Artificial Hearts

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Anyone who believes men and women can’t be friends clearly doesn’t understand the definition of friendship.

Case in point, I shake my head sternly at the bartender after my thoroughly inebriated friend requests another drink. It’s all part of being a good friend. We’re not here on a date. I’m not here to ensure he has a good time. I’m here in this dank off-campus bar that’s more sticky than clean, caring for him when he’s unable to care for himself because he asked me to. Simple as that.

Chet thumps his forehead on the bar top then slurs, “Why you gotta be such a killjoy, Eli?”

I roll my eyes. I’ve been called far worse. “I might be killing your joy, but I’m saving your liver. You’re welcome.”

With a disconcerting display of emotion in the form of a watery sniffle, Chet lifts his head only to stare at the spot it just vacated with a blank expression. “I don’t need to save my liver. I need to save my relationship.”

“You don’t have a relationship anymore,” I remind him.

He called me four hours ago to inform me that the presumed love of his life dumped him. As we near graduation, his now-ex girlfriend doesn’t feel it’s prudent to stay tied down when their futures are taking them in different directions.

I can hardly fault her for that logic. What surprises me is the utter devastation her solid choice has left in its wake.

I always thought Chet was so much smarter than this.

I definitely never assumed he was the bleeding-heart type.

He slowly turns to aim a glassy glare at me. “Why did I ask you to help me soothe my broken heart, again?”

I snort and shake my head. “I honestly have no idea.”

I’ve been told by numerous people in my twenty-two years that I’m soulless. Also, that I have no heart. I’m a cold, unfeeling woman who prefers logic over emotions. So, sue me.

It’s his turn to roll his eyes. Right before he steals my drink then slurps the last dredges of it. “This was a test. You passed. Congratulations. I’ll remember this.”

“Not to kick you when you’re down, but perhaps constantly testing those closest to you is why you’re currently single,” I say. “People aren’t pawns, Chet. They have feelings.”

He mirrors my snort. “Nobody’s ever given a shit about our feelings.”

He’s not wrong.

Which is exactly how I came to be sitting in this dive bar, a week before graduating summa cum laude from Columbia University. Now that I’ve earned a shiny new bachelor’s degree in biomedical engineering, I’ll be heading to MIT to pursue a master’s in applied data science.

I vastly prefer machines and computers to people, but Chet wormed his way into my life in the most unexpected ways. It wasn’t his work ethic that won me over. He was the worst imaginable physics lab partner our first semester of freshman year. Never did his portion of the calculations, constantly skipped class, and held no regard for our shared grades on assignments.

Imagine my disappointment when he insisted on being my partner for the second semester. Followed by a pleasant surprise when he showed his true colors.

Chester Goulding is brilliant, but he’s been dealt some hard life lessons.

If anyone empathizes with the curse of genius, it’s me.

When I finally cobbled together the courage to ask him about his changed behavior toward me, his answer cemented our friendship.

“When people find out how smart I am, they use me. I’m sick of that shit. I’m never going back to the days of being good enough as a study partner but laughed at if I ask for a date.”

Chet made good on his promise to himself. He actually cut his shaggy hair, changed his baggy, stained clothes for well-fitted, stylish accoutrement, and started working out. As a member of the female gender, I’m embarrassed to report that his diabolical plans worked. Just because I wasn’t impressed with his sudden pecs and sparkling brown eyes and chiseled jawline didn’t mean the females of New York ignored his carefully orchestrated sexual appeal.

When he got together with Lauren his sophomore year, I congratulated him on achieving a goal he’d made for his lifetime checklist. I also couldn’t understand why he was so elated to share meals and TV time and a bed with someone who seemed so far below his cognitive functioning. Surely, they had nothing in common.

I couldn’t even attribute his happiness to finally having someone with whom to share physical pleasure. The second Chet popped some muscles and cleaned up his appearance, he was engaging in sex with a revolving door of willing women.

At least that made a little sense. No need to discuss the latest research into gene therapy for autism that concentrates on the peripheral nervous system rather than the central when orgasms are the only thing on the table .

“I didn’t test her, you know.” He shakes his head in an uncoordinated rhythm. “I should have.”

“There is no place in life for should ,” I answer. “It hurts now, but I know you. You’ll take your time to dissect every possible angle, figure out what went wrong, learn from your mistakes, then do better next time.”

He scoffs. “I don’t want a next time. I wanted this time.”

“Can I ask you something?” It might be socially inappropriate to use my friend’s pain for my own purposes, but I rarely have this opportunity for honest insight from someone I consider a true peer.

He shrugs. “Have at it.”

“What made Lauren so special? With your justifiable trust issues, what made you take a chance on her?”

He lifts his bleary, bloodshot gaze to me. His smile looks as brittle as his words sound. “She saw through the facade I created. She saw me . She never tried to use me to her advantage. She’d barely accept my help if I offered it to her.” He barks out a surprising laugh. “I learned how to make women fall at my feet, but she wanted nothing to do with me at first. She made me work to earn her trust, too.”

“Ah.” I nod solemnly. “The time-tested, playing-hard-to-get ruse.”

I’ve often studied this female behavior from a safe distance. It plays on the premise that men are hardwired to chase then conquer. Personally, I can’t understand why women would enjoy being chased. That’s one of only two reasons I would ever voluntarily run. The other being if I’m late for an important appointment.

“She wasn’t doing that,” he insists. “It was more that she wasn’t interested in all my fake, learned charms. She wanted something real.”

“Of course,” I demur. I’m truly not trying to make him feel worse, but he’s making it so easy to point out a major flaw in his thought process.

Namely, that even geniuses can’t read other people’s minds.

“You don’t believe me,” he challenges. It’s not a question.

I shrug. “What I believe doesn’t matter. Facts are facts. The fact is we’re sitting in a bar together, you’re drunk, and Lauren’s not here.”

His shoulders slump further under the weight of irrefutable proof.

“You really need to work on your bedside manner,” he grumbles.

“Firstly, you’re on a barstool, not in a bed. Secondly, you didn’t call me to pat you on the head and tell you everything’s going to be okay.”

He cracks a half smile. “Would never dream of asking you, of all people, to lie to me.”

I tip my head to study him, truly curious as to why he’s subjecting himself to so much misery when misery has been a third wheel in our lives for so long. “Why did you call me?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“You wouldn’t dream of asking me for advice either.”

While Chet has enjoyed socializing with women as an undergraduate, I’ve spent an abhorrent amount of my time fending off unwanted advances by men who are only interested in my breasts.

Sadly, it didn’t take much to achieve the proverbial ugly duckling glow up. Not even dampening my appearance with baggy clothes, glasses, and unruly hair has thwarted unwanted attention.

Which leads me to conclude that men have very low standards for a bedmate. I learned long ago that they weren’t interested in anything else. Unlike Chet, I don’t want to repeat my past mistakes over and over again. The pain of rejection of my whole person is not worth the fleeting physical pleasure.

My vibrator never accuses me of being too weird or too ambitious.

Chet licks his lips. “You passed my test with flying colors, but I didn’t call you for completely selfish reasons.”

I raise my eyebrows and wait for him to confess the rest. Unlike most of the people I ever thought were my friends, Chet tells the truth. Eventually. He’s as bluntly honest as I am, with far less concern for anyone else’s feelings.

The haunted appearance of his eyes makes me shiver. “One of these days, Eli, you’re going to meet someone who makes you stupid, too. You’re going to let your guard down, and you’re going to want to be called Elise again. You’re going to be grateful for your natural physical assets instead of trying to hide them.”

I blatantly laugh in his face. “I will do no such thing. Being a genius doesn’t give you the impossible ability to predict the future.”

My friend’s eyes soften as he stares at me. “We might be geniuses, but we’re still human. Falling in love is a tale as old as time. You’ve been a trusted friend to me, and this is my way of returning the favor.”

“By dragging me to a disgusting bar and forcing me to babysit your drunk self while you wallow in foolish pity?”

He smiles his signature, calculating Chet smile as he slides his credit card across the bar to close our tab. “You don’t deal well with change, so I want you to be prepared for how deep it’s going to cut you.” He sucks in a bracing breath before squaring his shoulders. “And I want you to know that you’ll be able to move on, too.”

I pop my eyebrows in disbelief. From where I’m sitting, it doesn’t seem that my genius friend is moving on at all. “You’re still going to Wharton, then? ”

He nods. “I have a plan. I can’t back out on it now.”

“You know that whole if you love something set it free and, if it’s meant to be yours, it will come back to you saying isn’t a law of nature, right?” I genuinely ask him.

He looks more like the old Chet than ever when he winks at me. “Man exists to break the laws of nature.”

I roll my eyes. “Thank Newton you’re going into business. You still have zero fundamental comprehension of science.”

He laughs.

In this moment, I think he may be right. I think Chester Goulding will move on and be better than okay.