Page 12 of The Proximity Factor

I thought for a minute about what I could say about each one. I didn’t understand why these researchers were getting so nosy. “Well, Javon and Pete are married, so my interactions with them were very surface level. I adore their wives, and I would never, ever behave in any way but friendly toward their husbands. As far as Ethan goes, he’s single and definitely flirty. But I can tell he’s not the settling down type, and I’m all about wanting to settle down. Anna and Brynn are just lovely. They are the kind of women who become instant friends. They made me feel so welcome. I’m sure we will see more of each other. We talked about going to lunch soon. I guess that about sums it up.”

I left out Anna and Brynn’s hints about dating Parker. It was a moot point, so no need to bring it up.

“All right, question five: Are you sharing any of the household responsibilities? Still no.”

“Question six: Have any of the following types of intimacy occurred: emotional, mental, spiritual, physical (this includes nonsexual acts)? Wow. Hello. Y’all are really hung up on the intimacy thing. You’re even getting more in depth about it too. Why did you only ask about physical intimacy last week? Did you think we would just jump into bed together? By the way, that is never happening. Exclamation point. The only way Parker Remington will ever see me naked is if I die tragically in the shower and he finds my body. Even then, his eyes better only linger on me for as long as it takes to check my pulse. Not because I’m ashamed of my body. He just doesn’t deserve the honor, no matter how nice he is to everyone but me. As for all the other aspects of intimacy, the answer is no. Nothing emotional, mental, or spiritual is going on here. Okay, so our arms brushed up against each other a few times at dinner tonight. It was no big deal.” Even if the butterflies in my stomach took flight like they were on a jumbo airliner. No one needed to know that. I didn’t even want to know that.

I was beginning to think these researchers were creepers. What if Parker and I were sleeping together? What kind of questions would they ask next week? I didn’t even want to know.

“Question seven: Do you feel you are getting to know Parker better as a person? You know that is a redundant question. But I guess the answer is yes. Not that he wants me to. Honestly, I probably won’t try to get to know him anymore. It’s obvious he’s not interested in saving the world with me, and he’s under a lot of pressure. So while I do enjoy torturing him with charcuterie boards and talk of monogrammed towels and putting his Pop-Tarts in the basket where they belong just to irk him, I’m going to leave him be.”

I let out a heavy breath. Not sure why I was so bummed about it.

“Last question: How would you rate your experience so far? I guess you’re going to ask that every week. You’re probably going to get the same answer every time. I still wouldn’t recommend living with Parker Remington. Like, ever. Good night.”

EXHAUSTED, I COLLAPSED INTO MY desk chair, lacking the energy to log into the research portal. I’d purposely come back to the house late, trying to avoid Lanie. I was having a hard time shaking our interactions during dinner. Every look and accidental touch from her elicited an unwelcome physiological response. It was as if the research team had handpicked the one woman on the planet who would most attract and torture me. I was beginning to wonder if that was exactly what this social experiment was about. My ex-wife probably paid someone off at the university to lure me into this experiment, knowing I needed the money. It was the perfect plan to irritate me in the most aggravating manner, all while ruining my business in one fell swoop.

My roommate was proving to be more of a distraction than I expected. When she wasn’t inserting herself into my life, I thought about her too often—her lips, her toned legs, and the delicate ways in which she gracefully moved. She was a younger, sexier version of my ex, and it was all maddening. It was like she was born knowing exactly how to entice me. Don’t even get me going on her potato salad.

I logged in before I wasted any more time thinking about things I shouldn’t. I had a long night of work ahead of me.

It didn’t take me long to download the newest questionnaire and click record.

“Question one,” I grumbled. “On average, how much time per day do you and Lanie spend together? Great, repeat questions,” I complained out loud. “More than we should. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Question two: Have you found any common ground with Lanie? No,” I was quick to respond. “Perhaps that’s not entirely true,” I begrudgingly admitted. “Family. It seems to be important to both of us. And potato salad.” My lips twitched, but I refused to smile.

“Question three: Any changes in how you would describe Lanie?” I had to think about that one. I still thought she was sexy as hell, but I wasn’t saying that out loud. But did I still think she was a spoiled southern belle? If I were being honest with myself, the answer would be no. Unlike my ex, she hadn’t grown up in the lap of luxury, although they were both pageant winners. But from the sounds of it, her mom made her dresses, and she worked hard to pay her own fees. Lanie was down to earth. She didn’t need to be the smartest person in the room like Maren. It was refreshing to be around a woman willing to admit she didn’t know everything. I laughed to myself, remembering her questions during the LAN party. She seemed fascinated with terms like aggro and bullet sponge. Truthfully, I liked that Ruptured Worlds impressed her. And it was entertaining watching her play. She was awful at it, yet she kept trying and even laughed at herself. Unfortunately, it only made her more attractive.

So the answer to the question was ... “Yes, there have been some changes. I don’t think she’s spoiled. She’s uh ... well ... she’s not spoiled. End of story.” These researchers had no business knowing how I thought of her.

“Question four: Have you met any more of Lanie’s family or friends? If yes, please describe your interactions with each family member or friend. None since last time.” That was one thing to be thankful for. Except she’d worked her way right into my circle of friends. Brynn and Anna wouldn’t stop singing Lanie’s praises tonight after she’d left. You would have thought they were part of Lanie’s PR team the way they’d gone on about her: “She’s so sweet and wonderful. I’m surprised she’s not taken yet.” That surprised me too. As far as her being sweet and wonderful, I wasn’t ruling out it being a ploy of hers to trick me, although I don’t know what her motivation would be. She clearly wasn’t looking to date me. And she had to guess I was something of a loser, a man of my age doing this experiment, but she hadn’t rubbed it in my face. So, maybe she was sweet and wonderful, but I would never know for sure.

“Question five: Are you sharing any of the household responsibilities? No. But would someone tell her to quit moving my Pop-Tarts? They don’t require a basket.”

“Question six,” I said, exasperated. “Have any of the following types of intimacy occurred: emotional, mental, spiritual, physical (this includes nonsexual acts)?” I was just as put off by this question as I was the last time. The fact it was more detailed bothered me even more. “Listen, she’s a young woman. I plan to keep my hands off her. But on the very off chance anything intimate ever happened between us, physical or otherwise, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you. A real man never shares those types of details. If a woman trusts you enough to give herself to you, you guard that privilege and her privacy.” These researchers needed a lesson in ethics.

With my blood pressure up, I moved on to the next question. “Question seven: Do you feel you are getting to know Lanie better as a person?” I rubbed the back of my neck and thought about every interaction we’d had this week. From her ridiculous charcuterie board and homemade signs for the game, to the way she helped Olivia with her routine, and every other thing in between, she tried to make life fun. I recalled the way she talked about her family and the tragic circumstances that had befallen them. I detected a resiliency in her. It was a characteristic I admired in anyone. So, the answer was yes. Yes, I had gotten to know Lanie better as a person. I just wasn’t happy about it. “Yes,” I sighed. It’s all they would get from me.

“Question eight: How would you rate your experience so far?” I threw my head back and let out a long, heavy breath. The only thought that came to mind was, “More than I bargained for. More than I bargained for.”

“LANIE JANE, YOU ARE SUCH a good girl to help your mama out at the store,” Miss Judy declared as I restocked shelves. Miss Judy, my second-grade teacher, now sported lavender-gray hair and wore two fanny packs wherever she went.

Before I stood up from my crouching position, I placed a can of stain on the shelf. I’d come over after practice to help Mama—I did my best to help where I could. The burn in my thighs was real. Today had been leg day during practice. I wrapped my arms around my sweet former teacher. “Thanks, Miss Judy. How’s Mr. Harold?”

“That old cat is as fat and sassy as ever.”

“That’s how cats should be.” I grinned.

“How’s your experiment going? We’re all so proud of you for being a part of science. I always said you were one smart cookie, even if you talked too much in class.”

I laughed. My incessant need to talk to my friends was a major complaint on almost every report card I’d ever received. As far as being a smart cookie, that was debatable. I’d probably hyped up the social experiment thing too much. I guess I just wanted the good people of Goldenville to see I was full of substance and more than just the eye candy Greg had defined me as. It wasn’t going so well—both the experiment and the proof of substance. Unless that substance consisted of all the Trader Joe’s dark chocolate peanut butter cups I’d eaten in the past few days while hiding in my room to avoid my roommate. I might as well eat Pop-Tarts for breakfast at the rate I was going. Pop-Tarts I had not put back in the basket, thank you very much. If Parker wanted to live like a Neanderthal, he could be my guest. Stupid, sexy man.

“Well, it could be better,” I responded.

“Can you believe her roommate doesn’t like her?” Mama yelled from the customer service counter. The woman had ears like a bat.

Miss Judy’s jaw dropped while she grabbed her heart as if someone had pierced it. All the other customers in the store gasped as if they’d just heard Georgia dropped in the SEC rankings. “I can’t believe it. Is this woman you’re living with insane?”

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