Love Hacked

by Penny Reid

  “Alex, this is…um….” I stuttered, stopped, because Alex’s glare—in fact, his entire demeanor—was dark and menacing. And his eyes were focused on Devon’s hand where it still held my arm.

  “Um, Alex,” I began again, not able to stay the fluttering of my lashes. “This is my friend, Devon. Devon, this is my boyfriend, Alex.”

  Alex stuck out his right hand, which caused Devon to surrender my arm in order to accept the handshake.

  “Nice to meet you, Alex.” I noted Devon’s expression of surprised confusion, his words halting and forced.

  Alex didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he tipped his head and continued glaring at my friend.

  A beat of awkward silence followed before I turned back to Devon. “So, did you end up getting the red couch?”

  He nodded, splitting his attention between Alex and me. “I did….” He frowned, glanced at Alex, then at me, then shook his head as though clearing it. “I did. Yes. I like it, a lot. Thank you for your help.”

  “No problem. Anytime.”

  I felt Alex stiffen, but I ignored him.

  “Okay.” Devon smiled at me, but it was tempered, much dimmer than before. “Well. I’ll let you two get back to your day. Nice to meet you, Alex.” Devon said his name with a slight upturned lilt in his voice as though the word confused him.

  Alex nodded; but, again, made no verbal response.

  After one more tightlipped smile, Devon turned and walked down the stairs toward the main lobby.

  As soon as he was out of sight and earshot, Alex reached for my hand, changed course, and led me through a door marked Law Reference. I followed wordlessly, as I had a pretty good sense of what he had planned.

  He was looking for a secluded place where we could discuss Devon and his red couch.

  Alex found a suitable corner next to Tort Law and tugged me into one of the soundproof listening booths.

  His shoulders were stiff, his jaw was clenched, and he held himself rigid and away from me—which was impressive, considering it was a one-person booth. Alex’s eyes searched mine.

  “Sandra.”

  “Yes, Alex,” I said evenly. I wasn’t upset or put off by his behavior. In fact, I wasn’t even surprised by it. I assumed Alex didn’t have male or female friends, and never wanted them. The fact that I would have male friends—several of them—would likely be something of a surprise.

  I was going to let him have his moment.

  He took a deep breath as a range of emotions played over his features—anger, concern, frustration, confusion, reluctance, then anger again.

  Finally, he said, “Help me understand this.”

  I pressed my lips together and cleared my throat, reminded myself to feel my way through this conversation. “Alex, I have a lot of male friends….”

  “I know that, but I didn’t think you actually did stuff with them.”

  I flinched. “I do…I think. Wait, what do you mean by stuff?”

  “See them. Hang out with them. Pick out their couches.”

  “Oh, well then, yes. I do all those things.”

  Alex’s eyes flashed fire, and I knew that he was imagining all sorts of other stuff. “What else do you do?”

  A burst of aggravation ignited in my chest at the implied insult in his question. But I also felt his fear; everything about this situation was new for him.

  “Do you trust me?” I asked.

  “Obviously.”

  “No, not obviously, because you wouldn’t have asked me that question if you trusted me.”

  He appeared pained, torn by my argument, still undecided.

  “I’m jealous,” he finally said. “I want to find Devon and kill him.”

  “Kill him? Really?”

  “No.” Alex glanced at the ceiling. He leaned against the door behind him. His voice was still a growl, but the surge of testosterone had visibly deflated—just a smidge. “But I would like to beat him up a little. Or maybe ruin his credit score.”

  I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling; I didn’t think Alex was ready for me to smile about this.

  At length, his eyes sought mine, and he inhaled as though bracing himself for bad news. “How many? How many are we talking about?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t counted them.”

  “More than twenty?”

  I shrugged, attempted a mental tally. “Probably.”

  Oddly, this seemed to calm him a bit. He nodded, and his eyes shifted to someplace over my shoulder. “Oh, okay.”

  Unprompted, I filled in some blanks. “Devon and I went on a date a long time ago. Then I referred him to my friend Thomas for counseling. Sometimes he and I have lunch. The last time I saw Devon, I helped him pick out furniture for his new apartment.”

  Alex nodded, his attention returned to my face. “He likes you.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “We’re friends.”

  “No. He likes you.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so, not really. But if he did, it wouldn’t make any difference, because Devon is not you.”

  “I don’t like this,” Alex said, his features inflexible.

  “I know.”

  “I want….” He paused and gathered a deep breath. “I want to be okay about this, about your friends.”

  “Good. Because I want you to be okay about my friends too.” Enough of his rigidity had dissolved that I felt comfortable reaching for him. I stuffed my fingers into the front pockets of his jeans and shifted a half step closer. “Maybe, over time, they might become your friends too.”

  His eyes squinted, “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t see why not. A lot of them have significant others, wives even. Look at Nico—Elizabeth’s husband, our friendly apple fritter deliveryman. He’s my friend. You seemed to like him. You even said he was nice.”

  I recognized that Nico was not the most accurate example of my friends because he and I never dated. But, for now, he was a good choice for introducing Alex to the concept. Also, he was perhaps my best chance for Alex accepting the possibility of viable friendships with my other male friends.

  With visible reluctance, Alex’s expression morphed from obstinate to pensive. “Yeah. I guess he was nice.”

  My mouth curved at the unwilling compliment; I caught my bottom lip between my teeth so the grin wouldn’t become too broad. “We’ll start with Nico and Elizabeth.”

  Alex’s frown—to me—felt almost comical, like a stubborn grizzly bear. I fought against the impulse to giggle and instead pressed my body against his.

  “Okay, it’s a plan,” I said. “Now let’s go take a look at some books.”

  ***

  WE NAVIGATED TO the periodicals section. Alex thumbed through magazines until he came to the Economist. He handed it to me—last week’s issue—and pulled out the newest one for himself.

  I flipped through the magazine. “Where are all the pictures? And why is this font so small?”

  He laughed at me—yes, at me—and said, “Don’t you read medical journals? Those don’t have pictures.”

  “They have graphs and charts, which are picture porn for scientists. This doesn’t even have a summary table of figures.”

  He eyed me with plain amusement and pointed to an article on some important global current event. “This is a good one. It’s about China and their ban on the use of bitcoins inside the country.”

  I glanced at him. He held my gaze, his expression wry. It felt like he was offering me a clue, to him, to his past. I nodded and scanned the space around us for a seat. We eventually found two chairs at a table in the far northwest corner.

  I read the article. Rather, I tried to read it. In the end, I had to interrupt Alex from his reading to ask questions.

  “So—Alex,” I whispered because we were in a library, and that’s what you do in a library. “The Chinese don’t want bitcoins to be used because they circumvent the system? Right?”

  He nodded, leaned close to me and whispered in my
ear—because that’s what you do in libraries. It also gave me goose bumps. “More or less. Bitcoins exist outside of any government or country. They’re not regulated. Governments have no authority over them as a currency. The Chinese government can try to block access to them, but they won’t be completely successful. Bitcoins belong to the people. And they exist entirely outside of the influence of politics and special interests.”

  When he leaned away, I saw pride in his eyes. I liked it—the pride—and it spoke volumes about why he’d been reluctant to hand over a skeleton key to the NSA.

  “But why do they have value? Why are they worth money? Aren’t they just numbers and algorithms and mathematical voodoo?”

  He grinned, his eyes examining my features, then he kissed me on the cheek like he couldn’t help it.

  He said, “Why does gold have value? Because we have assigned it value as a global society. The same is true with bitcoins. People believe in them, see their worth, buy into the idea of a finite currency, and use them to purchase goods. As a form of currency, their value can’t be inflated or deflated based on the whims of those in power. The people give them value.”

  I watched his face as he spoke. It transformed, he transformed. He could have been talking about his child, or something he’d created and was proud of. But it was also reluctant pride, like he wasn’t willing to accept credit for whatever his part might have been—he hid from it, buried it.

  “This is why you won’t help them.” My words were barely above a sigh, but he heard them.

  He cleared his throat, looked away, then drew me to his lap, his arms around me, and whispered softly in my ear. “I know bitcoins are being exploited by terrible people. I will fix the problem. But I can’t give someone the ability to destroy what’s been built. I don’t trust them to do the right thing.”

  I nodded and leaned into him as he pressed his lips to my forehead.

  I understood his cynicism. It made complete sense to me. As a child and an adolescent, he’d been forced to place his trust in a system that failed him repeatedly. The fact that he would even consider believing in anyone ever again was astonishing. In that moment, I felt honored and amazed and a bit overwhelmed that he’d decided to place his trust in me so completely.

  He stirred. “Come on.”

  I reluctantly stood from his lap and gathered our magazines. “Where to next?”

  “How about computer science reference materials?” The sound of Agent Bell’s voice was an ugly wakeup call, and just as jarring. I stiffened and whipped my head toward her, my heart sinking to the pit of my stomach.

  Alex unfolded from his chair and stepped in front of me; I could both see and sense his change in demeanor. His posture radiated the numbness I’d been working so hard to dispel. The numbness was tangible, like an arctic explosion. I was chilled by it, by him.

  “Why are you here?” He was no longer whispering.

  I peeked at her around his shoulder, abruptly struck by his height, his size. He felt larger, threatening…hostile.

  “It’s Sunday. I thought I’d say hi.” Her tone was friendly, perhaps even a little beseeching; I didn’t detect any malice or duplicity. The sentiment conveyed in this single sentence confirmed my earlier assessment—that she liked him and respected him.

  “Go away.”

  “Alex….”

  “Agent Bell, don’t you think I’ve given you enough of my time?”

  I shivered. He was positively glacial. I didn’t precisely like the woman—considering she’d “not threatened” me some weeks ago—but now I understood that she had good intentions. She was not malicious. She was not a bad person. She felt driven by a higher purpose.

  Agent Bell lifted her chin higher. “After last week….” her voice trailed off. I guessed my presence might be inhibiting her willingness to speak freely; however, when I leaned to the other side and peered around him to catch a better glimpse of her features, her attention was arrested by Alex’s face.

  I understood at once that he was communicating with her silently. Something in his expression—which I currently could not see—told her not to continue the thought.

  Her eyes flickered to me, held mine briefly. She appeared almost apologetic, like she felt sorry for me.

  Her attention moved back to his face. “I thought we could try to be friends.” I wondered what had happened last week, and why Alex had stopped her from speaking about it.

  I would have been concerned, likely even jealous, if I’d detected anything resembling attraction on her side. I didn’t. Rather, she seemed to admire him and sincerely want some kind of interaction with him. It was one-sided hero worship.

  I reminded myself of Agent Bell’s words from our second meeting—she’d known him since he was fifteen. Additionally, she was a bit older than I—maybe five or six years older. Her feelings for him were likely maternal, if not sisterly.

  “That’s never going to happen.” He sounded bored. “Leave.”

  I watched as she gathered a deep, steadying breath. A frown of obvious disappointment turned her mouth, but she didn’t look entirely surprised. “Fine.” Her eyes flickered to mine again; this time, while she looked at me, I got the impression she was silently communicating with him. “I’ll see you soon.”

  He didn’t relax, not even when she was completely out of sight; not even a full minute later when we stood as still as statues; not even when I placed my hand on his shoulder.

  “Hey,” I whispered, because we were in a library. “Are you okay?”

  His big shoulders lifted as he filled his lungs. Alex turned to me, his arms reaching for me. He pulled me tightly against him. The embrace was nearly suffocating, and I felt him swallow three times.

  “I hate her.”

  I tried to free my hands, but they were trapped between us. “She doesn’t seem so bad,” I murmured against his chest.

  My words sounded strained. He must’ve detected the cause as his grip relaxed somewhat, but not substantively. Regardless, it was enough for me to wrap my arms around him.

  “She has no honor,” he said.

  I blinked at his choice of words and wondered when I’d last had a discussion with anyone about honor. This struck me as relevant and remarkable. As a society, we don’t speak of honor, not anymore.

  “What did she do?”

  I felt him shake his head. “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter.” He pulled away just slightly, his large hands falling to my hips and his gaze searching mine. “You matter.”

  This, of course, made me smile. “I know.” I said, my arms twining around his neck. “But feel free to say it with frequency. Also, other catch phrases of yours that I like—not in any particular order—are: you are exquisitely beautiful, you’re a fantasy, and you’ll be screaming my name.”

  His mouth tugged to the side, revealing the dimple I loved. Much of the earlier tension eased beneath my fingertips. His gaze was loving and cherishing as it moved over my hair, nose, and lips. “You are exquisitely beautiful.”

  I lifted on my tiptoes, my nails gently scratching the back of his neck, encouraging him to bring his mouth to mine. “So are you, Alex. And you matter to me.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Tuesday’s Horoscope: You may feel rushed to make an important decision. Follow your heart for the most advantageous outcome.

  WE PARTED MONDAY morning. I ogled him while he swam, then we shared a brief breakfast, and he was smiling—go me!—but I realized about twenty minutes later that I’d neglected to give him the man-knit set.

  When I awoke Tuesday, I did so with a determined smile on my face.

  I was going to talk to Quinn about the apartment. In fact, I was going to beg him for it. But first, I plucked my eyebrows so that they were shaped to precision. Afterward, I practiced my begging eyebrows in the mirror.

  Tuesday was mostly spent trying not to get too excited about the fact that Wednesday—and therefore Alex date night—was the next day.

  Knit night arrived
, and it was my turn to host. I decided to do a continuation of my dirty-foods theme from Saturday. Fresh figs, sausages, raw oysters, whole stuffed zucchini, and chocolate covered bananas for dessert.

  Ashley was the first to arrive, and hence, the first to pick up on the theme.

  “You’re dirty. You’ve got a dirty mind.” She smiled approvingly and perused the plate of sausage, selected one, took a bite. “Yum.” She said between chewing, “Sex organ foods are phallic-licious.”

  We giggled in the kitchen about it until my door buzzed and I was forced to abandon her.

  I pressed my speaker button, disappointed that I didn’t have a Phallic Food Buffet occasion T-shirt. I would have to have one made.

  “Who is it?”

  “Janie,” came the crackly response.

  “Okay! Come on up.” I buzzed her in and rushed out into the hall. I liked to heckle my guests as they climbed the stairs. “Guess what we’re having for dinner.”

  Janie walked in the main door, but she was not alone. Trailing behind her were Fiona, Quinn, and Dan. I’m sure my face perfectly conveyed my astonishment because, upon seeing me, Quinn put a finger to his mouth and shook his head.

  Quinn, Fiona, and Dan stayed at the bottom of the stairs. Janie, however, ascended.

  “I can’t guess what you’re having for dinner, but I assume it’s something delicious and shocking.” She held me by the elbow and pulled me into my apartment.

  “It is. It’s a phallic food buffet.”

  I watched her as she grabbed my coat and draped it around my shoulders then handed me my hat and scarf—all while she spoke.

  “Last time you made those impressive blueberry crepes. I’ve been trying to replicate them at home, but I’ve had very little luck. Perhaps you could come over some time and show me. In fact, it would be great if you could do a demonstration tonight. Please go to the store and buy the ingredients. I will wait here and let everyone in as they arrive.”

  She nodded, her hazel eyes wide and bright as she pushed me out the door. “We could make them look like penises with really small blue testicles.”

  I descended the stairs and her voice followed me. “Did you know that no one is one hundred percent certain what causes blue balls? Some people believe it has to do with….”