Me too. Unspoken complications and all.
19
MAVERICK
The smellof Boone’s hand-rolled cigarettes trails behind me as I make my way down the metal-and-stone steps. I turn to look up at him and nearly stumble. He’s as beautiful as a painting. Or an Italian art film. Lit by the golden glow of a streetlamp, smoke billowing around him, the effortlessly inviting slouch of his body makes me want to race back up the stairs and bully him back into bed.
Instead, I wave. Like a dork.
He smiles and waves back, creating curlicues with the gesture.
I’m going to marry that man.
By the time I make my way back to the condo, I’ve already shared with him my latest test results and planned our wedding.
Boone was right, Iamdramatic.
What we did was more raw and real than I was expecting. I know he would’ve fucked me if I’d let him, but I didn’t want to bypass a boundary just because it was my Booney.
Thanks for the lessons on self-respect, Dads.
When I walk into the condo, there’s an echoey loneliness to the space and no messages from anyone who lives here.
Guess whatever’s taken them away doesn’t involve me.
Rather than dwell on that, I go up to the roof and spend some time under the stars, scrolling through the WhiteHat group, being nosy. I’m not able to contribute much, so I mostly lurk. My processing stuff means I had to get good at everyone’s individual language patterns, so I clocked Uncle Jake’s account right away.
Speech patterns are also the kind of thing an AI bot would pick up on in a heartbeat. I wonder if Jake knows that.
After catching up on the latest conversations, I click the history tab and discover the Pecan Street Festival thread, where the WhiteHats organized to help take down the guy who was trying to shoot up the place. I’d forgotten Boone was the arresting officer, and now that I know how he talks, I think the WhiteHat on the street was Truett.
I don’t know why any of that makes me feel jealous, but it does.
You could just tell the important people in your life about the things that are important to you.
They’ll laugh.
You don’t know that.
Okay, then, where the fuck is everyone? And why haven’t you gotten a single message from any of them?
Rubbing my chest, I wonder what’s making my brother so anxious. I fire off a quick text to him. After waiting an hour with no response, I head back down to my room, still wondering where the fuck everyone is.
I sleep till the sun wakes me, then walk out to the same empty condo. No messages, no calls. Nothing. Fine. I head to the market and pick up a few things for Hop. I spend some time meal-prepping some of his favorites, then divvying them into containers for freezing.
With a few hours to burn, I go upstairs and hang out in the pool. I also send a pool selfie to Boone. He responds right away.
Booney: You are a sun god.
Booney: I bet the clouds part when you walk outside.
I stare at the screen. I’m wearing my scandalously tight orange Speedo, package on full display, hair perfectly wind-blown. I was expecting something dirty in return. The splash emoji, or maybe a dick pic.
Not appreciation. Notpoetry.
Me: *blush*
Me: WYD
