Her hair brushed my chin as laughter moved through her. I leaned in, pressed my lips to the crown of her head. This—my body against hers, her scent all around me, my arm itching to band across her belly and hold her the way I wanted—was a bright spot I'd never struggle to recall.
"Slow it way down," she continued. "I neither need nor want one of these Jetsons watches. I don't like having that much personal information mined. They know where I am and where I've been, who I'm with, when I'm sleeping, when I'm not sleeping. They've run an MBTI and my credit score. They've determined exactly which ads to feed me and clocked the number of times I've watched the dinner party episode ofThe Office. They're planning my future by placing all these digital flags in my path and telling the government all about it. They know about my under-the-table babysitting money too. They're listening to everything and the real truth is, I don't need anyone hearing my rendition of 'Born to Run.' I don't want to give anyone all that information."
Of course she liked Springsteen. And of course it was "Born to Run." God damn, this woman. I could forget every rough spot in the world when I held her close and shut my eyes.
"Ah, so you want to uncover a conspiracy theory and you also want to live in one," I said into her hair. "Good to know."
"Oh my god, Ashville," she muttered, tilting her head to the side. She wanted me to pay attention to her neck. She wanted my mouth there and I was not going to deny her because who the hell could say no to a request like that? "It's not a conspiracy theory. They're listening. You know that. And you know they're selling all your data. That's not even tinfoil-hat shit anymore, that's front-page news."
"All right. Let me get you a phone. For work," I added, brushing my lips over the sweet column of her neck.
"I don't need a phone," she replied, her words soft. "But thank you."
I wanted to slip my hand under her shirt and explore the tender skin below her navel the same way I was exploring her neck. Light, delicate passes of my lips over her skin, just enough for her to know I'd forgotten everything I'd said before, erased all the lines I'd drawn. "I'm not taking no for an answer."
"That's not something you can say in this day and age," she quipped.
"I'm not taking no for an answer," I repeated, a growl ringing through my words. "There's a phone in your back pocket. It's been there all day. You haven't taken it out once. You used my phone to find the urgent care and order the car service last night. I'm betting yours hasn't been switched on since leaving Mountain Time. Let me get you a new one so you can avoid yours a little longer."
"You noticed all that?"
"I notice everything." I flattened my free hand on the table, caging her in as much as any guy with a bum arm could. "You can tell me anything…but you don't have to. You don't owe me any explanations. Just let me do this, love."
She stared down at the display watch in her hands. I expected a refusal. I expected an argument. I expected another conversation where we talked in circles around the fact we were tangled up in each other in nine different ways.
Instead, Zelda melted against me, nodding. "Okay, Ash. You get your way this time but don't say I didn't warn you about the constant surveillance thing. The machines are learning about human behavior from us."
"That seems unwise," I murmured. "The part about learning from us. The machines should listen to other people. You and me, we're way off the tail ends of the bell curve."
A laugh rippled through her body, the vibrations coursing into me as the sound passed her lips. She tucked her hair back over her ear, saying, "You get me, Ashville. You really get me."
* * *
We walked homefrom the Apple store. It was a bit of a distance but it seemed we both had energy to burn.
We didn't talk, didn't touch, but we walked close enough for anyone to know we were together. The precise type of together was still unclear to me.
I kept remembering the way she'd tilted her head for me in the store, granting access to her neck and quietly ordering me to that beautiful spot. There were at least ten occasions on the walk where I seriously contemplated grabbing her around the waist or shoving my hands into her hair or twisting her shirt in my fist and yanking her against me. I wanted to take the energy crackling between us and make it explode, and I couldn't say I cared if I burned in the process.
I didn't care though I stopped myself every time.
Maybe it was the lingering sting of Millie dropping me like I was the human equivalent of junk mail—what'd I been thinking with her?—or the whirlwind of my time with Zelda. Whatever the origin, I didn't trust myself to read the situation accurately. And I wanted to get this right. If I hauled her into my lap and kissed her the way I wanted to—and the way I wanted to involved no clothes and a bed—it was possible I'd lose a friend, a roommate, and assistant in one swoop.
More than all that, I could lose Zelda.
Desire could boil me through and through and I'd endure it. I'd wait as long as I had to, even if I waited forever. I knew that as well as I knew the tax code.
Once inside my apartment, Zelda leaned back against the door and twisted her fingers around the strap of her purse. She kept her gaze away from me. I watched her as I hung up my keys and toed off my shoes. Eventually, I asked, "What's up with you?"
She shook her head and flung open her arms as if she intended to say something enormous but then she looked up at me and whatever she'd meant to say evaporated as she studied me. "Do you need anything? How are you feeling?" she asked.
I need to kneel at your feet and beg for the honor of touching you.
A soundless laugh shook my chest. I'd do it. I'd kneel for her. I'd earn it, I'd kiss my way from her belly button down, and I'd kneel.
"I'm fine, Zelda." I stepped closer, tucked her hair over her ear. "What about you?"
"Oh? Me?" She ran a hand down the center of my shirt, over the line of buttons. "I'm fantastic. Like, completely fantastic."
