m supposed to be giving people advice on how to make their relationships stronger? What a joke.”
Charlie gasps. “No!” Leaning forward over our table, she says, in this fierce voice I love her for, “Don’t you even think about quitting, Lyric Rae Bishop. You’re just over a year away from graduating. Don’t go soft on me now.”
I look up at her, my shoulders sagging. “I know. But Charlotte Alexandra Yang, I’m floundering here. If I can’t make a go of it at a real relationship, one where I feel the romance and the sexual chemistry, am I really the scientist who should be analyzing data about couples who’ve found it? What if I have unconscious biases that flow in there and disrupt my interpretation of the data? What if I end up hurting people instead of helping them?”
She considers me over her cup. “What happened with Paul, the hottie Scottie?”
“Gone.” I wave my hand in the air as two middle-aged people walk in, brushing the rain out of their hair. Probably professors. “I also met some other dude at Target yesterday—a Benedict Cumberbatch look-alike—but he’s gone, too. I have had two serious relationships, ever: one that had amazing sexual chemistry and very little emotional connection, and the other that had all the romance but none of the heat. It seems having both at the same time is completely impossible for me.”
Charlie shakes her head sadly as she takes another sip of her coffee; she hasn’t had a girlfriend in almost a year. As her close friend, I’m somewhat offended at women and their refusal to see the obvious—Charlie’s cute, brilliant, and extremely loyal. “You know what the problem is? We nerds are schooled in everything from the theory of relativity to plate tectonics, but not on how to cultivate a healthy, well-balanced relationship that can go the distance.”
I scoff and wipe a drop of spilled coffee with my napkin. “Then I guess Kian didn’t get the memo. He has absolutely no problem finding relationships that could go somewhere. They’re only short-lived because he wants them to be. Case in point: He told me yesterday that he and Kiley broke up. She didn’t take it well. I bet Kian could be married by now if he really wanted to.”
Charlie considers me. “Wouldn’t it be great if he could impart some of his knowledge to you? If you had, like, even a third of his knowledge, your love life would be a lush garden of delights.”
“Right? If only.”
We change the subject and begin to talk about the tongue muscles of the tube-lipped nectar bat and how it relates to Charlie’s research.
On my way back home after coffee, my phone pings with a text.
Opal: Hey. You still want that tarot reading?
Smiling, I text her back. False alarm. Everything’s good.
And it is. For a while.
Chapter Six
LYRIC
On Monday, at the lab, I stare at the back of Zoey’s head for way longer than is normal or acceptable in human society. I know I talked a big game to Kian, but now that the moment is actually here, I’m a little nervous.
Unfortunately, she looks up at me while I’m midstare. Her face freezes, like she’s not sure what to do now that she’s figured out her labmate is a psychopath. “Hey?”
I put on a grin that, in hindsight, probably only serves to freak her out more. “Hey! Whatcha working on there?” I gesture to her computer, on which she has been typing away diligently (I could really learn a lot from Zoey Jones).
“This freaking software.” Zoey grumbles under her breath and jabs at her computer. “I can’t get it to run this analysis, for some reason. Do you know what’s going on with it?”
I get out of my chair and walk over, leaning to look at her screen. “Oh, you’ve got the t-test option checked. You need to run a one-way ANOVA.”
“Ahh, thanks,” Zoey says, smiling up at me, both relief and gratitude shining in her eyes. “I know inferential statistics is all part of the job, but sometimes it makes me want to jab my eyes out.”
“No worries.” I brush her off, then realize now would be the perfect time to bring up what I really need to bring up, since Kian’s going to be here later this afternoon, thanks to my encouragement. “Um, actually … I kinda wanted to ask you something.”
Zoey raises her thin, plucked eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Yeah … so, are you seeing anyone currently?”
She looks unimpressed. “I thought you were straight.”
“Huh?” The realization that Zoey thinks I’m hitting on her—and that she’s clearly not interested—dawns on me. Awkward. “Oh, yeah, no, I am. I, actually … I’m asking for my roommate.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “Who? Kian?”
I nod. “Kian Montgomery. He’s a really great guy and he’s currently unattached, which, let’s face it, is pretty rare for him.” I snort at my own joke, then take note of the fact that Zoey doesn’t look remotely amused. “He really is amazing. And, I mean, you’ve seen him, right?”
Zoey nods slowly, twirling her pencil between two fingers. “Yeah … he’s definitely hot.” She shrugs. “I don’t know, though. I mean, I’ve dated my fair share of people I had absolutely nothing in common with. I’m not in the market for another one.”
I laugh and sit back down in my chair, basking in the unhealthy glow of the fluorescent lights overhead. “Tell me about it. But Kian’s really smart, and he’s a great conversationalist. You guys will probably have a lot more in common than you think. It’ll be good for him to date someone like you. And who knows? You might find true love yourself.”
Zoey smirks. “If I do, I promise I’ll let you scan me in the fMRI machine.”
“So you’ll meet him?” I sit up straighter. “You’ll give him a shot? Because he’s coming by the lab this afternoon. You guys could chat.”
She cocks her head and studies me. “Sure, I’ll give this a shot. What do I have to lose?”
I grin at her. “Excellent. I promise you won’t regret it.”
When she turns back to her workstation, I pull out my phone and text Kian.
You’re in. WEAR SOMETHING NICE
KIAN
I visit Lyric on Monday afternoon as planned. I’ve made an effort per her instructions, dressing nicely in a newish The Office T-shirt and shorts that don’t have rips in them.
She’s at her desk, as usual, in the run-down grad student office (generously called a “lab” by the experimental psych department) she shares with two other harried psych grad students, one of them Zoey. They each have their own desktop computers on which they run statistical software, analyze data, and—I know from having watched Lyric all these years—spill frustrated tears.
This afternoon, the lab is empty except for Lyric. She spins around in her chair when I knock on her door. “Hey.”
“Yo, LB.” I duck slightly to get through the doorway, step in, and survey the two other empty chairs. “Where are the others?”
“Ahmed is TA’ing a class and Zoey’s—” She stops, her laser gaze narrowing in on the package I hold in my hands. “Wait. What’s that?”
Grinning, I hold out the greasy white paper bag. “I figured you wouldn’t have stopped for lunch.”
“Oh my God.” Lyric snatches it greedily and opens it, inhaling deeply. “Aaaah. Bless you, Kian Montgomery.” She sinks back in her chair, apparently in a blissful scent coma. “The fragrance of greasy, heart-attack-inducing calzones from Poppa’s is better than sex, I swear.”
I snort and sink into Ahmed’s empty chair, stretching my legs out, eating up almost the entire floor between us. “You haven’t been having sex with the right people, then.”
There’s a weird flicker of something on Lyric’s face, and her cheeks get very slightly pink as she studiously avoids eye contact with me, but the moment passes before I can ask about it. Recovering, she points at me. “You’re not wrong, my friend, you’re not wrong. But I don’t even care right now. I kid you not, my mouth is already filling with saliva. The only thing I’ve eaten today is a toasted bagel from that sketchy vendor on Eighth.” After a pause and extremely reluctantly, she puts the calzone back. “But this is going to have to wait. We have a mission to undertake.”
I sigh. “Yep. Zoey Jones.”
Lyric levels a look at me. “You could sound slightly more enthusiastic.”
Immediately, I put on a giant smile. “Is that better?”
She raises an eyebrow. “A little creepy, but I’ll take it. Just keep an open mind, okay?” When I raise my hands in surrender, she stands, sets the bag gently on her desk, and pats it. “I’ll be back soon, baby. I promise.”
I roll my eyes and follow her out of the office. “You really need to get out more.”
* * *
We walk down the cement back stairwell, passing a cluster of suited professors as we go, none of whom pays us any attention. On the first floor, I pop open the exterior door with the heel of my hand and hold it for Lyric.
As she steps past me into the outside air, she says, “Zoey’s probably at the picnic table she likes to eat lunch at while she reads a book.”
I glance down at her in surprise as we begin to walk together, cutting across the green lawn. The day is gloriously sunny, with just a hint of crisp coolness around its edges. “She doesn’t eat with other people?”
“Nope.” Lyric gives me a look. Harried undergrads pass us, their backpacks bigger than they are. One of the girls does a double take at me, but I’m too focused on Lyric to give her my trademark cocky smile. “There’s nothing wrong with eating alone, Montgomery. You should try it sometime.”
“Right.” I nod. “Got it. I’ll add that to the running ‘Lyric Bishop’s self-improvement tips’ list I’m keeping in my head. One day I’ll publish a book.”
Lyric punches me lightly on the arm, her fist small and ineffectual against my tricep. “Wow, what a total dork. Oh look, there she is.”
Zoey’s in a green dress with her hair in a complicated-looking braid today, and she’s sitting at a picnic table under an old elm tree. She seems to be reading a nonfiction book about the Black Death while picking at a sensible kale salad.
Lyric strides across the grass with me in tow and smiles when Zoey looks up, frowning slightly, the lenses of her glasses glinting in the sun.
“Hey!” Lyric says. “Here he is! Kian Montgomery himself! In the flesh!”
What the fuck? That’s her idea of a smooth in? I give my idiot best friend a withering look, and she gives me a not-so-subtle wink, as if she’s super pleased with herself.
I stifle a sigh and turn to Zoey, who looks understandably nonplussed by this dumbass introduction, her fork hovering in the air. “Um … hi?” she says.
“Isn’t he so cute?” Lyric beams at her and Zoey stares blankly back.
Good God. Time to make my move before she totally torpedoes my reputation on this campus.
“Thanks for the most awkward introduction ever,” I whisper, just loud enough for Lyric to hear, and nudge her aside with my fingertips. And then I step forward, my most brilliant Kian Montgomery smile on display, the one that makes my dimple prominent. “Hey, Zoey! It’s good to see you again.”
“Right, yeah, you, too.” Zoey sets her fork down and smiles up at me, though it is definitely rictus in quality. Honestly, who can blame her?
I kind of just want to leave. But Lyric’s standing there, looking all excited and pleased with herself, and I can’t bring myself to just walk away. Plus, it’d be rude to Zoey.
So I rally, turning the wattage up on my smile and gesturing at her book. “So the Black Death, huh? Are you in the plague camp or the hemorrhagic fever camp?”
Zoey blinks down at her book and then back up at me. “Um, the hemorrhagic fever camp, actually.” She pauses, her eyelashes fluttering. “You know about the alternate theory of the Black Death?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say easily. “Epidemiology is one of my other interests. I almost considered getting my degree in that instead of environmental chemistry.”
“That’s cool.” Zoey pushes her glasses up with her free hand.
I wait a beat, my smile still bright, but I can feel the tepid energy between us evaporating in the sunlight. Zoey obviously feels it, too; after a beat, she goes back to her book and her salad.
Lyric turns to me, confusion written all over her face.
I grab her by the elbow and say, to Zoey, “Talk to you later.”
Zoey raises her fork-holding hand without even looking up at us.
When we’re far enough away that she can’t hear us anymore, Lyric asks, “What happened? It was going so well! You guys were bonding! Black Plague, death, epidemiology! She was into all the weird shit you’re into!”
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and sigh as we make our way back to her lab. “Nothing happened, Lyric. That’s the problem. What you witnessed was a supreme lack of sizzle.”
* * *
Lyric’s still in disbelief when we get back to the lab. She tucks into her Italian calzone morosely, hot grease and sauce spurting all over her chin.
I spin in half circles in her absent labmate Ahmed’s chair. “I just don’t think it’s going to work.”
“But she was impressed,” Lyric counters. “I know she was; I saw it! And that’s no easy task.” After a pause, she adds, “I’m sorry if it’s disgusting listening to me talk while I eat, but I don’t care. This calzone waits for no woman.”
I wave my hand in the air; I know how Lyric gets about food. “This one isn’t gonna go anywhere, Lyric. That happens sometimes. Even with a stud like me.” I grin.
She dabs her mouth with a napkin and rolls her eyes. “No, it’s just … I know we can make this work. You guys just need to give this another shot.”
I pick up a pen and roll it around my palm. “I mean … is there a reason I need to? If neither of us are feeling it, neither of us are feeling it.”
Lyric shrugs, takes another bite of her calzone, and chews thoughtfully. Once she’s swallowed, she says, “If you absolutely don’t want to give this a try, I’m not going to force you. But I saw the way you were this weekend, Kian. I think you just need to shake things up, try something different. And I talked to Zoey today; she was definitely willing to give it a shot, too. Just because this first meeting didn’t have fireworks and sparklers doesn’t mean you can’t have that in the future.”
I consider her words while I click the pen open and closed. She’s not wrong. This weekend with Kiley and then Mariana was a low point. I don’t want to feel like that forever, like a romantic failure, like something’s wrong with me.
I lean back in Ahmed’s chair with a mighty squeak. “You know, you could probably teach me a lot about going out with someone like Zoey. I’ve never dated someone like her, but you guys have a lot in common.”
Lyric looks at me over her steaming calzone, which has been demolished by her appetite and unrelenting jaws. “Mm. It’s funny you say that. Charlie told me yesterday that you should be my tutor to help me crack the Sizzle Paradox.”
I half smile. “Except I’m kind of suffering from it myself now.” It stings to admit it.
“So what?” Lyric argues. “At least you have game. Do you know what I’d give to have your gifts? I could probably crack the Sizzle Paradox like that”—she snaps her fingers—“if I could just learn how to interact with hot guys in a normal, human fashion.”
I toss the pen up in the air and catch it, thinking about what she’s saying. Mariana, the bartender, was into me. Kiley’s still into me. “You’re right,” I say, feeling a rush of relief. “I still have the Montgomery magic. I just need to channel it correctly to get out of this slump I’m in.”
