Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
I couldn’t remember a time in my life when my body had been so uncomfortably full of energy as it was now, standing in front of the non-descript white door of Grant’s hotel room.
It felt like an eternity before footsteps sounded, but it had probably been less than thirty seconds when the door opened.
Grant stood in the doorway, his crooked glasses even more askew than usual, his hair wet, and his shirt unbuttoned like he’d barely dressed after a shower.
He blinked. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
We stared at each other for a second, and my gaze flitted to the bare skin under his open shirt.
A glimmer of amusement lit his eyes.
“You seem surprised,” I said as he moved aside for me to come in. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“Yeah.” He shut the door. “Housekeeping.”
I turned back toward him, my gaze dropping to his open shirt. I raised a brow. “Do you always greet them half-dressed?”
He looked down, and when his eyes came up again, there was amusement in them. “You mean 95% dressed? Half-dressed would be more like this.” He grabbed the two sides of his shirt and started to shrug out of it.
I put a hand up to stop him, my pulse quickening. “Okay, okay. I get it. It was a low estimate.” If he started undressing, I wouldn’t be able to get out what I wanted to say.
He settled back into his shirt. His fingers paused on the buttons, and I watched and waited. When nothing happened, I looked at him. His eyes were fixed on me, twinkling.
Slowly—provocatively—he dropped his hands, leaving the shirt open.
I shot him a flat look. “I guess I’ll have to settle for 95.”
“You can round up mentally.”
I wasn’t so sure about that.
Behind Grant’s amusement, there was a sharpness to his gaze. He was watching me even more carefully than usual, like I was some unpredictable creature whose next move he was trying to anticipate.
It was nice to be in this position. Usually the tables were turned. But even when I had the upper hand, he managed to rile me up.
“So, what’s up?” he asked, leaning his hand on the table where The Truth Machine sat.
I mentally shook myself and refocused on my purpose. “I just came from a meeting with Stratus Capital.”
A flash of disappointment crossed his expression but was quickly replaced with interest. “Yeah? How did that go?”
“Really poorly. Initially, at least.”
He looked tentatively intrigued.
“Given all the press, she had some serious reservations about the company. But I had a realization during our meeting.”
He waited for me to continue.
“So, I pitched an idea to her on the spot.”
His brows went up. “A brand new idea?”
I took a step toward him.
He tracked it but didn’t move a muscle. “Without any analysis or running any statistical models?”
I smiled and took another step so we were a couple of feet from each other. “Totally and completely spontaneous.”
I had his full attention now. “What was this idea?”
“Chancify.”
“Chancify,” he repeated.
“A feature for users who want to forget the algorithm, forget the statistics, and take a chance.” I took a final step toward him.
His eyes scrunched, and an almost imperceptible shift in his stance let me know he was responding to my proximity. “That sounds…reckless.”
“Statistically speaking, it is.” I took the front of his unbuttoned shirt in either hand, my thumb brushing the skin of his chest in the process. “But you said it yourself—I’m an anomaly.”
“Uh, hold on. You said that.”
“And you agreed. The point is,” I rushed on before he could say anything else, “I think I’m okay with being an outlier.”
His mouth shut, and his eyes searched mine.
“I’ve been so focused on protecting myself with numbers and data—so focused on all the boxes I didn’t fit into—that I never stopped to consider how good life could be as an outlier.
So, statistically speaking? You and I are a 12% match.
But I’m in love with you anyway, Grant. And I want to take that chance… with you.”
His hands covered mine, then his lips.
Grant had been right in that parking garage. With him touching me, I wasn’t thinking about numbers or graphs. He was the only thing that existed. His hands on my waist, mine on his bare chest, my lips and thoughts completely his and his completely mine.
We pulled apart, and I nestled into his neck, closing my eyes and reveling in the feeling of his arms around me and everything feeling right with the world. Things were still a mess at Matchify, but somehow, even without any data to support it, I knew that they’d be fine.
“Would you like to hear some stats I’ve run?” he whispered in my ear.
“Always.”
“I’m 100% in love with you, Vivian. No margin of error. Statistically significant.”
My mouth spread into a smile against the warmth of his neck. “Stop talking dirty to me.”
He chuckled, then ran his hands up and down my back. “Twelve percent or not, I happen to like our odds.”
I shut my eyes and let out a contented sigh. “Me too.”