Page 25 of CHOICE Lover
He clears his throat. “Yes.”
“Oh God, my—my—”
“Don’tworry. Your books were published posthumously. All the proceeds went to charitable foundations—”
“My family, you idiot,” she cries. It’s like the floor has dropped out from under her. The tears she managed to keep at bay for twenty-four hours are back. “My dad and Janet,” she sobs, as if somehow saying it out loud might garner some impossible sympathy.
Her parents must have been devastated. After everything they invested in her—all their love, their hopes and dreams for her—what a waste to have died so young. Her blood hums in her ears as a wave of dizziness washes over her. She cannot have a panic attack in front of him.
Janet’s grounding voice sounds in her mind.Remember the steps.
Sucking in a slow inhale through her nose, she concentrates on the sensation of filling her lungs. Hold for three seconds. And release. Focus on three things that are real. Her breath is an easy one, and at this point, she’s going to need easy ones. Two is the plush yet sturdy weight of the bed supporting her, holding her. Grounding her. Three—her head snaps to Res6, then down to the light dusting of hair on his forearm, which must be soft and warm. He notices her observation, then scoots closer, reaching out his arm for her inspection.
Before she thinks better of it, she wraps her hand around his forearm. “You’re real,” she mutters.
Res6 stares at where her fingers grip his arm. “Electra?”
“It is a technique my stepmom Janet taught me.” She sighs as the pang of loss strikes her anew. But it’s too surreal because it doesn’t feel real, hence the exercise. “Remember, I told you she was a psychologist? I learned so much from her. I already miss her like crazy.”
He doesn’t say anything, and she wonders what he’s thinking. He’s probably comparing her and her emotional outburst to one of his manupartners, cursing his luck.
She releases his arm, takes the tablet, and enters a quick search.
He leans forward and takes the device. “Are you sure you want to know?” She glances up, blinking through her tears. “You’ve already had a distressing week. Perhaps you should put this off until you’re more mentally—”
“Stable?” she interjects, shaking her head. “Like that is going to happen. Maybe I did something in my past life to deserve this. I must have been a tax collector, or politician, or worse!”
He reaches forward, takes her hand, and places it back on his forearm. They both stare at it for an extended moment. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you anymore,” he assures her.
She lets out an undignified huff. “How can you possibly say that?”
“Because I may not be your version of perfect, but I’m highly competent, and you are my responsibility.”
“Are you sure you aren’t my punishment from your non-deities?” she asks.
He moves his arm, letting her hand fall away. “Maybe we are each other’s punishment.”
7 – Ten Tries
Res6
October 10, 2390.
Res6 is pacing again. He checks the time. 07:52. She chose owl, so it is anyone’s guess how late she stayed up. Should he wake her and tell her he’s leaving? Ten days in, and this unexpected woman has already thrown his schedule into disarray.One of the many reasons people in the modern era prefer my creation. Limited disruptions and easily met expectations, that’s what people get with his product.
If she were a manupartner, he wouldn’t be running late for his meeting with Lextr because he was hovering outside her door, reluctant to leave her alone.
Knock first, she instructed, so he taps on the door before pushing it open and popping his head inside. The lights are dim, havingalready begun their morning sequence. He can just make out a vaguely humanoid shape within the pile of blankets. “Electra,” he whisper-shouts.
The bedding rustles, and she rolls over to face him, but she’s still asleep. He steps closer, intending to nudge her awake, when she tugs the covers down and throws a bare leg over a bunched-up blanket. Only then does he notice she’s wearing one of his T-shirts, which, though oversized on her, has risen so she’s barely decent.
If he touched her, would his fingers leave a brand on her skin the way hers did when she touched his forearm? It takes him too long to tear his gaze away from her smooth thigh and refocus it on her face. But the view isn’t any better. Her dark eyes, still lazy with sleep, blink up at him, and a wave of irrational desire barrels through him.
His voice is raspy as he says, “You’re wearing my shirt again.” All at once, his blood rushes south.Unacceptable, he chastises his body, which only somewhat listens. Thankfully, it’s still relatively dark in the room.
She yawns as if she’s completely unaware of the way she’s affecting him. “You didn’t get me any pajamas.”
He shakes off the thoughts crowding his mind, noting with his m-volt,Order Electra Pajamas. “I’m leaving for work. Are you okay?” he asks, like he does every morning before he leaves, though he normally doesn’t get quite the visual.
