Page 24 of CHOICE Lover
Why does that make her feel guilty? His ineptness is his own fault—a result of choosing manupartners over humans for companionship, but he seems earnest. Plus, she shouldn’t judge. It’s not like she has any idea about the people now and their norms and customs. “Go on. Ask me another one. This is kind of fun.”
His eyes brighten as he scans his phone. For a second, she’s so overwhelmed by how handsome it makes him, she can almost see how he blurted out his comments that first day. Because with the way the lock of sandy blond hair is falling over his forehead, how the open collar of his shirt exposes the strong line of his throat, or howhis lopsided grin makes a dimple appear on one side only, the only coherent word her inner narrator can manage isbeautiful.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” His brow wrinkles as he stares at the screen, which makes her giggle.
“I had many. More than I could count,” she says, which makes his eyes widen. There’s a certain thrill in surprising him.
“How many, really?”
She raises a brow in challenge. “Hundreds.”
“How did you have time?” he mutters.
“Book boyfriends, of course! You know, the men written by women in romance novels. That’s what they’re called. Now I guess people have manupartners.”
“I suppose since this is going well, I won’t point out your obvious hypocrisy,” he says, smirking, to which she responds by chuffing and rolling her eyes. “However, I will ask, why not a real one, considering it was so common during your time?”
Because she never prioritized finding one. She was too busy making sure she had enough to get by on. Not that she didn’t dream of one day meeting a tall, golden stranger who would blow into her world and sweep her off her feet. A stranger whose cool, impassive eyes would ignite only when they looked upon her—
What is wrong with her? Her inner narrator really needs to get a grip. She can’t say any of that, so she says, “Timing was never right. We should probably move on.”
He looks up, seeming to sense her momentary discomfort, and damn her if the gilded flecks in his eyes don’t dance with mirth. “Oh, here’s a good one. What recreational activities does she enjoy?”
“Reading, obviously.”
“Besides that, then.”
“I liked riding my bike—”
Res6 beams. “I know that!”
Her eyes narrow. “Wait, how do you know that?”
“It’s how you . . .”
“How I what?” she asks, more than a little curious now about what he’s discovered about what became of her life.
He hesitates. “Died?”
“Died?” She picks up a pillow and chunks it across the bed at him. “That’s not funny! God, just when I thought you might be decent. You’re the worst.”
Her laughter starts to dwindle as his expression turns stricken. His hands fall back to his knees, squeezing. Self-soothing.
Shit.
“Res6, please tell me you’re joking.” A sudden knot of dread takes root in her stomach.
“I didn’t know how to tell you, and you already seemed so upset. Honestly, since you learned how to use your tablet, I’m surprised you haven’t looked yourself up.”
She considered it, but she was too afraid of what she might find. Her entire purpose in life right now is to drag herself out of this victim mentality pattern and get out of bed.Thanks for the extra dose of self-awareness, Janet. She isn’t sure if she could bear learning that she died young of cancer like her mom or something equally horrible. “Ignorance is bliss?” A lump is quickly building in her throat and tightening. Tightening. Tightening. “I died in a bike accident?”
He rubs his temples as if he’s the one receiving the hostile news. “You were hit by one of the trolleys, actually.”
“How old was I?” she asks, sensing where this is going.
“The same age as you are now. Twenty-nine.”
She gasps. “Is that why my memories stop when they do?”
