“Damn.” He grinned, shaking his head. “There goes my promposal.”
She stared at him. Then, slowly, she started laughing, and he joined in.
“What if I promise not to date you, not to fall in love with you . . . maybe to not even make any sort of physical contact?”
“Well, we blew it with the handshake thing,” she said wryly. “But yeah, no physical contact sounds good. You ready for lunch? I just have to get the steak sliced, then we’ll get everything set up.”
He took a deep breath. “Sounds good.”
This was weird. In a lot of ways, it was perfect. But something felt different.
He’d need to think about it. For now, he was just having soup with his new friend . . . and seeing what happened.
CHAPTER 17
PLUCKY COMIC RELIEF
Aiden tried not to slurp the remaining broth and noodles, but it was impossible. “Oh my God,” he said, catching his breath, feeling like a pig but also very, very happy. “That was so good.”
She sent him a little smile, or rather the suggestion of a smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners, the pinched edges of her lips tilting up. Then she nodded, getting up and clearing the table, which made him feel guilty.
“Shush,” she said dismissively. “You probably are supposed to be resting that foot anyway, right?”
He shrugged, then nodded. “It’s just a hairline fracture anyway,” he said.
“Does it hurt?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then shush and rest it.” She rolled her eyes, carrying their bowls to the kitchen. He could hear her loading the dishwasher. “I put the leftovers in a container in the fridge, okay? Noodles separate. Trust me, you never want to dump the noodles in with the broth. They act like a sponge, and then you’ve got weird pho gummy worms, because all the broth’s gone. It’s gross.”
He sighed. Now that she mentioned it, his foot was throbbing. He probably ought to take some painkillers and maybe nap. But he was having a great time talking to Boggy—Maggie—and in some weird way, he was afraid that when she walked out the door, she’d bug out completely.
He saw the potential. If she decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, or it was some sort of threat to her sense of well-being, she’d vanish like Keyser S?ze. She’d drop out of the guild, delete her character files, block his phone number . . . change her phone number, probably. Vanish like a puff of smoke.
Which, of course, she had every right to do, and he’d never want her to feel threatened or even uncomfortable. But frankly, this had been the nicest lunch he’d had in years, above and beyond the fact that the pho was freaking tasty. It was like his conversations with her, when it was just the two of them exploring BSO, or when they live texted movies.
It was just . . . nice.
It had been a long time since he’d had pure, uncomplicated nice in his life. So long, in fact, that he hadn’t realized just how much it soothed him.
“Want to hang out awhile?” he asked when she came back out, looking around awkwardly. “I mean, I don’t want to keep you if you’re busy. But . . . I don’t know. We could watch a movie or something.”
She frowned, her weight shifting, her hands fidgeting, hiding themselves in the overlong sleeves of her sweater. The neckline was large, showing off her delicate collarbones, the long, graceful line of her neck. Her skin was a tawny amber, not tanned but not pale either. Her hair was long, a tangled, uncontrolled mess of waves, and she started to tuck some behind her ear before frowning, obviously becoming aware of her actions.
Why do I notice her so much?
“I should go,” she said, firmly, almost as if to herself more than to him. “I shouldn’t stay.”
He sighed. “Okay. Thanks again for lunch. It was above and beyond, and I really appreciate it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure, fine. Really. I was going to make it for myself—it wasn’t any big deal.”
“Do you have a bunch of work to do?” he asked, then paused. “Actually, what do you even do for a living? We talked about everything but ourselves, and it’s starting to occur to me that we really ought to know a little more about each other in real life. So there aren’t any more nasty surprises.” He chuckled at that.
Another small, reluctant grin. “Bad time to mention I’m a cyborg?”
“And here I am, a cyborg hunter from the distant future, sent back to protect Earth from the rise of the machines,” he said, and her grin widened. “Awkward.”
“Shh. Just bow to your robotic overlords, it’ll be fine.”
He barked out a laugh.
“I like you,” he said, without thinking.
She froze.
“You remind me of my best friend, Malcolm,” he quickly added, trying to rectify his error before she got defensive or thorny. “You just make me feel comfortable. You’re nice.”
“You take that back.”
Strangely, he couldn’t tell if she was just being a smart-ass or if she was really pissed. There was an edge to her words. “Okay. You’re . . . a terrible person?”
He could see her relax fractionally. “You suck at smack talk,” she pointed out. “I’ve noticed that in BSO, actually. You should take lessons from Dork. Although, good God, I never thought I’d be saying that in any context whatsoever.”
“So you’re staying on? With the guild?” he nudged, as gently as possible.
She tilted her head, staring at him, long enough that he squirmed in his seat. His foot was starting to hurt more.
“Does it really mean that much to you?” Her question sounded baffled, with a touch of suspicion.
“Yeah. It does.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not planning on going anywhere. I like the guild too.” She shrugged.
He felt like he was on thin ice, but he pressed just a little further. “And . . . we can keep texting? Because your friendship means a lot too.”
She crossed her arms, her dark eyes boring into him. “I mean, okay. But we’re not going to, like, hang out in person, are we? This is a special circumstance.”
“Okay.” He felt relief that she wasn’t just fleeing, especially considering he felt like that was a real possibility. But that disappointment was still there too. “Just curious, no judgment, but what do you have against in-real-life interactions, anyway?”
She huffed out a breath, leaning against his wall. “I have some social anxiety issues. Nothing clinical. Just . . . I’m not good with other people.”
“Me neither.”
“No, really. At book club—I just didn’t know what to say to anyone, I didn’t care what anyone else was talking about. Then, I was at Deb’s party, and they were all talking, and there was this one woman who just seemed to love causing drama and needling people. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”
It sounded like she was talking about Patience. He nodded. “I get being uncomfortable.” Then he had a thought. “She wasn’t mean to you, was she?”
He didn’t know why, but the thought suddenly incensed him. He hated it when the guys in the guild gave Boggy shit, so he imagined it was an extension of that . . . even though he now knew she wasn’t some fragile eighty-year-old. And let’s face it, even when he thought she was eighty, she was far from fragile.