“Oh please.” He fluffed her curls. “Just relax. Enjoy yourself. Go for the zing.”
“Zing?”
“Yes. Right here.” He thumped his sternum. “Possibly other places as well, but I can’t speak for girl parts. It’s chemistry, darling. You can’t code for it, but once you’ve felt it? You’ll crawl through broken glass on your hands and knees to hold on to it.”
Charlie’s midsection contracted as if she were about to absorb a roundhouse kick. It won’t come to that. It’s only a fake Stage Two. But some rebellious part of her brain whispered, Go for the zing. You know you want to. Experience it at least once.
For statistical purposes only, of course.
“You’re assuming I’ll get beyond hello.”
“Seriously, Charles, do I need to come with you and hold your feet to the conversational fire?”
She cringed at the thought of Gideon in battle mode. “Oh lord, please no.”
“Then put your game face on and deal.” He checked his manicure. “I’m off. Clubbing awaits.” He kissed her cheek. “I shall drink an extra margarita in your honor.”
“You’d drink an extra margarita anyway,” Charlie grumbled.
He paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. “A point. Ah, well. Don’t wait up for me.” He disappeared down the hallway.
Charlie pressed her hands against her middle, where a dozen centipedes had suddenly started break dancing.
The outfit—the shirt, the open-toed shoes, the alleged overshirt—all of it was designed to expose. To flaunt. Ironic, considering how the revealing clothes concealed her real self. She needed something of her own. Something hidden. A tether to tie her to her life while she ventured out on this month-long EVA into virtual reality.
She opened her underwear drawer and unearthed the box with her silver and lapis TARDIS earrings, a present to herself when she’d gotten her statistics Master’s. She put them on and tugged a few curls forward, hiding the earrings in the thicket of her hair.
When she shook her head experimentally, the little police boxes swung, tugging on her earlobes with unfamiliar weight. “I’m the Doctor,” she assured the wide-eyed stranger in the mirror. “And I can do this.”
Chapter Nine
Geekronym: I/O
Translation: Input/Output
Definition: Computer system communication. “Inputs” are signals or data received by the computer; “outputs” are the signals or data sent from it.
In the last half hour, while Daniel had worn a groove in the sidewalk in front of Cafe Niccolo, the traffic down 23rd had picked up as Portlanders trolled for dinner and drinks.
The fifth time he wiped his damp palms on the outside of his khakis, he regretted not opting for darker colored pants. At this rate, by the time Charlie arrived, he’d look as if he’d been strolling through a car wash.
When was the last time he’d been this on-edge about a date? Even in the early days with Trisha, before the doubt had set in, he’d never felt this keyed up, as if he were poised on the brink of a life-altering event.
He had to believe neither he nor Charlie had changed so much that they couldn’t find their old connection. But after last night, no more taking shit for granted. This time, he’d get it right.
He turned from his last patrol to the corner and there she was, the floaty material of her shirt drifting around her like multi-colored smoke. She slowed down and stopped a couple of yards away and made a big production out of looking around the street, up in the trees, under cars.
Holy crap. When she bent over, the view from both front and back sent his blood pounding in areas he’d prefer to keep restrained in public.
He cleared his throat and grasped his wrist in front of his crotch to avoid advertising his lack of control. Portland might be the city of the Naked Bike Ride, but he didn’t have the permits for this kind of personal display.
“Lose something?”
She checked behind a bush. “The new man I was supposed to meet. Did you see anyone with a red rose wander past?” The smile that flickered across her face was the adult version of her mischievous childhood grin. Another layer melted off his icy core and the tension in his shoulders eased.
“Sorry. Guess you’ll have to make do with me.” She chuckled, and he gestured toward the entrance. “Shall we?”
When their knuckles collided as they both reached for the handle at once, she flushed, her mouth quirking in a lopsided smile.
“Sorry. I mean…um…thanks. But you don’t have to open doors for me.”
He stood aside to let her precede him. “Maybe not in your reality.”
“My reality…” Her laugh was strangled and she touched the side of her face under her hair before she ducked through the door.
The host met Daniel’s gaze over the top of Charlie’s head and flashed a surreptitious thumbs-up, shielded by the side of his podium. He pulled out two menus and a wine list with unnecessary flourish. “Right this way.”
They followed him, Daniel’s hand hovering at the small of Charlie’s back, the urge to touch nearly overwhelming. No. Too intimate. Don’t assume, you ass. Instead, he dropped his hands to his sides as they trailed after the host, whose route through the restaurant seemed designed to take them past every occupied table like a foodie conga line.
“Voilá. Your table.” He posed next to the four-top in the corner as if waiting for the ooh of the crowd.
He sure wasn’t getting it from Charlie.
She couldn’t miss the two dozen roses dominating the table, the ones Daniel had trusted to the host to set up this scenario. Her lips parted and her eyes widened, and half the restaurant erupted into applause.
Daniel cleared his throat. “Roses. As promised.”
Instead of the smile of appreciation that he’d hoped for, he caught the sheen of tears in her eyes. “A rose. Only one. You…you promised.”
He glanced from her tight-lipped face to the giant bouquet. Shit. Wrong choice again. “I…uh…figured I had a lot of ground to make up.”
She took a deep breath and dropped into the seat furthest from him, although from the look on her face, he suspected she’d have preferred to sit at another table altogether. When she accepted the menu from the bewildered host, it shook with the trembling of her hand.
A waiter glided over and set a basket of crusty bread on the corner of the table. “My my. Someone certainly knows how to make a statement.”
Charlie sank lower in her chair, turning her head toward the window and holding up the menu to shield her profile. “Lord.”
Her murmur was barely as loud as the gurgle of water as the waiter filled their glasses, but he must have caught it. He cast a sharp glance at Daniel and set his pitcher down on a nearby empty table.
“As gorgeous as these are, if we keep them here, you won’t have any room for your plates, especially if you order the appetizer special, which, by the way, I highly recommend.” He picked up the vase. “How about I put them behind the host’s stand and you can pick them up on the way out?”
The look of relief and gratitude on Charlie’s face when he removed the bouquet had Daniel grinding his molars. He’d wanted that my-hero look directed at him, although with less of a thank-you-for-saving-me-from-certain-death flavor and more of a where-have-you-been-for-the-last-half-of-my-life.
“Charlie?” Daniel said. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
She peeked at him from behind her menu shield. “Nothing that a really deep hole or a plus-seven cloak of invisibility wouldn’t cure.”
He leaned toward her, keeping his voice low. “Sorry. Guess I went a little over the top.”
Charlie heaved a sigh that fluttered the flame of the candle in the middle of the table and lowered her menu. “It’s not you. It’s me. Never mind. I’ll recover.”
The waiter reappeared sans rose
s. “All set. Now, can I tell you about the specials? Get you something to drink while you decide?”
“Do you have any hemlock on tap?” Charlie muttered.
He winked at her. “Not tonight. Only on Mondays. You like red wine?” Charlie nodded and scooted up in her chair. “Then trust me, I’ve got just the thing.”
“Make it two,” Daniel said.
The misery on her face socked him right in the solar plexus. You’ve ruined another evening for her. Fucking brilliant. He was about to offer to take her home when her expression changed. She sat up straight, her attention focused on the dessert case near the entrance, with a militant gleam in her eye reminiscent of the time she’d caught one of their classmates tormenting a stray kitten.
“Excuse me for a minute, please?” She marched over to a slender, dark-haired man dressed in a fusion of GQ style and Portland hipster chic. Daniel couldn’t hear what she said, but she punctuated her words with quick jabs of her finger at the man’s face. He put one hand on his chest and made a who-me face that wouldn’t fool a toddler. Charlie’s hands fell to her sides and her shoulders drooped.
Apparently, Daniel wasn’t the only one in her disappointment crosshairs tonight. The knowledge wasn’t as reassuring as he’d expected.
…
Charlie crowded close enough to Gideon to avoid being overheard by the host. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were going clubbing.”
“I was. But just as I was about to hit the dance floor with a perfectly adorable guy, I was consumed by an insatiable desire for bread pudding.”
“Uh-huh.”
He widened his eyes in faux innocence. “What? It could happen to anyone. But since I’m here…” He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “How’s it going?”
Charlie heaved a mega-sigh. “Not well. Another direct hit by the humiliation torpedoes.” She glanced back at the table where Daniel chatted with the waiter, who had returned with the wine. “Shields at 17 percent and falling. I think we’re running incompatible operating systems.”
“Then stop mixing your geek metaphors and build an interface, for pity’s sake.” He marched across the restaurant, chin high.
An interface. Lord, if only she could do it, she’d boot up a VR-Charlie, the native life form of this Virtual Reality, the place where a VR-Daniel hadn’t abandoned her. Where he magically knew better than to subject her to public scrutiny.
She slid into her seat as Gideon draped himself in the chair opposite her, next to Daniel, daring her with a double arch of his brows. “Planning to introduce me to your friend?”
Charlie held her breath. This was one of her tests for adding men to her data matrix. If they reacted badly to Gideon—even when he deliberately provoked them by donning his exaggerated flame disguise—they were out. Despite Daniel’s continued obtuseness, she didn’t want him to be that kind of guy.
Daniel smiled, a glint in his eye that spoke of amusement, not disgust, and held out his hand. “Daniel Shawn.”
“Gideon Wallace. I’m sure Charles has mentioned me.”
“As a matter of fact, no.”
Gideon turned to her in mock outrage. “I’m crushed. Are you hiding me, darling? Ashamed of our love?”
She couldn’t prevent a grin. “Shut up, idiot. Believe it or not, the subject hasn’t come up.”
“Well, we’d best remedy that. I’m the other roommate. The good-looking one.”
The waiter materialized next to the table, another menu in his hand. “A third for dinner?”
“No,” Charlie said at the same time Gideon said, “Yes.”
Daniel grinned. “Why not?”
“I’ll have the seafood risotto, my pet, and a glass of the Semillon.”
“You’ve got it, G.” He and Gideon shared a smirk. Lord, did all the waiters in Portland know Gideon? “How about the two of you?”
Charlie winced. She still hadn’t read the menu. “I’ll have…um…the same. Except, you know, not the wine because…” She picked up her glass, the fruity aroma heady enough to intoxicate on its own. Better not indulge. She was already functionally impaired by Daniel’s proximity. She set the glass down again.
“The rib eye for me.” Daniel collected Charlie’s discarded menu and handed it back, along with his own.
Gideon waited until the waiter retreated before wiggling his butt in his chair, scooting closer Daniel. “So tell me, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Devastating, what’s a bad boy like you doing in a place like this?”
Daniel’s eyes widened, and his head drew back as if Gideon had threatened him with his salad fork. “Who says I’m bad?”
“Please,” Gideon scoffed. “An unattached man of your age who looks like you? You’re either gay, sociopathic, or bad, aka commitment-averse. I can tell you’re not gay, more’s the pity. As I understand, you groveled nicely last night after dickhead behavior, so not sociopathic. Hence, bad.” He leaned his chin on his fingers. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong.” Daniel held up his wineglass in an air toast and took a sip.
Gideon pressed one hand over his heart. “You’re gay?”
Daniel laughed. “No, sorry to disappoint.”
“Sociopathic? God, psychopathic?” Gideon turned and clutched Charlie’s arm. “Charles, hide the steak knives or this could turn into a bloodbath worthy of a Grimm season finale.”
“Gideon.” Charlie eyed Daniel, checking for signs of disgust or horror, but his mouth curled in a grin and the corners of his eyes crinkled.
“Maybe I’m just a late bloomer,” Daniel said.
“Hmmmm.” Gideon tapped his chin, eyes narrowing. “I’ll grant you that, conditionally. When was your last relationship?”
“Gideon!” Lord, that awful video. That dreadful woman. No matter what Daniel had done last night or tonight, he didn’t deserve to be reminded of that. But Daniel only chuckled and shook his head.
“Not much to report.” He swirled the wine in his glass and took another sip. “If you want to get technical, my last real relationship was with Charlie.”
Charlie stopped giving Gideon the stink-eye to goggle at Daniel. “Me? Since when?”
“There’s no deeper connection than the one between a boy and his science partner.”
She took a gulp of water to keep from blurting, What about the junior high and high school debacles?
Daniel lifted the napkin covering the bread. “What about you, Gideon? Seems only fair for you to tell us about your last relationship.”
Gideon opened his mouth but Charlie cut in. “If you want to get home before tomorrow morning, don’t get him started.”
“That horrifying?” Daniel asked, offering her the basket.
Charlie didn’t want bread any more than she wanted the wine, but she took a slice anyway, so she’d have something to do with her hands. “That dramatic. And that’s not accounting for sheer volume.”
“Very well, Charles,” Gideon said, snatching a piece of bread, “let’s focus on you.”
She shredded the bread in her hand, scattering crumbs like snowflakes on the red linen napkin in her lap. “Let’s not.”
“Nonsense.” Gideon turned to Daniel. “Did she tell you about Poindexter?”
“Ah…no. She didn’t mention him.” Daniel’s brows pulled together over his nose. “You’re seeing someone named Poindexter?”
“His name is Preston.” Charlie kept an eye on Daniel’s knotted brow, gauging whether an instant replay of last night’s caveman behavior loomed. “I only dated him for a couple of years in undergrad. We broke up when I left for Columbia for my statistics master’s. That’s where I met Toshiko. She sort of followed me home.”
“Yes,” Gideon drawled. “One day we blinked and she was sitting in the living room. I think she may have teleported.”
“Don’t dodge
,” Daniel said. “I want to hear more about Poindexter.”
“Preston,” Charlie enunciated, and Daniel smirked, obviously unrepentant. She shrugged. “It wouldn’t have worked long-term anyway. He was procedural. I was object-oriented.”
“You broke up over programming styles?” Daniel’s voice quivered with buried laughter.
“It’s not the style.” Charlie set the mangled remains of her bread on her plate. “It’s the…the mind-set.”
“If you could break up over that, you must not have been in love.”
Charlie wished she could disagree, if only to knock the self-satisfied look off Daniel’s face, but it was true. Love hadn’t been the point. She’d been grateful for a while not to be alone. But in the end, it hadn’t been enough.
“So, Preston, the procedural loser.” Daniel’s voice was a little too nonchalant. “Any other adventures?”
“Yes, Charles. Do tell.”
She glared at Gideon. If only there were such a thing as the Vulcan Death Grip, he’d be face down in his salad plate. “What do you think? I was in the female minority in a computer science program. Most CS majors are better acquainted with their joysticks than their joy sticks.” She froze, gaze darting back to Daniel. “I mean…um…”
She grabbed her wineglass and took a large sip, studying Daniel from under her lashes. He didn’t look shocked. In fact, a grin spread across his face, activating his dimple.
“Don’t stop now. This is good stuff.”
It is? Now that she thought about it, the way she and Daniel used to spar wasn’t so very different from the way she and Gideon did now. And that she definitely knew how to do.
As a result, the rest of dinner passed in what qualified as pleasant chat, although the wine deserved some of the credit for settling her nerves. She had to admit, Daniel had passed all the tests she set for male field study candidates—he hadn’t treated Lindsay like a bimbo, he wasn’t freaked by Toshiko, and he actually seemed to like Gideon. Surely she could cut him the same slack as any other Stage Two man.
“So,” Gideon said over the last bite of his bread pudding, “when are you taking Charles out again?”
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