Page 70 of The Proximity Factor

Did she consider what this information might to do me? Did Parker and I just fall for each other because we lived together? Were we unlikely to make it?

What Kenadie and the research team said after that was a blur. It barely even registered when they said they had a check for me and thanked me for participating. My mind could only think about what this information meant for Parker and me.

I felt like I was in a trance, even after Parker met me back near the building’s entrance. He didn’t look bothered at all by the big revelation. He was just eager to get out of there.

We walked out the same way we came in, hand in hand. But I was even more uneasy.

When the sun hit us, I stopped at the edge of the sidewalk and tried to catch my breath.

“Lanie, what’s wrong? You look dazed.”

I met Parker’s gaze and studied his eyes, still captivated by their deep grayness and the intelligence and passion they held. “Didn’t they tell you we’re statistically improbable?”

He shrugged it off. “Yeah, they gave me their whole spiel. It sounds like a bunch of crap to me.”

I wanted to believe that. “What if it’s not?”

“Lanie.” Parker drew me close. “Their software can’t predict anything between us.”

“But what if it can? They only put us together because, according to them, our profiles wouldn’t be a match.”

“We proved them wrong,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Parker, I think we proved them right,” I breathed out. “We proved we’re only together because of proximity.”

He shook his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? Would you have chosen me if we hadn’t lived together? Would we be together now if, say, we just met randomly?” I braved asking, knowing what the answer was probably going to be.

Parker swallowed so hard the muscle lines in his neck appeared. “Lanie,” he said tenderly. “It doesn’t matter how we met. I’m just glad we did and I was smart enough to get over myself.”

It was his way of saying he wouldn’t have chosen me.

So, what was going to happen to us when proximity was no longer a factor?

LANIE RAN STRAIGHT TO HER room as soon as we walked into the house, wishing for some time to herself. She hardly said a word on the way home. No matter how hard I tried to convince her it didn’t matter how we met. It surprised me how shaken she was. Why was this weighing so heavily on her? She normally laughed in the face of unbeatable odds. That’s what made Lanie Lanie. Look at what she’d done for me—the odds of getting Richy the Kid to even look at my game, much less play it and love it, were almost zero. Yet Lanie had believed it would happen. Why was she having such a hard time believing in us? Had I done something to make her feel so unsure about my feelings?

Not knowing what else to do, I walked into my mostly packed room to find it covered in hot-pink sticky notes. Now I knew why I’d waited in the car forever for Lanie before we headed over to the university. She’d asked me to give her a couple of minutes. Those two minutes had turned into fifteen.

Smiling, I grabbed a few of the notes off the wall as I walked toward the bed with one of Lanie’s white pantry crates sitting in the middle of it, filled with neatly organized boxes of Pop-Tarts. I sat on the bed and read through the notes.

I heart you. Was Lanie telling me she loved me?

For the love of all that’s good and holy, please leave the toilet seat down. I chuckled.

I’m going to miss you.

Don’t forget about me.

The last two struck me. The I’m going to miss you almost sounded like she thought we weren’t going to see each other again. How could she think I would ever forget about her? Then it dawned on me why Lanie was questioning our relationship. I looked around my room at all the notes and the box of Pop-Tarts. Lanie loved with all her heart. She just laid it all out there. And me? Well, I was cautious. And for good reason, or so I thought.

Lanie wanted me to choose her. I’d thought I had, but part of me was holding back. I was only considering jumping with both feet into the fire, whereas Lanie just dove right in, willing to risk all the consequences, good or bad.

As I sat there thinking about Lanie’s mom’s and brother’s words to me—how I saw Lanie for who she was, and that she deserved someone to love her like she loves—I wanted to be that person. Then I thought about the damn study and all the garbage about us being statistically improbable. The more I thought about it, the more I knew they were wrong about us being an improbable match. Maybe Lanie and I weren’t meant to be together, but I put little stock into that crap anyway. Was anything in life meant to be? We chose who we wanted to be with, and we kept choosing them. That’s what makes a relationship. Not statistics.

I knew who I wanted—Lanie.

I stood and marched over to her room, not bothering to knock before I barged in. There I found her on the floor, clutching one of her throw pillows and leaning against the bed, tears pouring down her cheeks. I rushed over to her and knelt beside her, wanting to do anything to take her tears away.

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