Love Hacked

by Penny Reid

  “Hasn’t he been at all of your dates over the last two years? Technically you could say that you’ve been on about thirty dates, or thirty-three.” Janie pointed out.

  “It’s starting, Sandra. All the signs are there.” Elizabeth looked worried. “You’re falling in love with him.”

  “No. No I’m not.” My words were a groan, a plea. He hadn’t been vetted yet. I couldn’t allow myself to fall for him. “I just…I really, really like him.”

  “Do you want me to find out what he went to prison for?” Janie filled the remainder of the cocktail glasses. I was certain the rest of the ladies were likely on the precipice of revolt since we’d been in the kitchen for going on twenty minutes.

  “She could, you know. Quinn is a wizard with that kind of stuff.” Elizabeth nodded at her own assertion. “A grumpy, hot, stoic wizard.”

  “No…yes…I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I want him to tell me.”

  “But what if he is dangerous? What if he’s lying to you?” Elizabeth pressed.

  “What if who is lying to Sandra?”

  We all turned at the sound of Fiona’s voice, and I struggled to curb a guilty expression.

  Before I could respond, Janie helpfully filled in the blanks. “Alex, the handsome waiter with the sexy voice from that Indian restaurant where Marie was accosted.”

  Fiona blinked at Janie; she appeared stunned. Then her attention focused on me. “You’re seeing that guy?”

  I gulped my lemon drop as I nodded, smacking my lips together. “Yep. We’re dating.” My voice was raspy because Janie had been heavy-handed with the vodka.

  Fiona’s expression, to her credit, was one of maternal concern and compassion. “What can I do to help?”

  I loved her.

  Again, before I could answer, Janie filled in the blanks. “He’s on parole from federal prison for computer hacking, but Sandra doesn’t know the details, and Elizabeth thinks she’s falling in love with him.”

  I lifted my hand, waved it in the air then smacked it against my thigh. “Thank you, Janie.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Oh, my,” Fiona breathed, and she walked forward, claimed a drink, and downed it in three gulps. She winced as she adjusted to the very strong vodka, and then she set the glass on the counter and motioned for Janie to refill it. “Now then, let’s start from the beginning.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Wednesday’s Horoscope: Revelations today may leave you feeling lost. Keep your wits about you, don’t overreact, and you may find a better way forward.

  I HAD NO way to communicate with Alex that I was running late for our date.

  A patient, an eight-year-old foster child who had just been diagnosed with leukemia, had been my last appointment, an add-on. No way was I going to rush through this session. It took two hours.

  In my profession as a child and adolescent psychiatrist, some days are good, productive days. Some days are bad, heartbreaking days. Today was the latter.

  I’d ignored all the voicemails and messages that had been piling up from my platonic male friends and jogged out of the hospital. The city was already dark, and instead of thinking about Kara, my last patient, and the road she would be facing alone, I did what was necessary to avoid burnout.

  I thought about my own daily struggles, worries, plans, and action items. I also attempted to avoid comparing my concerns to those of my patients.

  If I allowed myself to fret over every Kara I met, or if I succumbed to feeling guilty for my blessings, I would not be a child and adolescent psychiatrist for very long. Work was work. I did my best. I cared about my patients. Yet I knew that taking those cares home with me was the fastest road to exhaustion.

  Worrying about Kara wouldn’t help her. But watching a funny movie, reading a sexy book, and getting a good night’s sleep would ensure I was refreshed in the morning. I needed to reboot and recharge so I could fight more battles the next day.

  Therefore, I thought about Alex and how I was late for our date. I also thought about my knitting group and their reaction to my news the night before.

  After Fiona found us in the kitchen, the entire discussion was repeated again in the living room for everyone to hear. Ashley thought I was crazy. Marie said go for it. Kat was contemplative. Nico reserved voicing judgment, but gave me a concerned look. And Fiona was, as ever, surprisingly adult; she was quiet, thoughtful, and supportive.

  But she was insistent that I find out the specifics of why Alex went to prison, and suggested I take Janie up on the offer to have Quinn investigate.

  This was met with nods of approval from around the room. I swore them all to secrecy and promised I would give them my answer by next week.

  I knew that it made sense to have Alex investigated. Entering into a relationship is frightening enough without going into a lava flow blind.

  Nevertheless, I wanted him to tell me the truth first. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I wanted him to trust me.

  This was where my mind was occupied when Alex stepped out of a shadowy alley in front of my El station and just about scared the poop out of me.

  I jumped back, my hand pressed to my heart, and gasped in shock. “Oh, my God!”

  Alex lifted his hands in a demonstration of his docile intent. “Sorry, sorry. I saw you leave the hospital and came through this way to intercept you. Are you okay?”

  I walked backward, then leaned one hand against the brick exterior of Jefferson’s Shoe Repair and Sock Emporium. I couldn’t catch my breath.

  “You just almost gave me literal shitzterhozen.” I chuckled; it was soft yet a little hysterical. I shook my head to clear it.

  His rumbly laugh met my ears. “You should have seen your face.”

  My laugh continued, less hysterical, more therapeutic. “Bukakke! I can’t believe how fast my heart is beating.”

  Alex crossed to me and placed two fingers against my neck, presumably to feel my pulse. “I can’t….”

  In one swift movement I unzipped my coat to my abdomen, grabbed his hand, and stuffed it into my jacket under my left breast, “Here, this is how you get the full effect.”

  His smile was immense, devastating. His hand, cold at first, curled just slightly around my ribs, and it tickled. His fingers thawed gradually, and the spot where his palm was pressed over my shirt became heated with our combined warmth.

  We passed a long moment, his hand in my jacket, feeling my heartbeat, my eyes surveying his reaction. His smile waned over the course of several seconds, and an intense but distant melancholy claimed his features.

  I shivered.

  With visible reluctance, Alex drew his hand away then zipped my jacket. Without his hand, my chest felt cold.

  A small, sad smile lingered around his lips, and I caught a whiff of his soap.

  He smelled mantastic. My heart rate spiked again.

  “Thank you,” he said. His tone was quiet, deferential. “I’ve never done that before.”

  “What? Jump out of an alley like a menacing henchman and loosen a person’s poop?”

  Alex pressed his lips together, though they curved upward betraying the smile he attempted to mask. “No. I do that all the time. It’s Wednesday, right?”

  “Ha. Very funny.”

  “I was talking about feeling your heartbeat. I’ve never done that before.”

  My gaze flickered over him. “What do you mean? To anyone?”

  He nodded once and reached for my hand, then pulled me along the street behind him. “Correct.”

  “Not even your mom?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “Not that you remember?”

  Alex paused when we reached the intersection; he didn’t look at me, instead I was given only his profile. He didn’t answer, but his silence confirmed that my heart had been his first.

  I thought about that. In fact, I thought about that for a long time. We walked several blocks before the full implication of this offhanded revelation struc
k me.

  What about the women he’d slept with? Isn’t that what people do after making love? They cuddle and hold each other. It’s what we’d done on Saturday fully clothed. But had we been naked, our hearts would have beaten together.

  I didn’t realize it at first, but I was staring at him. And something about my expression must’ve made him uneasy. His eyes flickered to mine then away. He almost looked…guilty.

  “Alex….”

  He sniffed and looked toward the crosswalk sign. “We’re almost there. Sorry we had to walk. It’s just that all the El stations have cameras….”

  “I want to take you someplace else,” I said.

  He looked at me then, eyes betraying his curiosity. “Where?”

  “Someplace we can talk without being watched or listened to.”

  “Like a closet?”

  “No. Like an apartment, not mine. But it has a small storage area if you’d prefer only talking openly in enclosed spaces.”

  Alex’s expression betrayed his wariness. He didn’t immediately respond; instead, he pulled me across the street then tucked me under his arm on the other side before saying, “I thought we could go to the Field Museum.”

  “You mean the natural history museum? It’s closed.”

  “I can get us in.”

  I didn’t want to offend him, so I didn’t ask, Are we breaking in? Instead, I opted for the other obvious option. “So, you know someone who works there?”

  I glanced at him in time to see him nod. I also noted that he looked extremely cold. In fact, his lips were turning blue.

  “You need a better jacket. This one is just sad.”

  He glanced at himself then at me. “What’s wrong with this jacket?”

  “Aren’t you cold? Just looking at you makes me cold.”

  “It doesn’t bother me. I don’t notice the cold.”

  He didn’t notice the cold? How was that possible?

  I scanned his face. “Alex, you’re freezing.”

  “I’m used to it.”

  I shook my head in disbelief and surveyed the street, and saw that we were indeed very close to the natural history museum. Janie and Elizabeth’s old apartment was just a mile or so beyond, on the north side of Grant Park.

  “Okay.” I sighed. “But you need to warm up and you have to promise me we’ll go to the apartment after.” I made a mental note to finish his hat, scarf, and mitten set as soon as possible.

  He nodded again without looking at me. “I promise.”

  I huffed, my exhale visible as a little cloud. “I’m going to buy you a decent jacket.”

  He chuckled, hugged me tighter. “Don’t. Didn’t you read my note? You keep me warm.”

  Gah…and zing!

  The letter. Oh, how that letter did things to me.

  Now I was hot.

  ***

  ALEX DID INDEED know someone who worked at the museum. He knew the director of procurement. Apparently, the director was friends with Mr. Patel, and Alex had waited on him at the restaurant a number of times.

  We were met with a friendly smile and unceremoniously shown into the building through the north entrance. As we walked in, Sue—the gigantic T-Rex—towered over our heads, her mouth open in either a roar or a laugh.

  I loved the natural history museum. It was full of the coolest stuff. I gaped even though I’d been there a number of times. Everything was interesting and amazing, and I loved that he wanted to take me. I could tell by his barely contained energy, the bounce in his step despite the bitter cold, that he was also excited.

  Alex and I were introduced to the lead guard on duty, who was also all politeness. He informed us to take our time; then we were sent on our way to explore.

  Alex grinned over his shoulder, and he led us beyond the impressive dinosaur fossil down a flight of stairs. When we reached the bottom, he walked over to a recycling container and retrieved a cooler, hidden behind the bulky bin.

  “Come on.” He motioned for me to follow.

  I trailed behind him, unable to help my silly smile. “What’s in the cooler, Alex?”

  “Food.”

  “Are we having a picnic?”

  “Yes.” I heard the amusement in his voice just as we stopped in front of two rather ginormous stuffed lions behind a sheet of thick Plexiglas.

  I blinked at the lions then at him. He was watching me.

  “What’s this? You want to eat in front of the man-eating lions of Mfuwe?” I’d seen the lions before. Their story was gruesome and, quite honestly, as scary as Darth Vader in a Jedi Padawan training camp. They were two man-eating lions who’d stalked and killed nearly thirty men in Africa during the 1930s. Their behavior was unusual for lions, as they typically don’t enjoy the taste of humans.

  Some hypothesized that the lions were insane. Others believed they just liked how people tasted. The significance, of course, was that these lions had somehow evolved to become the very top of the food chain—above humans.

  “Yep.” He began unpacking the contents of the cooler on a nearby bench.

  “Okay.” I shrugged and turned to help Alex with the food.

  “I just figured you’d feel comfortable here, with the lions.” He tilted his head toward the great cats. Even dead, stuffed, and behind Plexiglas, they were a little scary.

  “Really? Why? Are we dining on lion meat tonight? Do I strike you as a woman who enjoys endangered species taxidermy? What gave me away—was it the stuffed American bald eagles in my apartment?”

  He didn’t look at me, and he was bravely trying his best to hide a grin. “Lions aren’t endangered. I only meant I thought you’d be comfortable around your own kind.”

  My own kind?

  Did he mean an old, prowling cat? Honestly, it was the only line I could draw between the lions and me.

  I felt a burst of disappointment and hurt. As was my way, I decided to accept my limitations and countered with a joke. “Shouldn’t they be cougars?”

  His eyes lifted then and some of the merriment was replaced with surprise. “No. I said that because they’re man-eaters. You’re a man-eater—remember?”

  I blinked at him, my eyes narrowed as I tried to place the reference he made. Then it came back to me—the night at the restaurant, when we’d first kissed, when I’d referred to myself as a man-eater.

  The disappointment and acceptance I’d felt at being compared to an old cat was replaced with embarrassment about my assumption. What did it say about my subconscious feelings of self-worth that I’d jumped to such an unflattering conclusion? And what did it communicate about my subconscious impressions of him?

  I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Yes.” I said through my hand. “Now I remember.”

  Alex set down the food and crossed to me, took my shoulders in his large hands, and forced me to look at him. His eyes were dark, intense, and seemed impossibly wizened. “Sandra, you need to stop doing that. What is it going to take for you to believe me? You are not a cougar, and I am most definitely not your cub.” He shook me, gently, as though to drive his point through my brain. “I do not think of you as older than I am. In fact, I appreciate how inexperienced and trusting you are.”

  “I’m inexperienced?”

  “Yes. And naïve.”

  “I…I….”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that.

  Before I could, he said, “I think of us as perfectly matched.”

  “How can that possibly be true?”

  “Because you’re youthful and fun, and yet level-headed and practical. You are an optimist. If anything, you remind me that I’m still young, that my life isn’t over. And I trust you. You feel like a beginning to me.”

  “Oh…Alex.” I couldn’t help it; his words both broke my heart and made it sing. Perhaps it was singing brokenly. I took his face in my hands and let my thumbs trace his cheeks. “You say the nicest things.”

  “No, I don’t.” He stepped closer, one of his hands caressed my neck and slipped upward into m
y hair. His fingers gripped my short locks and tugged my head back and down, forcing my chin up. His tone was distant, aloof, almost cold, though his words made me feel hot all over. “I never say anything nice. I just want you more than I want the easiness and comfort of numbness. You make me want things, Sandra. Our ages are irrelevant, and I can’t have you believing otherwise. Don’t bring it up again. Don’t even think about it.”

  As he spoke, his mouth drifted closer as though it was pulled to mine. When he stopped speaking, he kissed me—just once—a soft, lingering kiss, gentle and possessive and controlled. With most men, it was the kind of kiss they administered as a way to say, Let’s take our clothes off…you start.

  When he pulled away, all I could think was more…more of that…more of everything.

  I opened my eyes and found him staring at me. His attention flickered briefly to my mouth, then back up to my eyes. “Agreed?”

  I nodded because I couldn’t speak. He’d rendered me speechless. I want you more than I want the easiness and comfort of numbness…. I assumed he meant numb from the trauma of being incarcerated at fifteen. The thought troubled me.

  A numb Alex was a crime against humanity. I made a vow that Alex would never be numb again.

  ***

  AFTER OUR PICNIC, we walked around the museum until late. Very late. And we had a great time talking about nothing much of consequence. Again, though, he seemed to know everything about everything. Again, I had to draw the details out of him with a bevy of questions.

  As well, I questioned him about his favorite things. He had no opinions on TV shows, but I did learn that his favorite dessert was strawberry shortcake. He’d always wanted a dog, a German shepherd. His favorite book—a collection of short stories—was The Dubliners, written by James Joyce. I’d never read it, but made a mental note to add it to my book list.

  I also learned that he didn’t know very many pop culture references. As an example, he didn’t know of any internet memes, like Rickrolling or Ermergad! I supposed this made sense, as he hadn’t been near a computer in years.

  I was yawning when we left, and Alex made the executive decision that we would take a taxi instead of walking.