Chapter 10 #2
A pink flush crawls up her neck. Then she looks away as if she knows she’s violating some unspoken agreement.
If he’s being honest with himself, which he is without fail, he can acknowledge that an attraction lies between them.
Purely physical. But inappropriate. Even if he gave in to the attraction only to relieve a little stress, which he’s pretty sure she’d be willing to do, she’d only be letting him because that’s what she originally intended to do with him.
Because she’s desperate for anyone who will ease her loneliness.
But he’s a real man, not a sex doll or programmable companion.
And it’s not like she’d be picking him for him.
What is he saying? Even if she was picking him, James wants nothing to do with this woman, considering she’s become the symbol of his plight. He can’t even look at her, with her unnaturally bright eyes, and perfect—well, everything, and not see his unwanted reality.
Part of him is desperately clinging to this new opportunity he’s been given.
Another part mourns the life he’s left behind.
Not only the money. The comfort. The control.
The familiarity of his world. Being able to expect what comes next and the sense of ease he took for granted.
Hell, he even misses his Social Security number.
So much better than the awful tags on his feet, which are nothing more than a product code.
He clenches his jaw, refusing to let these feelings overpower his resolve.
“I can help carry these to your room,” Kate offers, drawing him out of his momentary lapse into self-pity.
“No,” he barks, wincing at the unnecessarily aggressive tone. He doesn’t want her in his space. Her eyes become glassy for the second time since he’s known her. He sighs, unable to apologize. More like unwilling. “I’ve got it.”
Kate reverts to the quiet, observant woman he first met as she watches him move the packages to his room.
She isn’t gawking at his physique anymore.
Only observing as if he’s some sort of lab rat.
Or an experiment she’s trying to understand.
He almost prefers the excessively chipper version of her from the dog park. It feels less foreboding, at least.
Before he shuts the door once more, she says, “I’ll order us some food.”
Shit. He was supposed to talk to her about that. “Okay.” He winces, hoping to God it won’t be another box of bland rice.
When James finally emerges with a slightly clearer head, he spots a takeout container waiting for him on a coffee table.
Kate has opened the lid and set a glass of Vine and a VitaShot next to it.
The pangs in his stomach are at odds with the revulsion he feels toward the food.
Triangles of a spongy bread sit in a neat stack next to what appears to be cubes of sautéed tofu in a brown sauce. At least he’ll get some protein.
He sighs as he takes his seat. “Listen, Kate, we need to discuss a few things.” He’ll ease into the conversation with something simple, like dinner.
Build some resolve. Then set some ground rules about their dynamic and clarify expectations.
“I appreciate you taking care of our dinner, but we’re going to need to get some proper food.
I can’t survive on”—he waves his hand at the spread before him—“whatever this is.”
Her brows twitch, but stay mostly frozen. “This is proper food.”
“No, I mean I need some chicken and vegetables, or steak. A salad would be fantastic. This is just . . .” He takes a bite, trying not to grimace as he chews, then swallows. “I mean, I don’t know how people stay so fit if this is all you eat.”
Kate gives him a slow nod. “I see. I’m afraid this is something else you’ll have to come to terms with.
” She scratches her head. “I’m trying to figure out how to explain this.
The food that you are describing is a thing of the past. Literally.
Think, James. If humans can’t survive the atmosphere, how could a cow?
We have meat substitutes now that are so close to the real thing, from what I understand, I don’t think you’d be able to tell the difference. ”
That’s right. He should have made the connection at the dog park. At least imitation meat would be better than eating rice and noodles all the time. “Then can we get some of that?”
“REAL Steak and enviro-greens are premium products. Most people now can only afford to enjoy that on special occasions, like their birthday or Holiday. If I shifted some things around in my budget, we could probably afford them once a week. But . . .” Kate’s Scientist Face slips back into place.
“No, I don’t think that would be wise, considering your lease.
With the clothing, the extra food . . . I don’t think we should splurge.
You’re going to have to get used to the food I provide.
As far as nutrition goes, that’s what the morning pick-me-UP nourishment packets and mealtime VitaShots are for. ”
It takes him a moment to process what she’s saying, noting she didn’t mention forgoing the expensive shoes as an option. He eyes the packages still sitting inside the door.
“This brings up something else I’ve been meaning to ask you about.
” He considers the best approach. There must be a financial services industry, even if there isn’t a stock market exactly.
People retire still, right? And there are still scientists.
And cosmetic surgeons, or whatever the equivalent is during this time.
Surely that means that there are still financial analysts and venture capitalists.
Someone has to own all of these businesses and buildings.
He’ll have to start from the bottom, but he’s done it once before. He never touched a dime of his trust fund. It was like a rite of passage to him. This would be the same.
But here in this future world, he isn’t supposed to be a real person. For all intents and purposes, he is a product. Solving his identity is a top priority. “Now that I’m here, there’s no going back.”
When he pauses to gauge her reaction, she urges, “Go on.”
“I don’t suppose we can take out a loan or open a credit account with GROW?” Surely, if that were an option, she’d have already mentioned it.
“No. Credit is a thing of the past. Loans in all forms are banned. If you can’t pay with unicoin upfront, then you don’t get it.
And that includes loans from your friends,” she explains.
“NHOS set laws in place banning any of the pitfalls of prior societies, hoping to avoid those same outcomes. The current economy is a highly regulated system, which limits speculation.”
He nods, processing. “Which would include extending credit.”
“My friend Aurone can tell you more about it if you’re interested. It’s not really my field of expertise. He’s a systems engineer, so it isn’t his either, but he likes to dabble with his little side projects.” She nonchalantly waves a hand through the air.
Side projects? That sparks James’s interest. He definitely wants to meet the friend she’s referring to.
“Okay. That means I have a little under three months to figure out a way to make an income. Then I’ll get my own place and pay you back, as we discussed.
I assume I’ll have to get some sort of identification to do this, correct? ”
She gives him a reluctant nod.
“That’s what I figured. People can’t pop into existence out of nowhere. Is there a dark web still?”
Another nod. This time, her eyes narrow.
“Great. We’ll need to purchase a fake ID. I’ll add it to the tally, of course. I’ll find a profession I’m suited for, get a job, then pay you back for everything. After that, we can part ways and you can get a real GROW so you can use him however you planned to use me.”
Kate’s cheeks flame as she stands.
Shit. “I didn’t mean . . .”
But she walks away, muttering, “I guess you have it all worked out, then. You don’t need me.” She doesn’t try to hide the hurt in her voice.
He watches her graceful form glide into the kitchen. When she eventually returns, he can’t help but notice the resolved set of her jaw. “There’s a bin for whatever you don’t eat and another for the recyclables. Take care of your mess when you’re done. I’m going to bed.”
He didn’t intend to upset her. But what did she think was going to happen now that she’s discovered he’s real and not some sex doll for her amusement?
While he appreciates the help she’s offering, a nagging thought enters his mind.
Does she still think to benefit from him?
For companionship or otherwise? Unease prickles the back of his neck.
Ground rules. He is supposed to be setting ground rules.
Without thinking, James shoots up. His bare feet slap the cool concrete as he stomps across the room. “Wait!” he demands as she slips into her room.
She steps out, furtively closing the door. Does she not want him to see into her private space? “Yes, James?” She sighs, the hurt in her voice transforming into something more akin to exasperation.
“Listen, lady.” She retreats a step, which he matches.
“I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, but I do not belong to you.
I am not your sex doll, and I am not your friend.
I’m not the answer to your loneliness, and I don’t plan to stay here a moment longer than I have to.
You may not like that, and while I appreciate your help, I don’t care if you don’t like my boundaries.
They are here to stay for the duration of our acquaintance. ”
“But . . .” she protests, her voice wobbling. Fuck. He shouldn’t be such an ass. If she really is different—but that doesn’t give her an excuse to have designs on him or his time just because she’s helping him.
He leans in so they are eye to eye, attempting to soften his tone.
“No buts. I get that this isn’t what you planned, or that you have your reasons for never wanting a manupartner, and that makes you the odd man out in your fucked-up society.
I get that it must be hard for you. Isolating even.
We’ve both had some shitty luck, I get it.
But we’re going to have to figure out a way to cohabitate without adding to each other’s problems. Once I can get my own place, I’m doing just that.
” When he finishes, his heart is beating heavily in his chest.
Kate’s mouth falls open as she draws in a deep breath, like she can’t believe what she’s heard.
His stare instinctively finds her full lips, then dips down to her chest, which rises rapidly.
Only then does he notice his hands are flat against the door on either side of her head. When did he box her in?
He meets her gaze again. It’s no longer sullen.
There is such vulnerability in her deep brown eyes that his stomach dips without his permission.
Fuck, he thinks, as the sudden wild urge to grind her into the door washes over him.
To have her quivering beneath him. God, he’s sick, but the thought of it has blood rushing south. No, she’d like that too much.
“Understand?” he gently urges.
“Got it.” She clears her throat, eyeing his hands.
“Good.” His voice is a little huskier than it was before. He pushes off her door and storms into his own room, shutting the door behind him.
He leans against the wall, willing his body into a calm state. Surely she didn’t notice his rapidly stiffening cock. Goddamn his overactive male hormones.
He tries to recall the last time he was with a woman.
There was that girl at the club before he started dating Blythe.
But that was a quick fuck in a dark hallway.
And he cut it out because Blythe was the first woman he’d dated that he considered wife material.
She came from a good family and had a substantial trust fund of her own.
And she’d finished her residency as a pediatric oncologist. She was equally driven and beautiful, in a demure sort of way.
She would have been an excellent mother to his children. What happened to her?
Blythe was nothing like the Playboy Bunny he is currently living with.
Who is also intelligent enough to be a highly specialized scientist, yet flippant and shallow enough to have ordered a manupartner kit and have an apparent shopping addiction.
Who has the most perfect, luscious body he’s ever seen.
This is not the direction his thoughts should be taking.
He glances down at the protrusion tenting his pajama pants.
“Fuck,” he mutters, grabbing hold of it through the soft material and squeezing as if that will help.
He eyes the bathroom. A cold shower is exactly what he needs.
The last thing he should do is jerk off to thoughts of the crazy woman on the other side of the wall.
He quickly makes his way to the bathroom and turns on the shower.
In front of him, a timer displays a countdown in red numbers. 5:00. 4:59. 4:58.
He groans, tearing off his clothes. How do you make it cold?
He steps into the perfectly warm water, pushing buttons, which only change the flow from the shower head.
This either adds to or reduces the time left on the timer.
The perfect, delicious heat only makes him throb harder. 3:47. 3:46. 3:45.
He braces his left hand on the wall as he dips his head beneath the stream. Just this once, he promises himself. Then his other hand makes a fist around his cock.