It was clear last month that the project had stalled. The team had created roads of code, each wandering toward a single destination, only to dead-end before connecting. None of them could configure a path forward. He needed a fresh set of eyes. So, last month he put an invitation in the back pages of a computer magazine, inviting coders to play a series of games, each designed to discover competitors with a particular skill-set. Scores took up the challenge, and a couple even reached the end, but Lindsey Monahan was totally different.
She poked around in the first two games, clearly testing his code, then built a tunnel under the program and hopped directly to the end. She won—not by playing, but by rebuilding the game from the inside out. None of the other players even thought of doing that. He hadn’t even thought of doing that. He didn’t even realize she had done it until he received a note inside the game that read, “What else?”
Zach flushed with adrenaline as he deconstructed what she had done. She could be the answer he was searching for, but someone this talented could also be dangerous. He jumped online and tried to find her trail, some bread-crumbs he could follow to find out who she was and what she was after. She went by the moniker Viper; beyond that, he found nothing. He brought in his team, they also found nothing.
Then, one night, as he was playing on his PS4, a Viper popped up on the screen. “I’m bored,” she said. “Can I play?”
Blood drained from his face as he stared at her words. Hacking into a multi-player system was supposed to be impossible. Anyone who could do that was a genius. He needed a genius. His fingers flew to the keyboard. “Want to play?” he responded. “Be on my team.”
Admission to the Delta Project meant he would find out who she was. When he got a pop-up that her transcripts had arrived, he ran to his desk and couldn’t get the file to open fast enough. Viper was Lindsey Monahan. Clearly a prodigy who skipped the second and third grades, got a perfect SAT score in math and started at a prominent university at sixteen. Then, six months later, she dropped out and disappeared into the dark, anonymous coils of the virtual world. She left no trace after that, no social media presence, no work history, not a bread crumb to follow. She had, however, taken enough on-line courses all over the world that she could have gotten three advanced degrees by now. That was the one thing that helped him understand this virtual ghost. She wanted an education; she wanted a degree. With that, he convinced the dean to give her a full ride and a degree for joining his team full-time for a year. He had something she wanted, and she had something he needed. A dangerous, but necessary proposition.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. His face fell in the dim light of the screen as he read a text from Dean Cruz.
“We need to continue our conversation. Be at my office at 2pm tomorrow. We must discuss expectations for the remainder of the year.”
Zach tossed his phone into the pile of sheets wadded up in the corner of bed. The dean was never satisfied with the bits of data he had been giving her to keep the dollars flowing into the lab. He needed to give her something tangible—and fast. Zach stared again at Lindsey’s digital file. Could she be the key? He wished he could reach into the screen and shake it like a real folder, hoping a new piece of paper would fly out, revealing the answer.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Maybe his brother was right. It was Friday night and he could sit in the lab driving himself crazy, or go have a drink. After all, he would meet his new student Monday and that’s when the real work would begin.
Chapter 5: Lindsey
The tips of a buzzing neon light glowed from a sunken stairwell across from Lindsey’s apartment. She stood on her tippy-toes and peered into the darkness, where she could just make out the top of a sign that read ‘cold beer.’ She dropped back to the concrete and stood for a moment before turning around. She craned her neck and looked up to the third floor of her new building where her living room window remained dark and silent. Quiet up there, she thought. She bit her lip and swung the high-heels that dangled from her fingertips as she considered her options. New life, she reminded herself, and walked toward the sign.
She clutched an iron rail as she made her way down a crumbling concrete staircase into the sunken entrance to the bar. As she opened the door, the smell of rotted wood and years of stale cigarette smoke engulfed her. The light from the street cast her shadow far across the boards that lined the floor.
A bartender looked her way. “Coming or going?” he asked.
Lindsey took a step in and let the old door swing shut behind her, cutting off the last of the outside air.
“Coming, I guess.”
Lindsey’s eyes adjusted and swept the room. A puffy, older lady sat in the corner, stirring an empty glass with a single, plastic straw. Across from her, a man slept, his head buried in his arms. The bartender slid slowly off his chair and limped over to the bar-top, rag in hand. This is not what Lindsey imagined when she mustered the courage to come inside.
“What are you having?” asked the bartender, his crooked nose hanging loosely above an equally crooked smirk.
Lindsey looked at the rows of bottles stacked on the wall behind him. Her eyes landed on a warped 1970's poster for Tequila Sunrise. An amber, ice-filled glass was nestled against silky, golden grains of sand. Suddenly, she felt a million miles from her childhood home in Worcester and the hideous President’s Tea. “Tequila,” she said. “Sunrise.”
The bartender shrugged as if he didn’t approve, but turned away and filled a glass with ice. As he did, Lindsey placed her heels on the floor beneath a bar stool and hopped up onto its flattened, peeling leather. At least I don’t have to go home and look at all of those boxes, she thought.
The bartender frisbeed a twisted cardboard coaster onto the bar and placed her drink on top of it, which stopped it from spinning. She pulled the drink toward her. Nestled in the shards of ice floated one booze soaked cherry. She picked it up by the stem and placed it on the bar. It rolled drunkenly to its side and stopped there. That sounds good, she thought. Join You? Don’t mind if I do. She downed the drink and signaled to the bartender for another. As the next drink came, she settled back into her chair. This was her life, she thought. Not young enough for College, not old enough to make friends with the drunk in the corner.
Lindsey thought about tomorrow and the task of unloading all of her boxes. The only thing she had managed to unpack was her computer equipment; she couldn’t keep her babies stifled inside a stuffy cardboard box. As for the rest, she didn’t know where to begin. She had lived in her mom’s basement for so long she had never thought about how to organize a new place. I’ll think about that tomorrow, she thought as the drinks and cherries piled up. Tonight, I’m in a new place, and I’m going to celebrate, she told herself as she arranged her new collection of cherries into a smiley face, the mouth stuck together with toothpicks. The face smiled back at her awkwardly, its crooked mouth mocking her. Party of one! She smiled to herself. Will nothing ever change?
A rush of air sucked out of the room as the door opened behind her. The bartender slid off his chair and began to pour Jameson into a glass with two cubes of ice. He nodded at the newcomer. “Long time,” he said as he placed the glass two seats down from Lindsey.
In the reflection of the bar mirrors, she glimpsed the tall silhouette of the man. As he strode forward, she could make out a stoic expression and broad shoulders highlighted by the tailoring of a dark jacket. Lindsey shifted and heard the leather beneath her crackle. Her eyes stayed fixed on the bar as the man removed his jacket and slid onto his chair. Lindsey sipped the last, watery liquid from her glass and set it back on the bar, the melting ice cubes falling into the bottom with a clink. A moment passed, then, without turning toward her, the man spoke.
“Bad shoes?” he asked.
Lindsey looked down at her dangling, bare feet. “Nah,” she answered, laughing. “The shoes are fine. It’s my feet. They just don’t fit right.”
She watched as a smile spread across his fa
ce in the distorted reflection of the bar mirror. He didn’t respond, so she kept talking.
“I walked a long way today,” she continued, “just to get nowhere.”
“I can relate,” he said, his eyes raising slowly to meet hers over the bottles of booze.
Even through the faded, milky glass, she felt a tremor run through her. She forced herself to swallow. “You can?” she asked. “Well that makes us friends then!”
“I guess it does,” he replied, turning his chair toward her.
Lindsey swiveled and met his gaze across an empty bar stool. She was startled by the intensity of his eyes, incongruous with the sun-kissed skin and hair that surrounded them, but deep within the blue, she saw a kindness she hadn’t expected. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something impulsive, something intimate. He gripped the side of the bar with a large, tanned hand and spoke without his eyes leaving hers. She felt her mouth water but willed her face to remain still.
“What’s she drinking?” he asked the bartender.
“Tequila,” the bartender said.
“That sounds about right,” the man said. “Two, Rick.”
The bartender lumbered over and tossed a soiled bar towel across his shoulder. “Straight, or with wheels?”
Lindsey felt her brow tighten in confusion.
“Wheels,” answered the man. “Thanks.”
The bartender slapped two shot glasses on the bar and filled them with a dark, amber liquid. Beside the glasses, he placed a cocktail napkin with two limes.
Lindsey watched the man as he reached for his tequila, his arms straining the fabric of his button-down shirt. She picked up her own shot in one hand and the lime in the other, then tipped the glass to her lips in an effort not to stare. She was just about to lick the salt from the rim of her glass when the man spoke again.
“We’re doing it wrong,” he whispered.
“What’s that?” She turned her face back toward his.
Two perfect dimples formed on either side of his lips as he spoke. “Aren’t friends supposed to sit together?”
Lindsey swallowed. Holy hottness. She remembered Kate’s advice, and of all the things she’d never done, like have shots with a handsome stranger. Her hand landed with a slap on the bar stool to her right. She rubbed the leather in a slow circle. “It’s all yours, friend.”
The man slid his shot down the bar and moved closer. As he sat, Lindsey felt the air surrounding her ignite. She felt the need to fan herself, but raised the shot to her lips instead, hoping the warm brown liquid would soothe her. She downed the tequila and cooled her lips with a bite of lime.
“No lime and salt for you?” muttered Lindsey, turning her eyes up toward the smooth skin of his face.
“I’m not a training wheels kind of a guy,” he answered, his eyes dropping to hers.
“And I am? What gave me away?”
“Your other friend,” he answered, pointing down at her cherry smiley-face. “You’d better hide the evidence, though, or Rick will stop serving you.”
“Oops,” Lindsey answered, looking down. “Good point.” She began to disassemble the cherries, then stopped. “But how can I get rid of this guy?” she asked. “We’ve been through so much together…”
“I’ll keep you company,” said Zach, “if you want…”
Lindsey felt her pulse quicken. “Oh,” she gulped, “I do.”
“What’s your name?” he asked, looking intently into her eyes.
Lindsey uncrossed then re-crossed her legs, remembering what Kate said about reinventing herself. Now was as good a time as any. “My name?” Lindsey responded. “That’s boring.”
“Your name is boring?”
“No, silly, the question is.” She swirled her fingertip across the patterns in the bar. “Besides, I’m a secret agent, don’t tell anyone.”
“I see. Well then, don’t hurt me, Agent.”
Lindsey took a breath of the warm air surrounding them. “There are several things I can think of doing to you, friend,” she said, trailing her finger up along his hand to his forearm. “Hurting you isn’t one of them.” Her mouth ran dry, stunned at herself. She tried to swallow and groped for what remained of her shot.
The man leaned closer, his hand now grazing the silky material covering her thigh. “Are you trying to seduce me?” he asked.
Lindsey felt her skin catch fire beneath his. “Maybe,” she whispered.
“Because if you are, keep doing it,” he said, leaning in. “I’ve been watching your mouth since we’ve been sitting here, and, well—it’s pretty fucking amazing.”
Lindsey felt herself drift suddenly into the woody, sweet smell of his neck. Maybe this day isn’t a total disaster after all, she told herself as she watched the man throw several bills on the bar and turn toward her. He bent forward, the muscles in his chest and pants straining as he stared unabashed at the pucker of her bottom lip.
Between the rapid beats of her heart she managed to speak. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.
Chapter 6: Zach
The moment Zach opened the door to the bar, he saw the back of her neck, long and pale, and framed perfectly by tiny, brown curls of hair. He stopped mid-step—same door, same bartender, same bar. He wasn’t in the wrong place, he had just never seen a woman like this here before.
As the door shut behind him, the room sank farther into darkness, but her skin still radiated through the chalky neon light. He stared at the alabaster, shining quality of it as he moved past her. The soft cream of her shoulders begged to be removed from the folds of dark blue fabric that draped over them. He clenched his house keys in his fist as he walked past in an effort not to reach out and glide his finger across her.
Maybe his brother was right—he did need to get laid. He had not reacted to the presence of a woman like this in a long, long time.
There was an empty chair just beside her, but he decided not to take it. That would be too obvious. Instead, he slid onto a stool two seats down. He waited for his drink before venturing a sideways glance. She sat alone, her back straight, her two perfect feet curled naked beneath her bar stool. Even her ankles glowed pale and white as if they had been carved out of snowflakes, and as he glanced at her in the reflection of the bar mirror, he saw two huge doll-like eyes staring back at him between the dusty bottles of booze that lined the wall. He looked away and downed his Jameson to steady himself.
What she was doing in his bar, he did not know, but Zach didn’t believe in coincidence. He felt there must be some synchronicity at work, a reason that she landed here on the one night he came in and sat beside her—like some mathematical equation lying just below the surface that made everything feel perfectly right. Or, maybe it was lust. He couldn’t tell. As his mind toppled with possibilities, he ordered another drink.
He glanced again to his left. She looked like a ballerina, her arms and fingers stretched delicately against the aging wood of the bar, her head angled to reveal a perfect soft line of flesh that ran across her clavicle. Her lips were a delicate pink, and he wondered if that was a natural flush or lipstick. He wanted to kiss her and find out. She was a woman, and her presence reminded him there were people out in the world, people he could reach out and touch—if he was lucky.
Then his eyes slid to the bar where she had arranged a row of cocktail cherries into a lopsided face. He let out a small gasp of surprise. She had positioned the shiny red balls so the stems created eyebrows and the mouth curved in a cartoonish, toothy grin. She just wanted a drink and a smile. Well, several drinks and a smile from the looks of it. He found the delight of it more intoxicating than his drink. Then, when she smiled and asked him to sit beside her, he felt his shoulders sink down and long pent up tension slide completely away.
Now, he had her by the hand, pulling her through the warm Boston air and across the street to his building. They darted past an old street lamp to the dark, cool recesses of the historic stone facade just below his stoop. There, he stopped and laced his
fingers through hers and took a breath. She was looking up at him with her big, expectant brown eyes, her lips slightly parted, waiting for what would come next. He steadied himself through the increasingly rapid beats of his heart, wanting to savor every moment he had with this unexpected woman.
He looked at her for a long, delicious moment before slowly pulling her arms up around his neck. He bent his head toward hers, and leaned her gently against the wall, touching just the edge of his lips to hers. As he did, he felt her mouth open and her tongue brush against his. Such a shock of pleasure went through him that he felt himself sway slightly. Blood rushed through his limbs and groin and he steadied himself by pressing against her. He lowered his lips and layered soft kisses from just below her ear down toward her breast, feeling her pulse quicken beneath the surface of her skin.
The fine bones of her hands moved against the muscles of his lower back, urging him even closer. The small mounds of her breasts pushed up against him, his groin swelling thick and hard against her belly. He felt her writhe, heat and moisture pressing into his leg.
Zach took a breath and squeezed her hand. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said in her ear. She leaned back and nodded quickly, the flush of her skin evident in the light of the full, summer moon.
He took her by the hand and made his way up the front stoop of his building, fumbling with his keys. Beside him, he heard her release a soft giggle.
“What?” he turned and asked.
“Nothing,” she answered, her eyes wide.
The door swung open, and as it did, Zach grabbed her by the hand and pulled her up the stairs. When they reached the second floor, she pulled him by the hand toward the staircase.
Loving Lindsey (An American Dream Love Story Book 2) Page 3
