Hudson(5)

The idea of love and affection consumed me. I studied it on every occasion that I could. I didn’t understand it. I’d never been in love. I didn’t believe it was even a real thing. I wasn’t virtuous in any way, nor was I inexperienced. I’d dated a few girls. Or rather, I’d taken girls out to dinner and a movie with the sole intent of f**king them afterward. Sometimes I skipped the dinner and the movie and simply f**ked. But I’d never had any inclination to spend any real time with anyone. I’d never had feelings for them.

And even though Celia had set her sights on me the year before, I’d never assumed that she felt anything deeper than the silly crush she spoke of. We’d both been cut from the same cloth. We knew the ridiculousness behind romantic notions.

Or so I’d thought.

Now, she said she’d found the one. The idea boggled me.

It also challenged me.

What was it that made someone think they loved another? Could the emotion be manipulated? Forced? I decided an experiment was in order.

It was unfortunate that the results might not be too favorable for Celia. But on the other hand, if love was truly a myth as I believed, maybe I was simply saving her from a lie.

***

I was sunning with my laptop by the pool when Celia phoned me the next day to set up a date to get together. Feigning previous plans, I pushed our meeting off until the next week. I needed time to plan before I saw her. I was meticulous with my experiments, and this time would be no different.

I tapped my fingers rhythmically on the keyboard as I schemed. After the failure of my last study, I was eager to find success. Perhaps failure was too harsh of a word. My results hadn’t met my hypothesis, but I’d still gained information from the experiment, inconclusive as it was. I’d gotten the idea for the study after two classmates, Andrew and Jane, became engaged. They seemed to be lost for each other, dizzy in their haze of lust which they’d most likely mistaken for something more. I wondered—if they believed they were close enough that they should marry, did it mean their bond was unbreakable?

I set out to find the answer.

The three of us shared enough classes that it was easy to flirt with Jane in front of her fiancé. I did so casually at first, expecting some sort of reaction from Andrew. When none came, I upped my game. I touched Jane when we spoke, brushed my fingers against hers, played with her hair. I invaded her space. I whispered suggestive things to her—hell, dirty-as-f*ck things that made her blush and her nipp**les stand at attention. A whole semester of this behavior and neither Jane nor Andrew had told me to stop. Shouldn’t there have been accusations? If not at me, then at each other? Were they spoken behind my back, unbeknownst to me?

Or did the couple truly have enough trust and affection for each other to withstand jealousy?

Or maybe they were looking for a threesome.

The lack of a conclusive answer was why I’d considered the experiment a bust. This time I wouldn’t settle for ambiguous results. Which meant I better start with a solid hypothesis.

I opened up my digital journal and started a new section which I titled The Rebound. It was a perfect follow-up to The Engagement. That study had tried to break up a couple without any prior history on my part. This time, the subject, Celia, had a prior infatuation with me. The question was, and I typed it in as I constructed it, Could a prior infatuation affect the status of a new relationship, if the previous object of affection suddenly returned the emotion?

Next, I entered in my hypothesis: If the subject truly believes the affection is returned, then yes.

How would I be able to tell if I’d succeeded? I paused to watch my younger brother, Chandler, do a flip off the side of the pool as I considered. If Celia believed I was interested in her she’d likely either a) tell me to back off, b) consent to a summer affair, or c) break up with Dirk.

I would not sleep with Celia—that was non-negotiable. I couldn’t have sex with women that didn’t attract me, and I most certainly wouldn’t have sex with a woman that knew me personally. That would mean letting her get close. And I never let anyone get close.

The only success, I decided, would be a break-up in the relationship.

I entered that into my document and sat back.

Now, I simply had to figure out my intended process. This was my favorite part—coming up with the plan. My heart rate kicked up a notch with the thrill. I’d have to put some study into it. Casual flirting would not cut it with this subject—she was only The Subject in my eyes now; to think of her as anything else would weaken my objectivity. I’d have to make a real attempt to show affection. It would be a challenge, but with true effort, I was sure I could win the subject over. Perhaps I could watch a few romance movies. Or ask Mirabelle—she seemed to think she was an expert on romance.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Mirabelle plopped on a deck chair next to me, her pink and black bikini seeming very mature for a girl her age. At least we were in the privacy of our own backyard. Were we to have company, she’d be wearing a cover-up, if I had any say in the matter. And I always had a say in the matter.

“Whatcha doing?” She peered toward my computer.

I swiveled slightly so that my screen was out of her view. “Nothing of importance,” I said. Then I changed my tune. “Actually, I’m working on a project. For a friend. Perhaps you could help?”

“Sure.” She grabbed the bottle of sunscreen that I’d brought out earlier and began slathering it over her petite body. “What is it?”