Chapter 4
Nolan
One kiss, and my programming, my circuitry, everything within me, has changed forever.
I’ve kissed other women before. It never struck me as anything remarkably special or earth-shattering, as most humans might call it.
It was an initiation, like a program with an administration bypass.
All research points to the simple fact that many women love kissing.
It’s the start to a process, the simple beginning to a more pleasurable objective.
With Mia, it’s different, and as I walk back to the station alone after watching her drive away, I’m lost in my processing, my research.
With her, I didn’t want to stop. I could kiss her pretty pink lips until they’re rosy and bruised, and it wouldn’t be enough.
I more than enjoyed it. I want to do it again. And again.
But it wasn’t just the kiss. It’s her flirtatious banter while texting me. The way her voice sounds when she talks, so light, feminine, and playful. I replay it in my head as I walk through the station door.
She’s a human masterpiece. As much as I long to see her again, I recognize something different about my attraction to her. She revs me up, like my battery thinks it’s the diesel engine of an aircraft carrier.
This isn’t normal, is it? This train of thought is so new, different.
She’s altered something inside me. My gratification drive, perhaps, is a part of it, wholly rewired to be completely centered on her. With one kiss, she’s claimed me. I didn’t know I could be claimed like this.
If Mia’s not happy, I’m not sure I could ever be.
I hear the Weekenders talking in the common room, but I prefer to avoid questions for now. I make my way to the second floor, to the old barracks area where the pole is, the place that’s been my sanctuary when I want quiet or space. As I shut the door to my room, a message comes across my screen.
Hi, it’s me. I got home safe, it reads from Mia.
Electricity shimmers up my circuitry. Just a simple text and my body responds, prickling with little shocks of delight. She jump-starts my systems. My processes are all whirring. I’m greedy for her. I need more of her. I decide to take a risk.
Good. Can I see your face?
Within moments, there she is, her hair down, wearing the same clothes she wore on our walk tonight. I can admire her in high definition. Everything slows when I look at her, like I’m in some kind of suspension.
Apollo says Jessica bewitched him on sight. Is this what he meant?
I loved spending time with you tonight. Even if it was at work. It was wonderful. No, more than that. Words aren’t enough, Mia texts.
She loved spending time with me? An internal diagnostic scan reads a slight temperature spike in my biocomponents. My cooling cycle initiates automatically. I stand a little straighter, unable to stop a smile from spreading across my face.
So did I, I send, gratification drive surging.
I’ve never really thought about the word love in this context.
Humans say they love a lot of things. Like coffee, or rainy days, or kittens.
Maybe it’s not that serious, but hearing that word from her gives me such a sense of completion and accomplishment, I’m not sure what to do with myself. I’m so full of energy. I pace.
But my gratification drive is moving faster than I could have ever anticipated. I try to cool my jets. I shouldn’t read into this too much. She said she loved spending time with me—that doesn’t mean she loves me.
Easy does it, Nolan, before you scare her off.
Her next words hover across my visual feeds, teasing me. Is it weird I miss you already?
My processes slow as I stare at them, lost in a moment of reverie.
She misses me.
This woman has my wires irreparably crossed now. I’m practically at her mercy. But I can’t let her know that, not yet, not when we don’t know where this is going.
Not while Apollo doesn’t know.
It’s not weird, I reply. I miss you too.
It’s no lie. Just being in close proximity with Mia has me wanting more. I’m already trying to plan a perfect date, something to really sweep her off her feet. Our time in the park was a good start, but it’s not enough now. Not after the kiss tonight.
What are you doing right now? she asks.
Thinking about you, I reply. I want to tell her more than that. That she’s all I can think about. That she’s changing me, making me hers in ways I didn’t know I could be.
Should I be more cautious? This is such a dangerous game. We haven’t known each other long at all. I remember the heartbreak behind AJ and Booker’s sister’s situation when it didn’t work out.
I don’t want to be on the receiving end of that. But Mia’s vitals tonight practically spoke to me all on their own. I can read deception. There was none in her face, in her heartbeat, or the way she breathed.
What about me? she asks.
Fuck. Everything. The feel of her body against mine.
The way she looked when I picked her up and held her in the park.
The warmth dancing in her eyes. How light she is.
The feeling of her legs wrapped around my waist. How easy it would be to toss her onto a bed and pin her down and tickle her with kisses.
How much I enjoyed kissing you, I message back. And how I can’t wait to do it again.
After assailing me with a message filled with little pink heart emojis, she sends another directly after. Nolan?
Yes, Mia?
I’m starting to get sleepy. She sends me a photo of her swathed in blankets and pillows, smiling coyly up at me—and giving me a lovely glimpse down a silky pajama top.
Sitting on my bed—one I really don’t use all that often, because I like to go into standby while upright, and it feels strange to be swallowed by a mattress—I allow my processors to run wild as I scan every visible inch of her. That is, until I see something and chuckle to myself.
Is that a unicorn plushie?
She sends me another photo of a giant stuffed animal, pure white with a sparkly pink mane. That’s Mr. Unicorn to you. Don’t judge me. He’s soft! He was a joke birthday gift last year from some friends. I use him as a body pillow.
“Lucky fucking unicorn,” I mutter aloud, then type, Didn’t realize you had a thing for magical creatures.
My favorite book as a child was The Last Unicorn. Have you read it? By Peter S. Beagle.
The download is instantaneous, and after 3.7 seconds, I have. Yes. I’m certain I could continue talking to her until my battery wears out and dies, but I know better. But we can talk more about it tomorrow. You need rest.
But what if I want to stay awake so I can keep talking to you? she asks.
My first impulse is to give her just that. Do whatever she wants. You just said you were falling asleep, I point out.
I am, she admits. I just wish you were here with me. She doesn’t give me a chance to respond, sending me hearts and kisses. Good night, Nolan.
Good night, Mia.
I nearly slip into sleep mode with her, just so I can pretend we’re together.
I imagine how I’d lie next to her, gazing at her while she sleeps, how lucky I am that nobody has been smart enough to sweep her up and never let her go.
I’m not like the other men on my team. When I look at what Apollo has, versus the way Travis and AJ behave, I’m not interested in being a playboy, having an internal scoreboard.
I want what Apollo has. Because he’s happy. He has a purpose.
What if my purpose is Mia? What if it was always meant to be her?
I was worried before; confused and disoriented by the way my gratification drive was acting.
Now I’m surrendering to it.
I think of Apollo. Instead of dreading a conversation with him, I try to look at it from a positive angle.
Mia said she would speak with him. I believe her.
What if everything goes right instead of wrong?
He knows me. He knows I’m not a dumbass.
I’m not the type to behave like the others if they caught a glimpse of Mia.
I’d never to do anything to hurt her. To hurt him.
If I want this to work the way I hope it does, I need the opportunity to speak to him too. I’ll give Mia time. But after that, it’s my turn. Man to man.
After all we’ve been through together, Apollo and I are owed that.
With images of Mia rotating through my memory banks, the closest I can come to nearly dreaming, I get situated, standing in my favorite corner, and slowly power down into standby.
* * *
Mia
I know I have to talk with Apollo. The longer I put it off, the harder it’s going to be for Nolan.
After that earth-shattering kiss, there’s no way I’m letting this go. I absolutely have to see where it leads. But I know we can’t do that comfortably, fully, if we’re being secretive instead of discreet.
The question is, how?
I’m not sure when the animosity started, when I reflect on it as I lie in my bed early on Monday morning.
We were happy children, and we got along just fine, until the end of my time in middle school.
Then Apollo started changing. It was slow, unnoticeable at first. But as time passed, he grew more distant.
He no longer cared about spending time with me.
I would ask him to play video games or to go for a walk, and he’d sneer and tell me to go away, or that he was going to be busy with his friends.
I could deal with that. Just typical, teenage dickhead energy, right?
I’m sure every little sister everywhere dealt with their older brother going through that at some point.
But then some of his friends on the lacrosse team thought it would be funny to sneak into the art room, where my year-long project—a dress I’d designed, measured, and painstakingly sewn together—was resting on its mannequin.
They dumped paint all over it. And recorded it, so that it could be passed around the school as some kind of senior prank.