Page 75 of CHOICE Lover
It’s not helpful that his manupartner body double is sitting there in the ergonomic chair, staring at him judgmentally. “I told you keeping up your lie was a bad idea.”
Chryl climbs onto the body double’s lap, straddling it. It sits there unfazed as she reaches up and grabs two fistfuls of hair, tugging them so she’s forcing eye contact. “Prototype can’t know Daddy’s and my secret! Got it?”
Zephyr, he’s created a monster. The manupartner’s eyes go wide as it nods emphatically.
Chryl grins. “Good boy.” She lets go of its hair, spins around, and settles in so she’s effectively using the body double as a seat.
Trent, the technician, watches them incredulously. “I get it,” he says, chuckling. “You like to watch.”
Res6 buries his head in his hands, groaning. No, he doesn’t like to watch what is essentially an overly SexcitableTM, half-sentient manupartner and his body double, who he’s been imagining is his twin brother, having sex. Not that they are having sex . . . that he knows of.
The four of them occupy the room for an uncomfortable yet convincing twenty minutes until the technician finally slips out. Thank Zorg, the building technicians sign resident privacy statements.
November 17, 2390.
His eyes land on Electra as she slips out of her room, and all his worries over the past few days fade into the background. Her long black hair is swept up on one side, and the rest falls in waves down her back. The swooping points of her eyeliner mimic the copper butterflies with their delicate wings and twinkling fairy lights that adorn the front of her dress. The fiery orange of the bodice softly transitions to a forest green where the hem grazes the floor. As she moves toward him, two slits reveal a brief glimpse of her upper thighs, sparking his thoughts for later use. With Electra’s warm skin, highlighted with bronze and golds, plus her freckles, she looks like an autumn queen.
He swallows, awe overtaking him. “There aren’t sufficient words to describe your beauty.”
She blushes. “You look perfect, as usual.” She pats the deep rust lapel of his tuxedo. “These shoes, though, they were the best I could find.” She gestures to the wedge sandals she wears. The movement causes the slit to slide further open, revealing a tempting expanse of her toned thigh.
The sight almost makes his knees buckle.Zorg, Res6, get yourself together. He needs tonight to go well so he can show her he’s someone worth forgiving when his lies eventually come out.
“Your shoes just came in.” He unboxes a pair of strappy copper heels and points to his desk chair. “The laces are complex. Allow me.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
The corner of her mouth twitches as he kneels, holding the shoe out like an offering—another idea he got from DumBot. In the scene, a man called Prince Charming offers the heroine a glass shoe, the fragile material a rude gesture, leading him to question whetherromance—or something far more nefarious—was the prince’s aim. His own intent, however, is decidedly more straightforward. Plus, the prospect of Electra allowing him the intimacy of slipping on the delicate sandals he picked out has had his blood stirring in anticipation all morning. Thank Zephyr, the footwear arrived on time.
She sits, lifting her foot to him. A wave of heat washes over him.You’ve seen a woman’s leg before. Contain yourself. His hands tremble as takes her foot and slips the toe strap on. At first it’s awkward, but it only takes him a second to have the ankle straps wrapped around and secured snugly. She swallows as his fingertips graze her other ankle. For the next sandal, he moves slowly, with more intention, allowing his touch to linger. He’s acutely aware of every sparkling point of contact as he finishes the job and then the absence as she gently places her foot back on the floor.
“It’s not fair,” Chryl whines, stepping into the room. The momentary tension crackling between him and Electra pops. “I want to go to the fantasy ball!” For emphasis, she lifts the lasso and boots she ordered for herself.
Electra smirks. “The dress code specifically says no cowgirls.”
Ha! She isn’t above untruths either.That shouldn’t make Res6 feel as justified in his own falsehoods as it does.
As if she senses the lie too, Chryl narrows her eyes at Electra, an uncanny gesture that, if he is guessing correctly, Chryl learned from the other woman. “I’ll take Prototype’s dress.”
“Maybe you can try on your cowgirl outfit and show me how nice it looks when we get back.” Managing a manupartner while trying to explore this thing happening between him and Electra is becoming increasingly difficult. He can’t recycle her now, though. After the first twenty-four hours, he suspected there was something different about her. It’s one of the reasons he didn’t immediately recycle her.
Chryl’s lower lip juts out in a pout. “How long will you be gone?”
“A couple of hours,” Electra says, intertwining her fingers with his, almost like they’re a real couple. He should be terrified, but he’s too elated to care.
“Fine.” Chryl’s boots thump to the floor as she wanders off toward the kitchen, giving them a chance to slip out the door.
Two hours pass in a blink. The uniquely arranged particle panes at the venue, Bubble Bar, have been programmed so the cavernous space resembles a giant tree, and each of the bubbles are amber glowing treehouses. Despite his social status, they wait an hour and a half for one to become available. They step in and arrange themselves on the plush cushions so they can see the main stage, where a cabaret performance is about to take place. A server takes care of their drink order, then they're alone in the cozy space.
As the main room’s overhead lights dim, Electra leans into Res6. The bubbles that surround them at various heights all twinkle in rhythm with the music. The tree flickers for a moment, and the room goes dark. Three spotlights hit the stage. As the tree reanimates, transforming into a dozen tall, straight pines that reach toward a starlit sky, each bubble fades into a twinkling background with a single bubble in the center resembling a full moon. The bubble lowers to the stage, and a woman holding a microphone steps out. She begins singing a hypnotic, enchanting melody that melds perfectly with the scene.
“This is incredible,” Electra whispers as more performers take the stage.
He leans forward, slipping his free hand inside the slit of Electra’s dress just like a real boyfriend would do. Her breath catches. “Not as incredible as you.” Her thigh is warm and soft beneath his palm, and she shivers as his hand drifts higher. They watch the first song with his fingers tracing lazy circles.
Blue, yellow, and pink stage lights dance in his periphery. By the awed expression on Electra’s face, the performance must be extraordinary,but he can’t quit staring at her. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he whispers, pleased with himself that he could offer her so much pleasure.
