Road Trip, Volume 1

by BA Tortuga

  “That’s pretty cool, you know? It says, ‘Anyone caught feeding Padraic chocolate or sugar will be written up. Providing him with Jolt Cola is grounds for immediate dismissal.’”

  The last Jolt incident had cost the company a lot in just cleaning.

  “Oh, now I must give you chocolate. I’m an independent contractor, after all. What on earth is Jolt Cola?” The Dairy Milk…. Neil had to offer him the Dairy Milk. And notice he was staring. “It’s from England.”

  “Oh, it smells good….” His fingers twitched as he took the piece, humming low at the meltyuhnchocoliciousness. “Jolt’s like super caffeinated soda. I more than bounced.”

  “Oh. I see. It’s like one of those atrocious triple espresso drinks. So, what precisely do you do?”

  “Here? I research how to make hot things really, really hot and then try to make them really, really cold without bending time.”

  “Bending time? Now isn’t that a law?” Maybe Bethy had sent this guy to see if he’d been eating Cocoa Puffs again.

  “I prefer to think of it as a strong suggestion.” Man, that chocolate tasted good. Better than Pop-Tarts. His leg started bouncing, just a little. “Breaking time? That’s a law.”

  “I see.” The muffin disappeared in small, neat bites, Neil licking his fingers when it was gone, closing his eyes and humming. “Oh now. That did the trick.”

  “Yeah? Cool.” He grinned and stood, taking one last bite of chocolate and grabbing a pen. Okay, so. Working. Yeah. He did that. Sometimes. Man, he needed a soda pop. Oh. Caffeine. Yeah.

  “Tell me if I’m hanging over your shoulder too much.” Neil packed everything away, set the laptop case aside, and followed him about.

  “Are you a physicist?” He wandered, turned on the radio, grabbed some instruments, and fiddled. Weird. Weird. This was weird.

  “No.”

  Well, okay, yeah. He knew that, but Neil gave him nothing to go on. Just that one bald word.

  Bald. Huh. Maybe that was it. Not smooth enough. Or too smooth. Something. The air caught on the edge of the bullet, and the friction….

  Oh fucking cool.

  He forgot about his company, the chocolate, the tea, sinking into the noise and chatter of the work, talking furiously to himself as he went to it.

  He had no idea how long he worked and Neil watched, but when he lost the groove, Neil was still sitting there. Watching him.

  “Hey. I. Sorry. Boring. I got busy. Did you want lunch. Uh. Dinner?” Please say it wasn’t already breakfast tomorrow.

  “I think I could stand dinner, yes.” Like that was that, Neil stood, snapped off the valve on his gas line, and took his arm. “Shall we? How do you feel about Indian food? Or perhaps Mexican? Oh, I imagine you like turbocharged burritos, hmm?”

  “Sure. Okay. I love Mexican. And Italian. Indian. Donuts. BBQ. I’m easy. Or there’s a cafeteria here in the complex. We all mostly eat there.”

  “Oh, I believe we should definitely explore.” Paddy loved the way Neil made those few simple words sound sexy as hell.

  He looked down; his Area 51 T-shirt was in fair shape. “You sure you want to? You’re dressed up, and I’m a schmo.”

  Propelling him out of the lab, Neil nodded. “Quite certain. You’ll be a most intriguing dinner companion. Mexican it is. I’m told there’s a place not far from here that has the best salsa in three counties.”

  “El Mercado? Yeah. Yeah. They have a fabulous air-conditioning vent system too. Mariachi bands. Cold beer. Pretty waiters. It’s all good.”

  “Then that sounds like the place for us.” Flashing his plastic badge, which Rick hadn’t even noticed, Neil steered him out, the parking lot baking in the sun. “I hope you don’t mind if I drive.”

  “That’s cool.” More than cool. His Honda was possibly not even running; it had been a while. And his front seat was, uh, scary. Terrifying.

  “I rather thought it might be.” The rental was like the guy. Sleek, gray, just big enough to have muscles. Nice.

  “Huh? Bethy told tales, huh? I had a house off campus, but then the other guy wanted out. So, too much shit stored here and there, and then Bethy just moved me in….” Man, he hadn’t thought about Steve in weeks, which was probably why Steve had thrown him out of the house, huh? Still, he had an apartment thing and a storage thing and a car thing and the locker at the lab and…. Wow. Pretty car.

  “Was he your roommate or your boyfriend?”

  “I guess that depends on when you asked him, huh? I mean, nothing is constant. Well, there’s the luminosity of the sun and the speed of light in a vacuum, I guess.”

  “As well as the fact that your mother will hate your hair.” He got a sideways grin, Neil heading unerringly toward El Mercado. “So you’re single.”

  “Yeah. All lab rats are single by nature. We aren’t easy to live with. I mean, hell, you blow up one bathroom and people get all pissy.”

  “Yes. I tend to have difficulty myself. Gracious, that smells good.”

  It did. Grease and tortillas and heat. Yum. And the parking lot was about half empty. Yay.

  “You’ve blown a bathroom too? Wicked. I tell you, dry ice in a toilet? Boom.” He held the door open for Neil, chuckling softly.

  “No, I meant difficulty maintaining a relationship. The worst I’ve done is clog the bathroom sink.”

  “Dry ice won’t help that, and why not? You’re fine and slick and stuff.”

  They settled at the table, menus open, those blue-green eyes shining at him over the top, a grin sliding across Neil’s face. “Well, because I’m a mind reader. That’s why.”

  A mind reader. Huh. Interesting. “On purpose or is it like an accidental thing?”

  Or maybe a psychology thing.

  “When I was younger, it was purely by chance. These days I’ve honed the skill. You’re really quite impossible. I’ve not had that happen in years.”

  “Impossible? Yeah. I’m sort of a pain.” He nodded, even grinned. He’d stopped waiting for someone to not think so. Impossible was a requirement in his line of work. Mind reading. Huh. Well, minds had electricity. Electricity could be mapped. Maps were read. Worked for him. Or really for Neil. “Do you like it? Being a mind reader?”

  “It affords me a certain lifestyle. One I enjoy. Gracias.” The waiter was cute for sure, all black curls and big brown eyes, and if he wasn’t completely messed-up in the head, Neil was flirting with him.

  Rick just nodded and searched over the menu. Hmm. Okay. Stuffed sopapillas were good but greasy, and chimichangas were all about the greasy, and enchiladas could be drippy and…. Flirty. Okay. Really?

  “Have you ever had the burrito supreme? It sounds delightfully messy. We could split one, and that way I could have a tamale without guilt.”

  “That works. I want guacamole. The green is something else. I mean, a fruit that’s all fat and slip-sliding and green? Wicked cool.”

  “Is it good here? I like it spicy.” Neil had really long eyelashes.

  “Not hot enough to burn, but hot enough you notice. You know, tingly tongue and your skin gets tight, but not enough your balls sweat. That’s so embarrassing.”

  “Really?” Blinking, Neil tilted his head. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had anything that hot.” The man sipped his water before adding nonchalantly, “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

  “Yeah? Okay. I’m not an expert of Scoville units, but I know my jalapenos from my habaneros. Did you know the heat is in the membranes, and if you cut the membrane out, the heat is lessened? It’s fascinating. The capsaicin is used to treat arthritis sometimes.”

  “It’s also supposed to be an aphrodisiac. Chile that is. Courtesans in India used to feed it to patrons before lovemaking to get them revved up.”

  Was that a foot against his leg?

  “So long as they washed their hands. The oils could burn….” He shifted a little, spread to give himself some more room. “Burn delicate skin.”

  “I’m sure they were most careful. B
urning skin does not make for a good tip.” The waiter came back, and Neil ordered for them. Burrito, tamale, a picadillo taco for him with a side of guacamole, and sopapillas for dessert. With honey, not sugar and cinnamon. Oh, gooey.

  He put some chips on his plate and salted them. “Are you all done with watching me? I mean, the lab? Did you see everything?”

  “Oh no. I have a great deal more observation to do. Your work is apparently very important to someone.” Somehow that big-eyed innocent look just didn’t fly.

  “Oh.” Okay. Weird. Important was weird. Watching him was weird. He so needed to lock Bethy in a room and find out what the fuck was going…. Oh man. Look at that woman’s earrings. When she was fifty, they’d hang around her belly button and her grandkids could play jump rope.

  “She’s had them pierced twice. The first hole stretched too much.”

  “Yeah. It’s bizarre, but vaguely cool in that oh-my-god creepy way. I thought about getting my ears pierced once, but ow, you know? And also I blow shit up; I’d worry.”

  “I went with tattoos.”

  Well, at least Neil wasn’t shy about scooping up salsa and gobbling. Maybe if he dribbled on his shirt, the guy wouldn’t notice.

  “Really? That’s another want-to-but-didn’t thing. What kind of tattoos? Do they hurt?” He drank the Coke he’d ordered, the bubbles burning all the way down. God, the man was like a…. A chameleon? No. But kind of.

  “I have one on my upper arm, which of course this sweater precludes you seeing. And one at the small of my back. Oh, you should try this cabbage, er, whatever it is.”

  “Slaw.” He reached back, touched the small of his own back, the nerves sensitive. Man, that would burn. He shook his head, hiccupping a little at the soda. “It’s great in the taco.”

  “Is it? I like the vinegar tang.”

  That was definitely a foot against his leg, the toe of one elegant shoe sliding under his pants. Okay. Okay. He could say something. Or nothing. Or just enjoy it. Or not. Well, not not, because he was enjoying it. A lot. Oh man, he so should not have had caffeine.

  “Why not? I rather wonder what you would be like in bed if I fed you a triple mocha latte.”

  Uh. Eek.

  “I’d ride you into the mattress and then aggravate the living fuck out of you by bouncing.” He stopped, looked over, curious now. That whole hearing thoughts thing was incredibly cool and also more than a little wow, but he bet it got tiring. “Can you tell me what it’s like? Is it an energy thing? Readable? Could someone wear a helmet and screw with it? Or a hat with electricity running through?”

  “I’m not sure what might disrupt it. Some thoughts are much louder. I tend to think of those as thoughts everyone could hear if they believed in an extra sense. Like the earrings. Some thoughts are much, much harder. Some I would never catch. I can close some of it out, almost like wearing earplugs, but I would say there’s definitely an energy component.” Neil held him with a steady stare. “Most scientists say I’m quite mad.”

  “Most scientists say I am too.” He looked right back. “After all, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  “To judge your sanity? Partly.” The foot went away, Neil sighing and resting his elbows on the table. “Partly for security reasons. Partly for things I can’t discuss with you. Suffice to say, Bethy would like me to be your new best friend for a bit.”

  Oh. Ow. Man, no more thinking flirty thoughts about someone getting paid to be watching him. That was…. Ugh. And vaguely ick and…. Well, hell. He wasn’t that desperate. Frank at the lab? Possibly that desperate, because damn, that man smelled like a wet dog. Him? Well, sulfur sometimes, but never truly gross. “Here’s the food.”

  “Now I’ve upset you. I am sorry, but I find it better to be up-front.”

  The burrito came with an extra plate, and Neil halved it for him, pushed it toward him.

  “No. That’s cool. Honest is cool. Lying gets all convoluted and shit. No stress.” He added some slaw to the taco, enjoying the different colors, thoughts wandering, flittering about from work to this to that.

  “But you no longer want to sleep with me. And that’s sad.” He got a wink before Neil attacked the tamale, moaning as he ate. “Oh. Lovely.”

  “The place deserves its reputation.” He nodded, snacking on the taco and humming over the burrito.

  “Obviously.” He could almost feel how much Neil liked the food on the air… hmm. Maybe he could. Maybe the guy radiated stuff as well as soaking it up. That would definitely be an energy thing. That could be fairly interesting. He could set up something in the lab. A measuring device. Something for when it was just him and something for when it was him and Neil and something for when it was just Bethy or the weird-ass interns.

  “Certainly, if you wish. I might as well contribute something if I will be about bothering you.”

  “You’re going to bother me?” He really hadn’t minded Neil, well, except for the whole being paid to learn about him part, and a job was a job.

  “I hope not to, but it must be disconcerting to have someone watching you day in and out.” Neil forked up a bit of tamale. “You must try this.”

  “I’m pretty good at getting lost in my work.” He reached out for the fork, took the bite. Oh, it was good. Very good. “Still, you have to be curious how it works. That’s the whole fun in life. Figuring out how it works.”

  “Is it? I’ve never cared so much how it works. More what makes people tick. Why do they do the things they do?”

  “Because of how they’re made, of course. How the pieces fit together. It’s a puzzle.” Mmm… salsa.

  “You’re quite intricate, you know. The pattern is hard to read.” The sopapillas arrived just as they finished, and Neil ordered coffee too. For both of them. More caffeine.

  “Intricate? I’m like. Like… a hypercube. On and on and on.” He loved debates. And honey. And coffee.

  “You’re wonderful.” That sudden smile, as open as could be, left him blinking.

  Well, no one’d ever said that to him. At least no one who wasn’t trying to get him to decipher some problem. “Thanks.”

  “More honey?”

  He wasn’t ever going to get a handle on this, was he? “You’re going to set me flying and then abandon me to scribbling theory on my walls again.”

  “I am?” Licking honey off his lip, Neil stared at Paddy again, the smile leaving in favor of the head tilt. Back and forth. It was fascinating. Not in that puppy-head-tilt way, but in that look at those eyes and the light in them, and the way Neil’s hair didn’t move, and the difference between the light in Neil’s eyes and on Neil’s lips. “So. What happens at—” Neil looked at his watch. “—6:00 p.m.? Do you have to go back to work?”

  “I sort of wander. Work sometimes. Sleep sometimes. Log in and tease graduate students sometimes. Go to the park sometimes.” Ooh. Park. Trees. Birds. Seesaws. Swings. Physics in action.

  “Would you like to go to the park? I mean….” Pausing, Neil smiled at him. “Not that you have to spend your time off with me, of course.”

  “Well, it depends. If you’re going to the park because you want to and it sounds fun, then okay. Let’s go play. If you’re doing it because it’s your job, then no. Let’s go back to the lab until you’re off the clock.”

  “No. I’m only on the clock when you’re at the lab.” He got a look that made all sorts of energy surge. “Let’s go play.”

  He finished his last bite of guacamole, then nodded and pulled out his wallet for some cash. “Okay. Okay, if we’re lucky, the swings will be empty. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Six

  NEIL WATCHED Padraic swing, a rainbow of pleasure-speed-physics of swings-possible Montezuma’s revenge thoughts assaulting his brain. The pattern of those thoughts fascinated him more than anything had in the years since he’d learned to separate out the jumble of white noise into actual mind reading.

  He was never so bloody forward. Never. Oh, certainly he flirted, with everyone f
rom his eighty-year-old grandmother to his six-year-old nephew. Life was far too short to be coy. But really, it was unlike him to throw himself so blatantly at someone and be… well, ever so gently rebuffed.

  Pushing off again, Neil watched Rick—Padraic, what a lovely name—smile and laugh and glower at the unfortunate boy who had the temerity to complain about big people hogging the swings. Rick’s curls trapped the colors of the sun, but there were shiny stickers on the tips of the man’s purple (bright purple with… something drawn on them in marker) runners that caught Padraic’s attention, for a second at least. He was childlike, but not childish. Distractible, but not really classic attention deficit disorder. Utterly unique. And somehow, despite the fact that Neil had been admonished to remain distant enough to detect any faltering in the man’s scientific method, he wanted Padraic. Badly.

  “Oh man. I love early autumn. It’s like promising Halloween but still warm enough for T-shirts.” A series of Halloween costumes—both Rick’s (Paddy’s?) and strangers’—just poured out before sliding into candycandycandy.

  “Oh. Yes, you have much different customs here for that, hmm? We don’t do it up so much at home.” Candy seemed to be quite a refrain with Rick.

  “Well, kids do. And people with partners do the party/bar thing. I’m probably going to buy a bunch of chocolate and rent scary movies and lock my apartment door. Where’s home?”

  “I was born in Brighton, England. Now I have a flat in London that I might see twice a year.” He had the sudden urge to buy Rick a bag of his favorite candy—M&M’s perhaps? A very big bag. And then watch the bouncing.

  “Yeah? Why do they call it a flat? If it’s two-story, is it still a flat?”

  “Well, by some accounts it is actually linked to flet, which is Scottish, meaning the interior floor of a house. Any apartment might be safely called a flat, I suppose.” He grinned. The way that man’s brain worked….

  “Yeah? Too cool. Do you like it? London, not the flat, although that too.”

  “I like it, yes. It’s vital. Gloriously historical.” Exhausting.