Love at the Electric

by Hughes, Jenn

  Lillian jerked open the diner’s chrome-covered door. The moment she stepped into the warmth of the classic fifties restaurant, she felt blue eyes on her body. A tiny smile crept across her lips. She let him wait, pretending not to know exactly where he sat, and tugged lazily on her scarf. Something about his stare made her feel oddly less insecure. To drag out the moment, she scanned the wrong side of the room.

  “Hey! Lillian! Over here,” Sam called out from his booth while waving his hand.

  Slow turn in his direction. Fake, slight surprise at finally finding him. Soft smile. Not too big as to seem excited. Lillian walked over to join him, dodging busy waiters and waitresses carrying loaded trays of food. Her smile grew wider every step of the way.

  “In the Still of the Night” played on the glowing jukebox in the corner, and everything else sort of fell away. The other patrons disappeared. So did the diner. Only bottomless pools of cobalt blue remained . . .

  Until Lillian bumped into the edge of the table, jarring silverware and glasses of water. She tried to take her seat opposite Sam, but when she slid into the booth she kind of . . . fell into it. Like a big mackerel flopping onto a dock. She quickly pulled herself upright and then scooted across the red vinyl seat.

  I’m living in this booth now. I’ll never get up again. No problem.

  Her face and neck burned like she’d been doused with scalding water. She averted her eyes and wriggled out of her coat. When she finally mustered the courage to look up, Sam’s grin left her with third-degree shame burns.

  “Worn out?” he asked, one dark eyebrow raised above the rim of his glasses.

  “Oh, no. Fine. Everything’s fine.”

  She played it cool . . . ish. Hard to appear cool when klutzing in front of a dreamboat. And she refused to give Sam a hint of how damn good it felt just to sit across from him in that demon booth.

  “Great. Have you been here before?”

  “No. First time.”

  “Well, I’m glad you made it. I’ve really been looking . . .” He trailed off, eyes wide. “At the menu. They make great shakes here.”

  Lillian grabbed a menu from behind the salt and pepper shakers, then flipped through lazily. “Mmmm, a chocolate truffle shake. I have to try that.” She glanced at Sam. He stared down at his own menu, thick dark lashes fluttering behind his lenses. “You look different with glasses.”

  His gaze snapped up. “Oh, yeah. Long day. I hardly ever wear them.”

  “I like them. They remind me of some of your photos on your LifeLink gallery,” she said, browsing through the shake selection to make sure chocolate truffle had the most votes.

  Of course it does.

  “Wh-What?”

  Lillian looked up again, and caught him staring blankly at her. A confused silence filled the air. Finally, Sam groaned.

  “Cedric. That literal bastard. He sent you everything, didn’t he? All my personal information?” he said in a taut but quiet voice.

  “Um, yes. Home phone, cell phone, email, Galaxy Trek Fan Club membership ID, Gamer’s Trading Post loyalty card number, LifeLink account . . . I thought that was a mistake at first.”

  The profile photo on the account, of a twenty-something Sam with longer wavy hair and soda-bottle glasses, appeared almost nothing like the man sitting in front of Lillian. “Except for your blue eyes and the scar on your chin, you look like a totally different person.”

  His hand went up, fingers tracing the half-moon scar on his stubbled chin before rubbing it roughly. “It’s a private account. Family and friends only.”

  That ticked her off.

  Why? Acquaintances, remember?

  A wrinkle formed between Sam’s eyebrows while he stared down at his hands, his fingertips bouncing nervously against the tabletop. Cool, calm, and collected Sam Owens had been ruffled like the bag of potato chips sitting on her desk at Mythos. Lillian decided to cut him some slack.

  “Don’t worry. I have no intention of telling anyone you have a secret social media account. You have a right to a private life. I wouldn’t even have mentioned it, but you’re just completely different.”

  “You mean I was a complete dork back then. You can say it. It’s okay. I’ve been called every name in the book, and I’m bulletproof now. Dork. Nerd. Loser . . . ” Sam pushed his glasses up on his nose. “So, you know my secret. I’m a video-gaming geek in designer clothing. Preston’s gonna have a field day with that photo.”

  “What makes you think Preston will ever see it?”

  “C’mon, Lillian. You work for the guy. The Mythos company motto is ‘Destroy Origin,’ and my face is on wanted posters over there. I mean, jeez, fifteen years ago he screwed me over, I dropped a truth bomb on him, and he’s the one who can’t get over it. Unbelievable. What’s he offering over there now? A million-dollar bonus for printable dirt on me?”

  “I get that you two have history, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  And then, she watched a gorgeous grown man come to the verge of a complete freak-out. Sam repeatedly shook his head and let out a sequence of heavy sighs and incredulous huffs.

  “What else did you find on there? Oh, God. Did my mom post my kindergarten Halloween photo on there? Listen, there’s nothing wrong with dressing up as your favorite female superhero, okay? I was five . . . I’ve been so freaking careful, and Cedric managed to ruin me in a fraction of a second. Artificial intelligence, my ass. I guess you’ve forwarded them to Preston, and now he’ll have them plastered all over the world. I’ll look like a laughingstock. Shares will plummet . . . ”

  “Okay, I’m trying not to be really offended here—”

  Their clichéd gum-smacking waitress finally arrived to take their order, and saved Sam’s life in the process. Lillian ordered her chocolate truffle shake with a burger and fries. Sam mumbled he’d have the same after apparently giving up on life. The waitress hurried off, and Lillian returned to the problem across the table. A pouting problem with his arms folded across his chest and eyes staring petulantly down at the tabletop.

  “Sam, you’re going completely overboard. I didn’t download or forward your photos, and I’m not going to tell Preston anything but, if I did, what difference does it make? I didn’t see anything wrong with the boy in those childhood photos on your account. He looked happy and sweet and cute.”

  Suddenly, he stretched out his arms and dropped his head onto the table, banging his forehead against it and shaking the silverware. “Oh, God . . . ”

  Lillian reached over and gently smacked him on the head. “You’re ridiculous. It’s an embarrassing old photo. Or two. Everyone has them. How can that possibly ruin an entire company?”

  Sam sat up, rubbing his head where she’d hit it. “Image. PR. I’ve worked really hard not to be that guy. Built a certain kind of reputation for professionalism. Origin is the adult to Mythos’s hippy-commune bouncy house. No offense.”

  “Lots taken.”

  “I’m sorry, but my life is all about how I appear as an extension of Origin. Fortune 500 companies aren’t going to line up for a spot on our program development schedule if the CEO looks like a four-eyed, pimple-popping, scrawny loser. Image shouldn’t matter but it does, and everyone thinks I’ve always been . . . me.”

  She had so many things she wanted to say to him. Most of them involved calling him an idiot in the most helpful way possible. He was an idiot. A fantastic man trapped by self-image. Never would she have guessed such a thing about Sam, and Lillian felt terrible for even bringing up LifeLink. Dinner with Sam should have been fun, not abject torture.

  “Okay. Do over. No more talk of LifeLink or Preston or the past. You wowed me with how you got my contact information over the phone today. Tell me how you did it.”

  “You’re actually interested?”

  “Of
course.”

  One corner of his frown slowly curled up into a lopsided grin. “I have the most advanced personal assistant program in existence. Borderline artificial intelligence but we held back on furthering that, leaving it smart enough to execute commands seamlessly without worrying about it trying to exterminate mankind. Obviously needs work on its security features, though. It’s called CDRC. Cedric for fun.”

  “So, you told it to search the incoming call log and—presto!—I have now seen the CEO of Origin with his face covered in cake at his eighth birthday party.”

  He let out a nervous but naturally sexy little chuckle. “Yeah, well, I need to teach Cedric a thing or two about boundaries.”

  “Can he search for anything? I mean, can he access private or governmental databases?”

  “Can’t tell you that. It’s currently in the testing phase and, although I can say we aren’t doing anything illegal, I’m contractually obligated not to discuss our progress. I’d have to sue myself. And you. And Preston Lavery, since the information would in all likelihood get back to him.”

  Heat flooded into her face at yet another insult. Lillian instantly regretted feeling sorry for Sam. He thought nothing of implying she had loose lips and no morals. She sat up straight, her spine like an iron rod.

  “You’d have no grounds to bring suit against Preston Lavery or me, but, if you tried, I’d bury you beneath a countersuit so airtight you’d suffocate and beg for mercy. In the form of a massive payout, of course.”

  Then came the backpedal. Lillian’s favorite thing to watch. “Uh, hold up, I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did. And you can’t help yourself. You’re fixated on the worst parts of your past . . . ” The look on his face, all wounded-puppy-needs-a-hug with a dash of Mr. Darcy thrown in, broke her. She had to be honest with him. “ . . . And so am I. I understand. But let’s make it a point not to let our marvelous little hang-ups ruin The Electric. It’s our Neutral Zone. Right?”

  The tension broke. A dense cloud of oppressive emotion floated out of the diner and off into the night, leaving the two of them alone. Sam smiled. Initially filled with relief, it quickly curled into a devilish grin that set Lillian simmering once again.

  “Official truce then. I, uh, always want us to have The Electric . . . if you know what I mean.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “Great. And you’re scary as hell when you want to be. Sexy as hell, too.”

  Lillian shrugged off lots of things during the day, but Sam calling her sexy wasn’t one of them. The look in his eyes behind those glasses, a fire beneath the blue, turned her on. Sent her heart racing in her chest. And he knew it. The grin grew wider and—good God—she liked that about him. That cocky attitude reminded her of someone.

  And all it took was one thought to remind her of Richard. Of tumbling head-over-heels down Mt. Everest and then hitting bottom in a broken heap. Lillian realized it could easily be the same with Sam. The brakes slammed down. Hard. Lillian looked away. At the jukebox. At a man eating a short stack of pancakes in another booth. He chewed with his mouth open. Gross. Exactly what she needed to ruin the mood.

  The past had popped up to haunt her once again, but she refused to make the same mistake twice. No more playing the silver-screen bimbo in high heels tripping in the woods. As easy as it might have been to fall for Sam, Lillian refused to dive any deeper with a man whose love life was more than full. Been there, done that. Sam had his company and his supermodels. She would not be an afterthought, a pathetic woman clinging to the possibility of something real with someone who wasn’t.

  And there was the tiny detail about keeping her job. Hot definitely wasn’t worth the hassle.

  “You’re at least right about the scary part. Being the new player on the team at Mythos, I’ve had to work double-time to earn my nickname. But it’s worth it. All the time and effort are finally paying off.”

  Suddenly, two red plastic baskets, each with a gigantic burger and a sky-high stack of fries, dropped onto the table between them. Two hefty chocolate truffle shakes thudded down next. The waitress hurried off again, leaving Lillian in a somber stare-off with Sam. The mere mention of her job at Mythos had worked. The flirty glint in Sam’s blue eyes disappeared. Mr. Cocky Grin left, too.

  “So what’s your nickname?” he finally asked.

  “Hellion Walker.”

  Sam nearly choked on a fry, coughing furiously until it ended in deep laughter. “That is awesome.”

  “I’ve been called a lot worse. Apparently, everyone thinks I’m a troublemaker because I always find ways of continuing cases circling the drain. Creates a lot of extra work, but I’ve managed to win several that otherwise would have gone nowhere.”

  “Impressive, although I imagine some of those wins came at Origin’s expense . . . ” Sam said, trailing off and leaving Lillian dreading another argument. Instead, Sam slurped his chocolate truffle shake and then charmingly changed the subject. “So, looking forward to watching horny teenagers battle rotting revived Nazis?”

  Movie talk and chatting about little inconsequential things helped the awkwardness fade fast. Lillian relaxed. Sam seemed to do the same, eventually falling back into his habit of tossing in a few smooth bits of innuendo her way. Dinner with Sam Owens was a heart rate-elevating cardio workout as far as Lillian was concerned. She ate all the fries she wanted.

  At ten o’clock, they sank into their seats in The Electric and Hail flickered onto the screen. It took more effort to pay attention to the movie than herding chickens to roost back on her parents’ farm. Sideways glances and darting eyes abounded. Lillian fidgeted so much in her leather chair it squeaked like a fart at one point. The movie gods were apparently displeased with her.

  The film itself turned out to be a little different than Lillian imagined. Nazi zombies were involved and mainly terrorized a group of skiing college kids stranded in the Arctic after their plane crashed on the wrong continent. However . . .

  Midway through and the kids splintered off into couples. Attractive couples alone in various dimly lit locations. No sooner had they escaped from a rampaging group of zombies did they all proceed to make out. Making out led to—

  “Wow, where did their clothes go?” Lillian whispered.

  The attempt to have a date with a hot guy who needed to remain an acquaintance turned out to be a lot more difficult than Lillian anticipated. Probably all the naked people on-screen. For the rest of the movie, neither she nor Sam made a move. When it finally ended, they waited quietly for the other moviegoers to clear out ahead of them.

  Things seemed fine. People chatted nearby. Horrible disco music started piping out of the auditorium’s speakers. Lillian took a deep breath. She couldn’t avoid talking to Sam, even if they did talk about how in the world those kids didn’t wind up with frostbite all over their dirty bits. She looked over and found him slumped back in the corner of his seat, staring straight at her.

  “Okay,” Lillian said with a sigh. “There’s no avoiding it so let’s get this over with. I’d give it a three. Mainly because some of those positions were ridiculous . . . ”

  Sam’s silence interrupted her. He sat there, swirling what remained of his bourbon. Finally, he finished it off, set the empty glass down on the arm of his chair, and leaned closer to her.

  She might not have admitted it to anyone, but she quivered. Honest-to-God quivering. The closer Sam came, the more that sweet scent of bourbon tickled her nose. The more Lillian practically vibrated. The smart thing to do was back away . . .

  But let’s be stupid for just a moment.

  Sam’s breath brushed her lips. Her body rocked and she lunged forward, her lips pressing against his and . . . Good. God.

  That kiss exploded into the slowest, hottest, most deliberate thing Lillian had ever had the pleasure of enjoying
. Sam toyed with her, gently brushing his lips against hers until she silently begged for more. When a low moan worked its way from her throat, he kissed her. Hard.

  Swallowed her moan. Consumed her breath. She felt his hand at the small of her back. Her fingers went to the nape of his neck and plowed up through his hair. Soft lips, rough stubble, warm body in a cold room—he pulled her in every direction and Lillian couldn’t get enough. Sam was so sure of himself, never hesitating from one move to the next. So in command . . .

  Command. Commander. Commander in chief . . . of Origin. Nonfraternization. Shit.

  Lillian pushed herself away. She felt like a magnet, her north pulling toward his south until separating almost hurt. Then she fell back against her seat with a confused, irritated, but hot huff.

  “Wow, but . . . Wow . . . I mean, no. No, we can’t. I can’t.”

  Sam’s surprised eyes narrowed. “Mythos.”

  “That’s a big part of it. I want my job and, unfortunately, the two of you are mutually exclusive. Not that I’m not flattered or tempted, but I’ve played this game. I’m not interested in flings, and I’m not willing to risk my career for one with you.”

  Another sigh. Sam looked down at the popcorn-littered floor. “Right. Okay, fine. I won’t overstep again . . . ” He looked up, and those electric-blue eyes bored into her so hard she quivered. Again. “But I’m not sorry.”

  The credits ended, and the screen went black. They sat alone in the big, empty room. In total silence. The quiet, tension-laden emptiness grew so dense that Lillian finally had to leave. She started to shuffle down the aisle—until a large warm hand grabbed her own.

  “You coming tomorrow night?”

  Lillian reluctantly turned as Sam stood up. One step and he moved close enough for her to feel the gentle brush of his sweater against the front of her blouse.

  Don’t look up. Don’t look up . . . God, why do his pecs have to be so perfect?