Chapter 25
James
When James exits the bedroom, wearing the tailored black suit he now knows was a splurge, Kate is nowhere to be found. He checks her bedroom and the kitchen, then his device. Nothing. She gave him the slip. Clever, difficult woman.
Surely she didn’t think he was oblivious enough to not recognize her intention. That dress and her sexy scent that still lingers in the air. And the come-fuck-me heels. He was right there.
But no, he’s come to some ridiculous determination.
He was thrown into the orbit of a woman who he’s determined is the perfect package.
Now he’s attempting to be a good, unselfish guy.
Trying to make himself a little less monstrous in her eyes and admittedly his own, which means for him, she is off-limits.
He became even more resolved after seeing her pure, unadulterated longing upon receiving Lessa’s news.
He was so close to giving in, well before her insult about him being him—an utter disappointment.
But he would have easily gotten over that, because she wasn’t entirely wrong, if her reaction didn’t .
. . what, scare him? Make him wonder if he could give that to her .
. . if he wanted to. That is, if she wasn’t off-limits to him.
If he could somehow become exonerated enough to pursue her.
It’s possible that he wants the same things as her.
Even the baby part one day, which she was clearly lying to herself about—he always expected to have children.
Yet if this was the one thing he failed at, Kate would be collateral damage.
The thought of disappointing her further makes him feel queasy.
That is exactly why it is better to stay friends and grin and bear this lingering attraction between them. He is doing it for her sake.
But that fucking dress.
And it’s not like she’s stopped wanting him.
He knows this because she’s taken to staring.
The temperature in her unit is slightly warm, but he wears the pants for her benefit, like he wishes to tempt fate.
Or to get her to throw herself into the muck with him.
His reasoning is not in control when it comes to her.
And time has done nothing to dampen his interest. He thought maybe after they’d felt each other out—they were living together, after all—he’d develop some sort of immunity.
Especially after that day she came out of her room with sleep still in her eyes and hair piled on top of her head.
No makeup and a baggy sweatshirt that fell right below the curve of her ass.
Her little lounge around the house outfits are a poison to his resolve.
Now he is practically a salivating animal. Hungry and struck stupid, while she’s off to do things he refuses to think about. And he’s stuck in an apartment he doesn’t even own with nothing but his resolve.
I’m here, his device reminds him.
Oh God, not that again. This is going to be a long night.
He sits there staring blankly ahead, repeating all the reasons in his head that he pushed her away. His knee vibrates in time with the buzz of the particle panes. They say, Even if you aren’t a bad person, you have nothing to offer. You’re broke. And our Kate likes pretty things.
“Stupid electronics. What do you know?” he asks, taking the remote and turning the windows off.
He may not have earned enough to contribute significantly, which weighs heavily on him.
Since his conversation with Jett, he’s considered his self-reliant streak that the future is trying to beat out of him.
Left with no choice, he relies on Kate for everything.
He hates it. At least he’s earning something.
It’s not as if he is sitting on his ass, and soon he’ll have enough to extend his lease.
Pay her back with interest, then capitalize on it.
Barely two more months, but he can do it.
Sure, what they’re doing is illegal, but what other choice does he have?
It’s not like it’s hurting anyone. Well, maybe the losers, but it is gambling, after all.
Had Kate never read those stupid articles about him, he probably wouldn’t even be considering it.
The point is, he’s well on his way. Fuck resolutions and restraint and all the meaningless drivel his guilty mind made up. If she wants a lover, he’s the man for the job. That he can give her. And eventually, he’ll be able to earn his keep. Then she can buy whatever her heart desires.
Then maybe you’ll be worthy of her. He scans the room, searching for the inanimate object he’s projecting onto. Good luck, the overhead light says.
Ignoring it, James picks his device up and dials Jett. He answers on the first ring. “James, is something wrong?”
He’s never called Jett before, so his concern is understandable.
Jett gasps. There’s a slurping sound in the background. “What did you need?” Jett’s voice is a little high-pitched.
“God, Jett. I don’t want to know what that sound is or what you’re in the middle of.”
Jett grunts, then must mute the device for a moment because the line goes silent. He comes back on, but not before James hears him say, “You can finish when I’m off the call.”
James’s stomach rolls. Not because of two men, but because of the sex clone thing. He’ll never get used to the idea of manupartners.
“Jett,” he says, letting his irritation bleed into his voice. “Kate went out without me. Where would she have gone?”
“What?” Jett asks. What James is telling him clearly confuses him. “Why didn’t you go with her?”
James huffs. “I wanted to. She said she’d wait for me to change, then slipped out the door while I was getting ready.”
Jett is quiet for a moment. “I see. Sounds like our Kate is off to make a new special kind of friend.”
“I know,” James growls.
“Oh my. You like her, don’t you?” Jett taunts.
“I thought you were above it all. That you were trying to keep your distance to protect dear sweet Kate from—what was it? The monstrous man you are?” Jett quotes the article that got him into this situation and he’s loving it.
Kate probably relayed the entire incident to him. Lessa and Oro1 too.
“What do you want me to say, Jett?”
“It’s fun watching you squirm. Is that so wrong?” Jett’s voice is amused now.
“Don’t you think that’s a little juvenile?” When Jett doesn’t respond, he presses, “Where do you think she went?”
“Tell me why you want to know,” Jett demands. Then, in a lower, conspiratorial voice, he says, “Tell me something juicy.”
“Why?”
“Because at my age, I have to find entertainment however I can.” Jett’s tone is indulgent. He evidently sees nothing wrong with using James’s predicament for his amusement.
“You’re younger than me,” James states, not wishing to feed into the sidebar.
It’s Jett’s turn to scoff. “Hardly. You’re what, thirty-five? I’m three times your age, James.”
“What the fuck?” James blurts. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope,” Jett says. “I’m being straight with you.” He’s silent for an extended pause. Then he says, “Oh boy, you don’t know how old your girlfriend is, do you?”
A strange dread blooms inside him. He knows future people live longer than in his time.
Seem younger for longer. He knows all the routines and treatments they have must be doing something.
Somehow, until now, he’s always assumed Kate was in her mid-twenties because she looks like she’s in her mid-twenties.
Early thirties at the most, considering the treatments.
But she has a highly specialized job that puts her close to the top employee pay bracket.
That must imply some sort of seniority. The kind earned with skill and time.
The only way to earn more than the one above her would be to invent something and sell it, like a manupartner, since investing in the stock market or real estate isn’t an option any longer.
He only catches the tail end of what Jett is saying. “. . . birthday was the week before she got you. She turned eighty-six.”
“Eighty-six,” he repeats. “That can’t be possible. That means she’s fifty years older than me.”
“Welcome to the future, where medical technology has created the fountain of youth,” Jett says.
“But I thought she was in her late twenties. Are you sure you didn’t hear her say twenty-six,” he says.
“I’m sure.”
“Thirty-six?” James asks, because even that would be more plausible. Because, is it weird that he has a thing for a woman fifty years his senior? “She could be my grandparent. Great-grandparent, even,” he says offhandedly.
Jett jumps on the comment he now regrets. “Oh, she’s going to love that. Gran-Kate. No, that’s boring. What about Kate-ma?”
“Damn it, Jett. Don’t you dare.” James sighs into his device, warring with his rational mind. “She’s really eighty-six?”
“James, I’ve been friends with her for almost forty years and she was in her mid-forties when we met.
” When James doesn’t reply that he’s convinced, Jett adds, “We threw her a party and everything. That’s when she got drunk, cracked, and ordered you.
Tower Kate finally fell, proving she’s just like the rest of us! ”
Kate has her reasons he wants to defend, not that he knows them. Either way, he can’t seem to muster a response.
“I always wondered how her parents made such a big impact on her in just twenty years,” Jett muses, seemingly more to himself than James.
The comment perks his interest, however. “Her parents?”