Lost in Geeklandia

by E. J. Russell

  When he thought about it, this was exactly like her. Using technology to make the world better, even if the world she affected was a small one—one inhabited by only two people at a time.

  And right now? He didn’t give a flying fuck why their relationship had started. But he’d bet his last dollar, hell, he’d bet his Mustang, that their connection was real, and he’d be damned if he let it end, no matter what she’d done.

  Christ, he had to fix this. AGS had a major stick up its corporate ass about maintaining its Mother Teresa image. If his pirated article made them reject her…

  Daniel’s stomach clenched like a fist. His career was finally back on track, thanks to Nelson’s underhanded move. Isn’t that what he’d wanted ever since Argonne? What was that career worth? Was it worth the woman he’d loved for over half his life? Was it worth Charlie?

  To hell with it. For her, he’d jettison the whole damn thing. He’d made a living as a grease monkey before. He could do it again, if it meant he got to keep her.

  He signed in to the journal’s secure publication environment, blessing the tedious hours spent in the innards of HTW’s electronic file system. He probably knew the ins and outs of their creaky old network better than Nelson did. When he found the page with the Cyber Pimp story, he replaced it with his second one, then deleted all the copies of the evil version from the published site and from his desktop.

  The internet being what it was, chances where high that the remains of the that first hideous article would lurk in the ether forever, but he’d done what he could. He shoved his few belongings into his briefcase. Before he left his cubicle, he started a full reformat of the hard drive of his desktop computer, just to be sure.

  Now all he had to do was find a way to reformat his personal life.

  …

  Charlie had been staring at her laptop, disbelieving, for half an hour when Gideon sailed through the apartment door and parked himself in the middle of the rug, hands on his hips. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be wowing the pants off AGS with your awesome data fu?”

  “Yup.”

  “So what happened? Did those fools fail to offer you a job?”

  She leaned back against the sofa cushions and sighed. “I think they were about to until I outed myself as the Cyber Pimp of Portland. Hilarity ensued.”

  He dropped his hands, instantly morphing into her supportive GBFF. “Darling, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not. They were a bunch of jerks.” Besides, how could she have taken the job if she’d gotten it at the cost of hurting Daniel? “Want to see something really scary?” She spun her laptop to face him. “Look at my inbox. A hundred and seventy-two job offers.”

  Gideon leaned over and peered at the screen. “Make that a hundred and seventy-seven. No. One eighty-three.” He shielded his eyes with his hand. “No more. The strobe effect is giving me a headache.”

  “They’re all offers for data scientist positions.”

  “Why not? That’s what you are.”

  Charlie snorted. “Right.”

  He clambered over the coffee table and plopped onto the sofa next to her. “Listen, all the big companies are moaning because comp sci programs haven’t turned out graduates with the comprehensive qualifications they need for Big Data. The skill set you built by accident because you were overpreparing for this job. Engineering. Statistics. Psychology. Five different programming languages. All you lacked were people skills, and the Love Program is jacking you into those, whether you want to admit it or not. Face it, Charles. You’re it. A data scientist.”

  She rolled her head on the cushions to look at him. “Sounds like another name for über-geek to me.”

  “Maybe, but a very well-compensated über-geek. Word is, if you’ve got the mojo to make it as a data scientist, move to New York and add a zero to your salary.”

  “Mmm-hmmm.” Charlie scrolled through her magical burgeoning inbox, chest hollow and fingers chilly on her mouse.

  Gideon patted her between the shoulder blades. “What’s wrong, Charles? You’re wearing your somebody-shot-my-dog face.”

  “It’s…I don’t know. Anti-climactic, I guess. I’ve focused on working for AGS almost my entire life. If I let it go, if I say I was wrong, then most of my life will have been wasted.” Her eyes stung and her chest tightened. But not as wasted as all the years I spent hating Daniel.

  “Nonsense. Everyone changes. Now take me.”

  “I knew we’d get to you eventually.”

  He pointed at her in mock severity. “Don’t interrupt. I’m making a point. In college, I had this pair of paisley jeans that I absolutely looooved. Doesn’t mean I’d be caught dead in them today.”

  She was surprised into a smile. “I remember those. You shouldn’t have been caught dead in them then.”

  He ignored her. “You’ve been following the wrong path for years. The life equivalent of that crappy map program on my iPhone that told me that in order to get from Beaverton to the downtown Amtrak station, I had to go through Toronto.”

  “Maybe.”

  He peered at her over his glasses. “Still with the frown.”

  “It’s not only my career.” In the aftermath of the AGS emotional roller coaster, the gaping Daniel-shaped hole in her heart had grown even larger, until it threatened to swallow her up. “I feel like most of my life has been based on faulty code and the system finally crashed.”

  “Let me guess. You’re talking about He-Man, right?”

  She nodded, picking at the frayed seam of her jeans. “AGS isn’t the only thing I changed my mind about.”

  “So what’s stopping you? Go get him.”

  She swallowed against the now-familiar ache in her throat. “It’s too late. He’s never going to forgive me. Did you see this?” She typed in the HTW website and plunked her laptop onto Gideon’s knees so she didn’t have to see that awful headline again.

  “‘Data Mining Your Heart’s Desire.’”

  She shot upright. “What?”

  “That’s the headline. Take a look.” He handed the computer back to her.

  She stared at the headline, its font a soothing dark blue. “This isn’t the same article. I know. I pulled it up at the interview.” She read through it with Gideon peering over her shoulder, tripping over words like hope and connection and commitment, until she got to the last line.

  It worked for me.

  “Call me crazy,” Gideon drawled, “but that doesn’t sound like a man who’s holding a grudge.”

  “But—”

  “Look, whoever told you relationships were easy was blowing smoke out his ass. Feelings? God. Nothing’s worse because you can’t reason them away. They defy logic.”

  “So how do you handle them?” Charlie asked in a byte-sized voice.

  He patted her hand. “You have to face them, darling. Face them and deal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Geekronym: WYSIWYG

  Translation: What you see is what you get

  Definition: A software program characteristic; the content displayed onscreen during editing closely corresponds to the appearance of the final product.

  Daniel pulled up in front of Charlie’s house, his hands damp with sweat on the Mustang’s steering wheel. Christ, he’d never wished more for a TARDIS or a time warp than he did at this moment. Even if his byline hadn’t been attached to that first story, she’d have recognized the content as his. The damn thing held every accusation he’d thrown at her before he’d walked out on her Sunday morning.

  Yet she’d apologized to him. In a public forum, no less. What had that cost her?

  He had to make her believe he’d never intended to publish it, never intended to hurt her again. She was going to listen or…

  Or what? It’s not like she didn’t have friends, or options, or other people who mig
ht be interested in her—damn Philip anyway.

  He took the porch steps two at a time and hit the doorbell, pacing back and forth in front of the door. When there was no immediate answer, he rang again, a triple buzz.

  “Yes?”

  A guy’s voice. Daniel felt a momentary surge of possessive assholishness before he recognized it. “Gideon?”

  “C’est moi.”

  “It’s Daniel. Is Charlie there?”

  “She is. Do you want to make something out of it?” His words were confrontational, but his tone was a suggestive purr. Daniel grinned. An ally. Excellent.

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  The door buzzed open, and Daniel bounded up the stairs. Gideon met him at the top, holding the apartment door open.

  “I find I have the most pressing need for something or other. First door on the left. Do make yourself at home. Ta.” He trotted down the stairs.

  After slipping inside the apartment, Daniel walked down the dim hallway and stood in Charlie’s bedroom door. She sat at her computer desk, a half dozen monitors facing her, all displaying the HTW website.

  “Charlie?” He kept his voice low, not wanting to startle her, but she didn’t even twitch, as if she’d expected him to show up. Well, why wouldn’t she? She had his data number. She’d probably be able to predict his actions better than he could. That ought to bother him. Instead, it fired the same engines that the trivia games had.

  A challenge. He was so on board with that.

  “I saw the stories, Daniel. Both of them.”

  “I didn’t file them.” He entered the room. “Well, not the first one anyway. Nelson poached it off my computer.

  She slanted a wry glance at him. “The second one was…lovely. But the first one was probably more accurate.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You don’t understand. I didn’t update your data.”

  “That’s hardly a crime.”

  “You thought so on Sunday.”

  “I overreacted. It’s not the first time. Probably won’t be the last.”

  She faced him, grim and earnest. “When I made myself a Stage Two, the program picked you because, according to that data, you were a Stage Two as well. You shouldn’t have wanted anything more than a time-limited relationship.”

  “No-strings sex?” He moved toward her as if he were stalking a half-tamed bird.

  “Well, a few strings, but the point of Stage Two is that you’re not ready for full commitment. You’re still experimenting, trying out the feel of long-term.”

  “And?”

  “I ran your data again and you’re not a Two, you’re a Three. You’re practically a Four. Daniel, I—”

  He took the extra two strides to reach her and grabbed her hand, shushing her with a finger across her lips. “Stop beating yourself up, Charlie. Did you ever think that maybe I evolved to a higher plane because of you?”

  “What?”

  He threaded his fingers through her hair and cupped the back of her neck, her curls tickling his hand. “Before we met again, before I got to know you again, I wasn’t ready for anything close to Stage Two. I think I was probably off the relationship continuum entirely. In the last two weeks, my social behavior has changed, both online and off. I recognized it when I was writing that story.”

  “You mean—”

  Daniel nodded. “Yep. You would’ve probably gotten the same result or one that made me look like even more of a loser—”

  She straightened up, annoyance replacing remorse in her posture and on her face. “Stage Twos aren’t losers! They’re just at a different point in the emotional development spectrum.”

  He raised one eyebrow and shook his head. “Losers.”

  She mock-scowled at him but didn’t pull away. “Only a Stage Four would say that.”

  “So you’ve got good data now. Did you run the match query again?”

  She shook her head. “No. I just re-ran your profile.”

  He clucked his tongue. “What are you afraid of? Come on. Do it.” She shook her head again and he kissed her forehead and then, softly, her lips. He gave a mental fist pump when she didn’t pull away. “Just try it. Trust yourself. Trust me.”

  …

  Charlie was helpless to resist when Daniel turned her chair to face her monitors and stood behind her. The warmth of his body radiated against her back, and her hair brushed his shirt when she turned her head. She shivered and he put his hands on her shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze.

  “Breathe, sweetheart.”

  Right. Breathe. She took a huge breath, blew it out, and opened the Love Program code window. Her ID was still in the selection box. She clicked the Match button and before she could blink, the single result winked at her from the screen.

  Daniel Shawn. Probability index: 93%

  He chuckled. “Can’t argue with data. You’re stuck with me.”

  She snatched her hands off the keyboard and tucked them under her arms. “It must be a bug.”

  He spun the chair so she faced him and propped his hands on its arms, bracketing her with his body. She ought to feel trapped. She didn’t. She felt safe.

  “It’s been right for everyone else. Why can’t it be right for you?”

  “I—”

  “You’re entitled to happiness. You don’t have to be a Vulcan. Or an android.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I’m not an android. That’s Toshiko’s gig.”

  “Whatever. You’re allowed to benefit from your own brilliance. Best way to prove it works.”

  “I don’t need to prove it. I shut it down last week.”

  “Why? Why not keep it going? Did you see the comments on the second story? Hundreds of men wanting in on the deal, and that was only in the first hour. Keep it going, but as a subscription service for both genders, not a stealth operation for girls on the make.”

  She laughed and dared to let a little hope creep in amid the self-doubt. “Gideon is always after me to add a module for gay men.”

  “See?”

  “It’s a different dynamic.”

  “So? You’re up for it. You’ve got all the degrees to make it work.”

  She shook her head, unconvinced. For only the second time in her life, she didn’t believe the data. She started to pull away, but he stopped her.

  “I see the calculations running behind those eyes. Come on. Try it. Try it with me.”

  Charlie swallowed. Emotional evolution. Could he be right? But even if he was, had she changed enough to be his true match? She pressed her hands to her stomach. Lord, what if she hadn’t? Could this be the moment when she proved beyond a doubt that she was destined to wander the techno-wilderness of Geeklandia alone forever?

  Daniel swiveled her chair to face her laptop. “Go ahead. Do it.”

  She started to type, Daniel’s breath warm on her shoulder. He lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck.

  “Daniel,” she said between clenched teeth, “it’s really hard to concentrate when you do that.”

  He shifted the straps of her tank top and bra and kissed his way from her ear all the way across her shoulder. “Go on. Keep typing. And remind me to tell you later why hard in this context is a little too descriptive.”

  Charlie’s fingers faltered and she typed “dick” instead of “disk.” He trailed one finger along the neckline where it gaped after he’d moved her bra strap. The rumble in his chest vibrated against her back.

  “Christ. This is so goddamned hot. Later on, could you program for me naked?”

  Her fingers slipped off the keys again. “Daniel. I’ll never finish at this rate.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “You sound like a Stage One,” she grumbled. “It would serve you right if it matched you with Gideon.”
>
  “I’m not worried. Just run the data, Charlie. I have other plans for the afternoon.”

  In spite of Daniel’s continued sensual incursions, Charlie managed to write the query. She hesitated over the execute button, and not just because Daniel’s open mouth on the curve of her shoulder was making her toes and fingers curl.

  “Stop stalling,” he murmured against her skin.

  “This will probably take a while. I’ve never run this query before so the optimizer—”

  “As sexy as the geek talk is, you’re still stalling. I don’t think it’ll take any time at all. In fact, I’ll bet on it.”

  “You’re making me bet against my own data? Look how well that worked out last time.”

  “From my perspective,” he said, nuzzling behind her ear, “it worked out superlatively.”

  She swiveled to face him and he took the opportunity to kiss her, heat and promise and passion in the press of his lips, the stroke of his tongue.

  He pulled back. “Okay?”

  She blinked at him and attempted to reboot her brain. “What?”

  “Push. The. Button.”

  She reached for the mouse with a shaky hand, but before she could click it, he grasped her wrist.

  “Stop.”

  “But you said—”

  “I don’t need to see it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Answer me this.” He pulled her forward until her knees straddled his waist. “If the program had returned a different result, some name other than mine, would you have walked away?”

  She studied his face, serious and familiar and so very, very dear. She shook her head and laced her hands behind his neck. No more hiding. “I won’t let faults—yours or mine—blind me to my own partiality.”

  “And that means?”

  “It means…it means…” Lord, she didn’t believe she was about to say this. “Love trumps data.”

  A smile bloomed on his face, activating his dimples, dazzling her. “So?”

  “So no. I…I love you. Too much. I could never walk away.”

  He leaned forward until his lips brushed hers. “And that, love, is why data’s unnecessary.” This time, his kiss could have melted the keyboard as well as scrambled her synapses. “Because neither could I.”