Chapter 24
She makes it back to her unit on an emotional high, determined to put the positive energy into the task orders that have been piling up in her inbox.
Right as she’s about to get started on the first one, two strong hands clamp down on her shoulders.
Then they squeeze, and it takes all her willpower not to purr and arch back into them as his scent engulfs her.
No. Absolutely not. That’s the thing about luck .
. . His words have been tumbling around in her mind since he said them.
Why couldn’t things be simpler? Why couldn’t he be a different, less him man, gifted to her by Zorg and Zephyr?
She jerks her shoulder, brushing his hands away without a word.
“K8,” he says. His low tone kneads her, almost as nicely as his hands did. “How did your lunch with Lessa go?”
Does he actually care? It feels a little too much like companionship.
But he doesn’t get it. He’s a selfish man, motivated by selfish things.
It’s not possible for him to change enough to become what she needs emotionally.
Nor is he willing to provide her with what she needs physically. It will not happen.
“It was fine. I have work to do.” She doesn’t spare him a glance as she activates her system. She grits her teeth and gets to work. She has to support them both, after all.
But she can feel him still standing there, staring, as if she’s the most pressing item on his task list. She refocuses, but the weight of his gaze is too heavy. If he wanted to cross her off his list, he would have when he had the chance. So what is he doing now?
“I said I’d tell you more about the boxing. Do you have a minute?” he asks.
Oh, that’s all. He’s not captivated trying to solve the puzzle of her, he’s just trying to keep his word.
It’s a silly thought—she hadn’t really hoped he spent all night dissecting questions about her that wouldn’t let him rest. Why did she never want a manupartner?
Why does she desire companionship? Why hasn’t she given up and turned him into GROW?
Is she really that much of a good person to be so altruistic?
K8 isn’t so sure, because aside from her moral obligation, there might have been a tiny part of her that had hung an even tinier bit of hope on him.
“Sure.” She tries to remember what she wanted him to expand on as she makes her way to the couch. “You were trying to convince me that it wasn’t as risky as I’m imagining.”
“Right,” he says hesitantly, sitting beside her.
Angling his body so he’s twisted toward her.
She stays facing straight. “Naturally, there’s risk with everything, so I won’t lie to you and say there isn’t.
But there may be an opportunity for me to start building a surplus of funds.
I’ve been messaging with this woman I met—”
K8 chokes. “A woman?” Her body pivots toward him without her permission.
“Yes, one of the physicians. Her name is Sable, and”—his pause is longer this time—“she works as a lab technician for GROW.”
Her heartbeat skips once. Twice. How does he seem so calm about this? Unless he and this woman—
“K8, I can see your mind working. It isn’t nearly as alarming as you’re thinking. She just works there, and I’m only telling you that so you’ll understand how she knew I was one of the reincarnates.”
“Reincarnates?” she asks.
“Yes. It’s the term I came up with for people from the past meant to be manupartners, like me.
Anyway, I tried to hide it, but it was clear that she knew.
She swore she wouldn’t turn me in because she thought there might be an opportunity for us to work together. She’s there to make extra money, too.”
The swirling sensations in her gut harden into something like . . . anger? Jealousy? Worry? Doesn’t matter. It’s unpleasant and making her stomach feel heavy. “So you’ve been messaging her?”
“Well, she messaged me first, with a bad idea, but you already gave me a better one.” He grins.
“The betting?” she asks sheepishly, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.
“Exactly. I did a little research after we parted ways last night and put a plan together.” At her disgruntled expression, he says, “If you don’t want to know, I can keep it to myself.”
Great, so definitely not pining over her all night like she was like she definitely wasn’t over him.
“How can you bank your life on gambling, James? I thought you were a successful businessperson. Shouldn’t there be a few variables under your control?
” Is he grinning proudly at her cleverness?
Does it feel . . . good? No, that’s stupid.
She wishes he would get to the point. “Go on.”
“The variable would be the fighter. Since Sable has access to manupartners before they’re recycled, we could borrow them for a few days,” he explains.
Realization dawns. If she’s right, not only is his plan illegal, it might be dangerous. “You’re going to use the manupartners to throw the fight.”
“Bingo. And this way, I won’t be risking myself in the ring.” When she only glares at him, hating the idea, he says, “I thought you would be happy. I won’t come back with bruises anymore.”
“It wasn’t your face I was worried about.” Technically, it was her face she was the most worried about, if they were to get caught. But admittedly, seeing him bruised was alarming.
He leans closer. “You were worried about my face. I could see it in your eyes. Why don’t you want to be friends with me, K8?”
She scoffs. “We are friends, you ridiculous man.” Just like her FRIENDS, who are sometimes so emotionally vacant and superficial, they might as well be banned cyborgs.
Wait—this means she has four friends—the optimal balance is off.
Sound the alarm. The people at Project: LEN would probably freak out if they knew.
His eyes are scanning her again, making her itchy. She stands abruptly and stomps over to her desk. Time for more task orders. Before she sits, she turns, already knowing his eyes are going to be on her. “Whatever scheme you and this woman are planning . . . I expressly forbid it.”
November 5, 2390, Day 52.
It takes K8 a week to catch up on her normal work, plus the extra task orders she picked up to offset some of the unexpected purchases she needed.
Namely, that one-of-a-kind silver designer bag.
Just a little something to curb the stress her roommate is causing by the illegal activities he’s engaged in.
No matter. He showed her the winnings from his and the woman’s first experiment .
. . and it might be worth it. If he can manage his lease himself, then Incredible Bill’s upcoming line won’t be so out of reach.
Therefore, she’s chosen to ignore it and him.
Things are going smoothly. Finally, finally, she’s fallen into a routine since waking up her manupartner, now her new roommate, James.
Fortunately, they have interacted very little.
They get along as well as expected, knowing when to stay out of each other’s spaces.
Respectfully offering to include each other’s food orders, etcetera.
He’s really become the perfect roommate.
He’d be the perfect a sufficient partner, too, if only they could come to some type of understanding.
Not that she’s been thinking of that. Especially since the night of Lessa’s BIG NEWS.
But who knows? Lightning might strike twice.
Or she could figure out a way to make her own luck.
Never mind that. Everything is going well.
It’s only that her roommate started walking around the unit in a pair of indecently low hanging pajama pants and nothing else, claiming it’s hot in her unit.
His torso is an unwelcome affront, like he’s systematically assaulting her hormones with his perfect physique, most likely honed by his boxing hobby.
The point is, the temperature is perfectly comfortable, and it is her unit, so she refuses to change it.
And he wasn’t complaining, exactly. Only informing her of why he insisted on wearing only those pants when she demanded to know.
He was wearing them, the navy ones, when she locked herself in her room to get ready for a night out.
Her MediSpa appointment that morning was exactly what she needed.
She looks and feels great. And if it is his prerogative to taunt her with his forbidden fruit, so to speak, it’s fine.
Just because he’s off-limits as a candidate to fulfill her needs doesn’t mean she can’t get them fulfilled elsewhere.
What’s the harm in a meaningless encounter?
She used to have them all the time before she became so intent on the ridiculous notion of companionship.
It’s absurd now that she thinks about it.
Surely there is an attractive man in X Quadrant who will have no qualms about satisfying her.
A man who understands that a woman like her knows her own desires, and who has no intention of making decisions for her.
A man who wouldn’t do such an aggravating thing as protect her from himself.
A man who wasn’t spoiled and rotten on the inside.
Or a man who sees when she needs comfort, gently offers it, then doesn’t ruin it all by espousing some ridiculous notion about luck that makes her vision darken.
The thought still grates on the last dregs of her patience.
A man who isn’t so complicated—that’s what she needs.
Applying a layer of gloss to her naturally rosy lips, she breezes into the living room wearing her new favorite silver heels and the matching bag she ordered a few days ago.
The tastefully slinky, ridiculously expensive dress she bought before she had James’s lease to consider glides and clings to her curves as she moves. It stops mid-thigh.
Retrospectively, she might have spent less of her funds on purchases if she knew she was taking on a manupartner. But she figures Drunk K8 only planned to have him for the initial three-month lease period. A sort of trial run.
As it stands, she has a little over seven weeks left to figure out how she’s going to gather the unicoin to extend his lease, which she plans to have as a backup to his boxing scheme.
That morning, she finally forced herself to study her Worldbank account.
It was more startling than she expected.
Before, when she noticed the low balance, she overlooked that she had gotten paid days earlier.
That’s why her usually precise calculations were off.
But if she were to sell some of her designer collection—obviously not any of the new stuff—she’d probably be able to put together the fourth month she promised him she had covered.
Maybe the fifth too, depending on what she’s willing to part with the market and how well his plan worked.
James is convinced that if he can build up enough funds, he’ll be able to start something more substantial, too. He has admirable confidence and tenacity, which she might find appealing if it weren’t for all his other less attractive qualities. At least he hasn’t come home with any more bruises.
In the kitchen, James is leaning on the counter, wearing the crystal VR set like he does every day. He’s quickly scribbling notes onto the tablet.
“James,” she says, trying to get his attention.
But he’s been so focused on his own tasks, she isn’t sure he’ll notice she’s left.
She doesn’t know why she’s even bothering to tell him.
They’ve hardly spoken since she insulted him.
Well, they have, but their conversations mostly revolve around his curiosity about the world now.
They certainly haven’t confronted the kiss on inspection day or what she told him the day Lessa received their BIG NEWS.
Nor have they kissed again. And she managed to sneak the PUSSYzapper3000 into her bedroom. It’s quite the device.
Right as she’s about to walk out the door, he removes the headset and places it on the table. Then his eyes make a sweep of her. Instantly she’s nervous, like she’s in trouble, though she doesn’t know why.
He asks, “Where are you going?” Dressed like that is implied.
“Out,” she says. Because you have no claim on my time is implied.
He looks startled for a moment before he leaves the kitchen.
“Oh, you didn’t tell me we were going out.
I’ll change.” His muscles stretch and flex as he stalks past, and she holds her breath so as not to draw in a lungful of his scent.
That doesn’t stop their arms from brushing, or the heat of his nearness from permeating the wall she’s built between them.
At least she’s able to preserve her dignity and stifle a gasp.
“I’m going alone,” she says, refusing to let her stare follow him.
His steps halt. They both turn, drawn like magnets, as his eyes narrow. “Why?” he asks. But she can see he knows why. Perhaps he heard her using her toy, or perhaps he can feel her need vibrating between them.
She shrugs, trying not to look like a guilty child. She wants to yell, You had your chance, but she doesn’t. Still, she thinks her frustration with him is entirely justified. As if luck has anything to do with her circumstances.
“K8,” he presses. “Where are you going at this hour?”
“It’s none of your business,” she says. Why is she giving this conversation any energy? She could have lied and said she was meeting Jett or Lessa. She sighs. She isn’t a liar. It goes against her nature as a scientist.
He gives her a disgruntled look until she can’t take it anymore. He’s repeatedly offered to bring her to the boxing matches, which she’s declined. Was it fair not to return the invite? She should probably let him come.
“Fine, go change,” she says, waving at hand at his bedroom.
When he enters it and closes the door, she hesitates, only for the briefest moment before convincing herself her trick doesn’t qualify as a lie.
Then she slips out.