He should have been paying attention to the meeting going on around him. The low hum of voices was easily tuned out though, especially when his thoughts were so loud.
She’d told him not to take the job.
What did that mean?
He was a hacker. Even if he was “retired,” his major worth resided in the fact that he could either get people into a network or keep people out. Take that away and what was he?
“Mr. Lawrence? Mr. Lawrence?”
Seth looked up. He might not get this account. He hadn’t been listening to a word they’d said. They valued him because he could help them. Outside of that, he had no worth to them at all. They didn’t care that his parents had disowned him after the scandal. They wouldn’t jump up and down when he won at blackjack. They sure as hell wouldn’t stay up late watching TV with him just to be near him. What the hell was he even doing here? If he knew Aubrey, she’d already packed up and left for the airport. He’d practically taunted her to do it.
“Mr. Lawrence?” Okay, so maybe this client would be a little concerned when Seth stared off into space for five minutes and was unresponsive. Seth still wasn’t going to be here with them when he should be chasing down the woman he was crazy about.
Rising to his feet, Seth held out his hand to the man leading the negotiations. “I’m really sorry. I can’t stay here. I can’t be here. This woman, who is quite possibly the most perfect woman in the world, is going to get on a plane and leave because I was a total ass.”
The older man broke out in a grin and shook his hand. “Well, you’re honest. I’ll give you that. I’ll call to reschedule, I suppose.”
“Thank you.” He nodded to the others in the room. “Now, I’m going to run out of here like a mad man. I’m sorry you had to see this.”
The group’s laughter followed him out the door.
Sitting in the lobby, she kicked her feet back and forth. Leave. Stay. Leave. Stay.
If she left, she’d be turning her back on a relationship that could be really amazing because Seth’s insecurities had made him do something stupid.
On the other hand, he’d gotten into her laptop and rooted around her stuff.
It was sort of sweet that he’d wanted to spend more time with her… even if she was still convinced it was some sort of weird test to make sure she wasn’t like his teenage girlfriend.
Pulling out her phone, she looked him up on the tracking app. He’d put it on there, not her, so, it was okay to see what he was doing. If only it could tell her what he was feeling too.
Frowning, she watched his dot. He wasn’t in his meeting at the convention center. He was moving toward her. Weird.
A moment later, one super-hot, semi-retired hacker ran through the lobby toward the elevators.
“Seth!” She got to her feet.
He spun around and his gaze scanned, looking for her. The look of relief on his face when he saw her… Whoa. He’d been worried she’d left.
Seth moved impossibly fast to her side and cupped her face in his hands. “I am so, so sorry, Aubrey. I was insane. I don’t know why I did it.” He shook his head. “I just… it seemed too good—you’re too good. I had this bizarre impulse to rock the boat I guess.” He pressed a kiss on her mouth, firm and almost desperate. “Please don’t leave because of this. Leave because it won’t work out. Leave because you can’t see yourself with someone like me. But don’t leave because I did something incredibly asinine.”
He took her breath. Stole it. Her mouth was dry and her heart was in her throat. “What if I can?”
“If you can leave?”
“No, what if I can see myself with someone like you?”
Seth exhaled shakily. “Then, you should stay. We’ll go on another gondola ride. Hell, we can even take Mal this time. We’ll make plans for when we get home. If you don’t want to go home, we can both call in sick for the week and stay here. We’ve been wasting one of our rooms. Just think how much money we’ll save if we share a room. We could play Starcraft II for hours and ring up a huge room service bill. We haven’t even tried any of the pools.”
It sounded amazing. But… “How do you feel?”
He laughed unsteadily. “Like I’m about to have a heart attack. I ran the whole way. I can’t believe you’re still here.”
Aubrey shook her head and grabbed his hands at his wrists. He was still cradling her face. “No, Seth, how do you feel about me? Do you think this could work? I mean, for a while, for longer than a week?” Was what happened in Vegas about to stay in Vegas?
He squinted, smiling. “Are you kidding? I’m crazy about you. You’re the magic I’ve been missing in my life for a long time. You make me like who I am again. You were never a game.” He laughed. “You’re Zelda. You’re the reason for playing the game.”
She grinned. She couldn’t believe this. It was crazy. Things like this didn’t happen to geeky Aubrey Lowen. “I… I…” Her eyes widened. “I have to tell you something.”
Dropping his hands, he stilled and his eyes searched hers. “What?”
“I’m with the FBI. I’m a consultant with the FBI.”
Frowning, Seth tilted his head. “The FBI wants me to hack into someplace?”
She nodded.
“Why on earth would they send you to convince me to do it?”
She jerked and blinked back the tears swimming in her eyes. Ouch. It was what she’d been thinking all along, but it stung, it burned. Ow.
Seth’s eyes widened. “No! Aubrey, no. Hell, I can’t manage to open my mouth without sticking my foot in. No, I meant that they could have had Carter ask me. There wasn’t any reason for all this cloak and dagger stuff or to get you involved. He could have asked me. You know him, right? From where you live, I’d guess you work in the same place.”
Swallowing, she nodded. “Wait, you know my boss, Agent Wilson?”
“Yeah, we play pick-up games sometimes. He was my handler when I started helping the FBI in order to get a reduced sentence, and he spoke on my behalf about getting it shortened to four years. We’ve been friends ever since.”
“But…” She shook her head. “I just…” She kept shaking her head. Why was she here? This made no sense.
“Ohhhh.” Seth snorted. “That wily old bastard. You’re the cute tech he says is my type. He’s been trying to talk me into asking you out for about six months. I kept putting him off.”
Her mouth fell open. They’d been set-up. They’d been set-up! Her own boss had done this!
What?
That was just…
What?
But it made sense.
If her boss was a controlling and intrusive… Grr. “How wrong is it to hire a hit man to murder your FBI boss? Under the circumstances, do you think maybe I’d just get probation?” This was unbelievable. It was insane.
“Well, I’d say you could probably send him to jail for misappropriation of government funds but I bet he paid for all of this out of his own money. He really likes to prove he’s right.”
“But he knows that I don’t date.”
“Yeah? Just like he knew that I wouldn’t let him set me up.”
“He still set you up,” she pointed out. It had to be said.
He grinned. “And apparently he got you on a date.” Seth tilted his head. “Technically, probably a few dates.”
“I don’t know what we do now. I’m horribly embarrassed.” She shook her head again. “I’d even mentioned you before, and he never said a word about knowing you.”
“You mentioned me?”
She groaned. It must’ve been hilarious. Carter knew she had a bit of a crush on Savage Lynx.
“What did you say?”
She stepped back and threw her hands in the air. “Nothing. Never mind. I hate all men. You’re all jerks who should be shoved in a hole and set on fire.”
His lips twitched as he fought a smile. Reaching out, he grabbed her hand, twining their fingers together. “Fair enough. How do you feel about me?” For
all his bravado, there was a hint of concern in his eyes.
“I think I might be falling in love with you.”
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Can you forgive me for trying to hack out a little more time with you?” His mouth on her skin sent butterflies fluttering through her heart.
She opened her mouth.
“I’ll still give you the model of Serenity,” he said, not allowing her to speak.
A smile spread across her lips. “Where do you keep it?”
He raised his eyebrows. “In my bedroom.”
She closed the distance between them and rose on the balls of her feet to kiss him. “Then, it can stay right there.”
Wendy’s first forays into fiction earned her time-outs, punishment, and “how many times have I told you the Boy Who Cried Wolf story?” But, she persevered. She’s stubborn like that. Now, all her stories have a happily ever after and the lies are sexier and more elaborate. Sometimes, they even contain wolves. (Ha, mom! So there!) She’s active in OCD and autism communities and writes on her blog to support awareness in both. If she’s not writing or wrangling kids, she’s on Twitter, @WendySparrow, where she’ll chat with anyone about anything.
Issues
Jeremiah Murphy
Counter-Axis’s real name was Helen Bingham, a USO showgirl who’d been kidnapped and experimented upon by the Nazis, until she developed the ability to turn invisible and intangible—but never at the same time. She’d been conceived of in 1942 as a Molly-Pitcher-esque propaganda figure, and her comic books have stayed in semi-regular publication since then.
But what probably fascinated Emma’s friend Ted about Counter-Axis wasn’t the rich history of her character, or how she portrayed the escalation of feminism through the better part of a century, or even the vast wish-fulfillment potential of her powers. Most likely, what caught Ted’s attention was her boob window, and how the cosplayer strutting around the convention floor filled it so generously.
Emma had to admit she too was impressed.
After the crowd swallowed Counter-Axis, Ted returned his attention to his companion. “Sorry. I was saying…?”
“You weren’t saying,” Emma replied. “I was.”
“You were saying?”
“I was saying we should work out a plan of attack in case we get separated.” Once upon a time, someone like Ted would have been easy to find at Superworld Con, even when it was this packed; his tall, fit good looks and complete lack of schwag would have stood out. Hell, even Emma, who liked to think of herself as a functional fanatic, showed up in her favorite snug MortalMan t-shirt, hauling around a stack of comics and large manila envelopes.
The vast number of attendees made this convention kind of a nightmare to navigate, but that was okay with her. Superheroes were cool these days, and Emma couldn’t be more excited that her obsession was now considered normal.
Ted rocked back and forth on his heels and said almost sheepishly, “I was planning on standing in line for the Thunderstruck movie panel.”
She grinned eagerly. “Dude! I didn’t know you read Thunderstruck!”
“I’ll be honest,” he confessed, “I don’t know anything about them. Or comics, really.”
Her grin faded. “Serious?”
“Well, I mean, when I was a kid, sure,” he said, “but we’re in our thirties.”
Damn, that stung, but she pretended it didn’t. She was sure it would utterly break his heart if he knew he’d hurt her, due to the hopeless crush she could tell he had on her—the crush she probably wasn’t supposed to know about. “Then what are you doing here?” she asked. Aside from following me around like a cute little puppy, of course.
He frowned. “The Thunderstruck panel, remember?”
“But you just said—”
“The director is Paul Ferguson,” he told her, “who is one of the best independent directors, like, ever. I can’t wait to see what he does with the material.”
“Ah,” she sighed. “I’ll guess I’ll walk with you, then.”
After forcing their way through knots of onlookers, hardcore fans, and adults playing dress-up, they arrived at a queue. “I think this is the wrong line,” Ted remarked “The panel is around the corner.”
“It’s around the corner from that, actually,” she said.
“No!” he gasped with wide eyes.
Emma snorted. “Virgin.”
“Are you looking for the Thunderstruck line?” offered the middle-aged boy in front of her whose gaze was locked firmly on her torso.
“Yeah,” Ted replied. “Where is it?”
“You’re in it,” said the helpful man-child, his arms wide and welcoming.
Ted took in the sheer number of people camped out in front of him and whined, “But it doesn’t start for two and a half hours!”
Emma patted him on the shoulder. “Have fun, dude.” She didn’t blink when a teenager ricocheted off of her, struck Ted, and continued down the hall without an apology.
“Where are you going?” Ted asked, glaring after the kid.
“Getting autographs, dropping off some portfolios, digging through some back issues,” she told him. “You know—convention stuff.”
“Don’t go!” Ted begged.
Grinning almost sadistically, she left him behind and strolled over to Artist’s Alley, where she could get most of the autographs she wanted. Halfway there, she caught the scent of stale cigarette smoke, coffee, and a hint of scotch, all blended together in just the right proportions. Visions of bare flesh in dark rooms assaulted her, along with the itch of five o’clock shadow on her inner thigh, the taste of sweat, and the sound of her own moans.
“Not him,” she whispered. “Not here.”
But sure enough, her panic-sharpened senses picked up a voice that could have been his, saying, “Do you dress up like that a lot, or is this a special occasion?”
“I’m a cosplay girl,” came a woman’s response. “I do this all the time.”
“Would you be my friend?” the voice asked.
What a creep, Emma thought. It totally has to be him.
“I don’t know,” the woman replied, “I already have a lot of friends.”
Is she blowing him off, or flirting back?
“You haven’t heard about my benefits package.”
Did he really just say that?
“Tell me more.”
Holy shit! Was she into this?
“Hi,” the voice told her, “I’m Max.”
Fuck, it was him.
Emma fled the immediate area.
Forty-five minutes later, Emma felt like she’d chugged a half a bottle of tequila and taken a solid punch to the stomach. To be fair, she’d brought it on herself.
The con, as usual, was a blast, but she had a more serious reason to be here—this was where the big publishers held their open calls for talent.
Every year, she brought them her very best samples, and every year, they shot her down. They had their reasons: Her perspective was off. Her layouts weren’t dynamic. Her faces weren’t expressive enough. This time she needed to work on her anatomy. Every year she’d learn from her mistakes and return, over and over, because she’d moved to New York to be a comic book artist, and she didn’t know what else she was supposed to do. And every year, she’d find a corner far away from the crowds, have a little tiny cry, dump the envelopes with the photocopies of her portfolios in the trash, and seek out the fun part of the convention.
That’s when the voice found her again. This time it was right over her shoulder, announcing, “Redheads: my only weakness.”
He was talking to her. Fuck.
With all the enthusiasm of an immoral teen in a horror movie realizing the slasher was behind her, she turned to face her doom.
His face fell. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”
Her brain examined him closely to make sure he really was her neighbor—her nemesis. There was that zero-fucks-given posture and wicked smirk. There was that black t
ie he wore everyday as if it were part of a uniform. There was that untucked dress shirt she could whip over his head or unbutton torturously slow. There were those khakis he never wore a belt with that she could drop to his ankles with minimal effort. There were those cowboy boots that came right off. And there was that lean torso and limbs and more she could have her way with—or could have their way with her.
She suddenly remembered where she was. How long had she been standing there, her knees losing strength, her mouth drying, her heart twisting, her fingers going so numb that they could no longer hold onto her comics… and fuck. There they go.
At the very least, rescuing them from the floor gave her a chance to get off her feet for a few moments and regain her motor skills. Luckily the comics were bagged and boarded, or this could have been a real tragedy.
It didn’t help when he joined her to assist. He was crouched so damned close, she could massage his cock without even having to reach. She could shove him to the floor and straddle him before—
Goddammit! Why was her brain doing this to her? Sure they’d fucked before—spectacularly—but that was an accident. Okay, the second and third time were by accident; the first time was on purpose, but it was supposed to be a one-off thing. Okay, so they did it twice during that one-off. But still, that was supposed to be it for them. Not counting the other two times, of course.
Goddammit! Why was she letting him ruin this for her? It was bad enough they shared an apartment building and a fire escape, but did they have to share a fucking hobby too?
“What the hell are you doing here?” Max asked.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Emma asked back.
He swayed just a little but didn’t fall over. There came the thoughts of straddling him again. Goddammit!
“I asked you first, Em.”
“My name’s not Em,” she reminded him. “I’m here because I’m a comic fan. Now your turn.”
“You’re a comic book fan?” he snorted. “I thought you were a grownup.”
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