At the dinner, it was all Verity could do not to order everything on the menu. They had the old-fashioned laminated kind with outdated prices and pictures of food no one made anymore, but something about it made her relax.

Chance ordered pancakes with cloneberry compote. “You can’t tell the difference once they add that much sugar.” He joked. His smile was reserved but friendlier since they sat down. She stole glances at his broad shoulders and the tattoos that ran down his exposed arm and peeked out from the collar of his shirt every chance she got. She’d never seen tattoos like his before. They were forbidden on the compound. If she touched him, would they raise up from his skin?

“Have you ever had a real blueberry?” she asked.

“No, why, have you?”

“Sure, we grew them in the hydro farms, with acacia, and if we had enough power for the UVs, sometimes, we’d get clementines.”

“Not possible, no one has had unspliced citrus for years.” Chance frowned, and Verity worried about his next question. The inevitable one she’d managed to avoid so far. His eyes were too smart not to notice her oddness, and while he gave off this Devil-May-Care attitude, she saw something shrewd and perceptive in him.

He leaned forward, his elbows perched on the table highlighting the stretch of his shirt against the massive bicep on one side and metal gearing on the other. Verity imagined having his arms wrapped around her, one strong, warm, and human, the other cold and robotic. The thought sent a shiver through her.

Chance opened his mouth, his darkened eyes speaking volumes, but before the words came, the waitress arrived.

“What do you want, Chance?” she asked without looking at him.

“Usual, cakes and compote.” He stared at the table, not even trying to play friendly.

“And you, BLT?” she asked, turning to Verity.

“You have bacon?” Saliva began to pool in Verity’s mouth at the thought of the warm greasy flavors of home.

Both Chance and the waitress laughed, but when he spoke, his voice came out hard. “No, she means you: ‘Brave Little Thing.’”

“Oh… Okay…” Verity couldn’t catch either of their eyes, and something in Chance’s demeanor and the way he’d sat back as if to appear casual bothered her. The muscle along his jaw twitched and told her not to ask.

“Eggs, hash, and a side protein. Is that like sausage?”

The waitress rolled her eyes. “Where’d you pick this one up, killer? Fresh off the farm from 2026?”

Chance ignored her. “Side protein is usually some kind of chickpea mash. Depending on who's cooking, it’s okay. But you should definitely get it. You need the calories.”

“Coming up,” the woman said, ripping the paper from her pad.

“What the hell?” Verity asked watching the woman go. It was amazing how easy the word fell from her lips after just a few weeks here. Words she and her friends had once dared themselves to whisper under the cover of night’s darkness, now flowed easily.

“Yeah, what the hell indeed. Who in their right mind thinks there’s real bacon in Cyn City?”

“She surprised me. I mean ‘BLT?’ That’s a weird nickname, right?”

Chance stared out the window. The gloom outside had brightened enough to be well after the time most people ate breakfast, and the fog clinging to the edges of the window promised another humid day. His intense gaze both intimidated and fascinated her. She’d seen the moments when another version of the man before her had broken through, when he’d laughed, when he’d opened up even if for just a second. What had happened this morning to shut him down so completely?

“Chance?” she ventured, hoping to pull his attention back to her. When his brown eyes met hers, a thrill went through her. Like diving into the pond late at night, well past curfew. Like skipping a work session to lay on the roof of the barn and risk a burn just to be caressed by the sun. Like the time Billy Constance snuck into her room and kissed her, leaving her breathless and desperate for more.

“Brave Little Thing,” he muttered.

“Yeah, weird.”

“Not weird.” He turned his head and pierced her to her seat with the intensity of his dark gaze. “Completely accurate. You should listen to her.”

“She didn’t really say anything.”

“She said you were brave to be with me, meaning it would be smart for you to stay away. I’m sure the other girls have mentioned me to you at the bar.” His eyes focused on something over her head, far away and probably not even in the room with them.

“Yeah, but, no one’s really told me anything.”

“What do they say?” he countered.

“That… That you’re dangerous,” she divulged. It tumbled out like a secret she should keep from him, like a slap in the face he didn’t deserve.

“That I am, sugar.” His voice came out casual, but his distant eyes never met hers.

She waited, wanting him to say more, to ease her growing trepidation with the kindness she’d found in their moments together. But Chance just sat and stared before frowning and looking back out the window. His strong body coiled in front of her, muscular and gorgeous. Even when his expression turned hard, Verity couldn’t deny he was the most good-looking man she’d ever seen. Right now, he didn’t look so much dangerous as afraid. But telling him that struck her as a bad idea. One of those things that was counterproductive to the tentative friendship forming between them. Something she wanted more than made sense.

Their food arrived, and Verity raised both hands, palm up, to her shoulders and bowed her head, whispering the words of thanks she’d grown up with.

“You pray?” he asked, but she dove into her food without answering. She devoured her eggs and then tried the protein side. “This is horrendous,” she said through gritted teeth as she tried to swallow.

Chance reached over with a grin, grabbed a bottle of ketchup, and poured some on. “Try it now.”

She stabbed at the smallest piece she could find and stuck out her tongue, barely willing to taste it.

“It’s not gonna hurt you.” Chance chuckled and gave her a real smile, maybe for the first time.

He had dimples. How hadn’t she noticed them before?

“It might. It might be like the tuber parasite that looks like food and then after you eat it turns into a little colony that eats you from the inside out.”

“Damn, just when I start to think you’re a nice girl, you say shit like that. Uggh.” He laughed and pushed his plate away, only half the pancakes eaten.

“Does that mean you aren’t going to eat the rest?” Verity’s stomach growled and hope swelled in her chest that there might be an option other than the horrid concoction still dangling from her fork.

This time Chance laughed out loud, bright and full. His low baritone filling the empty dinner with mirth. “Here, have at it. Bulk up while you can.” He exchanged their plates, taking her mostly eaten meal for himself.

Verity watched as he took an overflowing forkful of Protein substitute and shoveled it into his mouth, only to double over and spit it back out onto his plate.

She burst into laughter, tears rising to her eyes. “See? I told you! Utterly horrific, right?”

“I think I have a tuber parasite now,” he said between gasps for breath.

She picked up her glass of water and handed it to him. The questioning look on his face gave her pause, but she pushed it toward him. “Drink! You have to get that out of your mouth before you die a slow and painful death.”

“I think I’ll survive,” he took a sip and placed it back on the table between them.

Verity devoured the last of his pancakes, mentally agreeing that the cloneberries weren’t that bad in compote form. Chance’s keen eyes studied her. They drifted across her lips as she took each bite, the touch of his watchfulness running along the curve of her neck. Her skin heated up under his gaze.

“Stop it.” She looked up at him through her lashes.

“Stop what?”

“You know what. I don’t need you watching me eat.”

“It’s surprisingly sexy.” His voice dipped down even lower, and the undertones tickled Verity between her legs.

“It’s just food. Everyone eats. Stop being weird.”

“So, now I’m dangerous and weird?” The edge returned to his voice, but the playfulness didn’t disappear altogether.

“How would I know? I don’t know anything about you,” Verity said.

“Ask away.” He sat back resting his cybernetic arm on the back of the booth.

“What is your mother’s name?”

He flinched and then laughed. “That’s your question?”

“Yes.”

“Not, why did I mutilate myself like this, or what do I do for Garvan?”

“Those don’t seem like first question kind of content. Maybe fifth or sixth.”

“You are the strangest girl I have ever met.” He said it with a sigh that pulled his shoulders down and let a little bit of the version of Chance she had begun to think of as the real him shine through.

But, it was Verity’s turn to flinch. She knew she was strange. Her family had told her that her entire life. She’d end up being a breeder, because no man would want her even for a third or fourth wife. She’d better learn how to take care of herself, because she’d be on her own by the end of the year. Her father beat her to teach her her place. The others shunned her, because she couldn’t mind her mouth. Strange wasn’t a new insult.

“What just happened in that head of yours?” Chance brought her back to the moment with a gentle voice.

“I’m not that strange.”

“Says the girl who can take down a Mod 3 without breaking a sweat.”

“I told you that’s just pressure points.”

“I know, I remember.” He breathed into the space between them.

Verity remembered the scratch of the scruff along his jaw when she’d shown him the mandibular pressure point. She’d wanted to nuzzle up into his strong shoulder, feel that stubble against her cheek, and stay there.

Maybe she was strange.

The person everyone else considered dangerous was the only one who gave her permission to be herself.

“So, show me more of these pressure points,” Chance said, holding out his human hand. He pinched between the thumb and forefinger with his metallic phalanges. “So, this is for migraines?”

Verity reached out and took his hand in her own, brushing lightly over the metal with a smile. “It probably won’t work on this one.”

Chance stiffened.

“I’m sorry, should I not… touch…”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just, no one ever does.” His voice was stiff, as he pulled the cybernetic arm back and rested the hand in his lap, out of sight.

She took his hand and turned it over, palm up and pressed down on the point at the base of the thumb. “This can help release a cough and clear lungs. I try to do this one every day now that I’m living here. The mold can be terrible in the mornings.”

“Wish I’d known that one before,” Chance muttered, staring at his hand.

She ran her finger down his thumb, over the inside of his wrist and a few inches up his forearm. His skin broke out in tiny goosebumps as she went, and his muscular arm tightened. “This whole area is called the lung meridian. Different spots help with different things, but the entire line will help keep your breathing clear.”

“But you fought off a man three times your size. That’s not from better breathing.”

“Oh, you mean like this?” Verity reached up while still holding his wrist with one hand and slammed her middle knuckle into the crease of his elbow.

“Ow!” He pulled his hand from her grip and cradled it in his arm with wide eyes. “What the fuck was that?”

“Your ulnar nerve. It’s useful in the treatment of large intestinal issues.”

“That was decidedly not my fucking large intestine.”

“It’s also one of the least protected nerves in the human body, so easy to compress and quite painful if hit the right way.”

“No kidding.” Chance shook out his arm and rolled his shoulders. “Where did you learn this shit.”

“School.”

“Come on, tell me the truth.” Chance threw some bills on the table and stood, holding out an arm for her to go first.

So gentlemanly. No one treated her like that. At home the manners had an undertone of judgment, of assuming she was less than. Chance didn’t do that at all. He listened when she spoke, like he actually cared about what she had to say. The attention was intoxicating. She became lightheaded from the way he watched her walk past. But still, in the back of her head, one word lingered.

Dangerous.

And she still didn’t know why.

Outside, they walked back toward the Ball & Joint, but when they passed the road leading off to the alley, she realized he intended to walk her home. Escort her back, as if he was courting her. No, people did that kind of thing at home, not in the slums. He was probably just on his way somewhere else.

“So, you went to school to learn how to disable a man with your tiny little girl fingers?” He asked as they hurried across a narrow street, getting out of the way just in time for a rush of bicyclists to pass. Hovercars from the skycity were too big, and down here, everything seemed to run on gears of some sort.

“No, I went to school like everyone else, and then when it was time to pick a specialty, I went into midwifery.”

“Wait,” Chance stopped short. “How could you be a midwife if just the sight of blood earlier had you gasping for breath.”

“That’s why I’m not a midwife.” She shrugged and began walking again. “I did really well in acupressure and herbal treatments, but when it came to actual patients, I couldn’t even handle putting in a few stitches even though my embroidery was always perfect.”

Chance shook his head. “You keep talking, but the more you say, the less sense you make. Where the hell are you from?”

Verity clamped her lips shut. The inevitable question she’d been dodging since he took an interest in her. Now came the judgment and the assumptions, and he’d be gone, uninterested in someone from her background. The thought made a pit of loneliness open up, threatening to pull her under.

“I’ll tell you that when you tell me why you’re dangerous,” she whispered.

They walked in silence a few blocks. His long legs moving slowly to match her pace. When she brushed up against him accidentally, he jumped like she’d injured him, and she wished his reaction was different. She wished he shared her need to get as close to as possible. She longed to run her fingers along his jaw again, maybe press her lips against the beat of his pulse instead of her knuckle.

“Almost home,” she mused, trying to get him talking.

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Where are you heading?”

“Back to work.”

“Are you just walking me back to my apartment for no reason?”

“I wouldn’t call it no reason. I want to make sure you’re safe.” Chance admitted.

“I think I’m fine.”

“Yes, you’ve proven yourself quite well. Now shut up and let me be nice to you.”

“I like you being nice, but I don’t like you thinking I need protecting.”

He slowed and stared down at her. “Look, sugar, you may be a Brave Little Thing, but the slums are not like whatever country farm fuckfest you come from.

Heat rose in Verity’s chest. How dare he? She stiffened her fingers and walked up close enough to feel the heat coming from his body. His breath sped up, and his pupils grew as she looked up at him. His eyes dipped down to her lips just as she jammed two fingers hard between his lower two ribs, digging past muscle and then scissoring open to spread the nerves. A move she’d used on handsy boys a few times before.

“What the fuck?” He jumped back, pain and passion mixed in his gaze. “What was that for?”

“I can take care of myself.”

He shot forward, backing her up against a brick-sided building. The lingering moisture on the wall damped her clothes, as he pressed tight against her. He leaned down, bringing his lips almost to hers, sending a shiver of excitement and fear through her body. Like a cold breeze under her skin, new and clean. Like freedom.

His strong arm wrapped around her waist and his metallic hand settled on her hip, touching her for the first time.

Her thighs clenched as the space between them heated up.

“I’m just being nice,” he said again, the low rumble in his chest vibrating from his body against hers.

She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against the wall of muscle that made up his chest and lifted up onto her toes. “Maybe, I’m tired of nice.”

Something changed in his eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game.” His lips touched hers before she could respond. Soft at first, as if he was asking permission.

Still so damned nice.

She reached up and ran a hand through the back of his hair, pulling him against her.

He deepened his kiss, clutching her tightly, as she placed a hand on his rock-hard chest, gripping his muscles to feel more of his strength. She wanted all of his powerful body, delicious and dangerous.

He opened his mouth, sucking on her lip with a groan.

She rubbed against him, feeding the friction between his hard body and her softer form. She melted against him, submitting to his touch. Her tongue darted out, and she tasted him for the first time, intoxicating and rich. He tasted just like he sounded, manly and dark.

His arm wrapped around her and lifted her slightly. Chance used his body to pin her against the wall, one leg moving between hers, so his thigh pressed against her core.

Her eyes rolled back, and she dug her nails into his chest, gripping his hair harder, hanging on to him like a lifeboat in the storm of desire he’d sparked inside her. A fire blazed to life and her hips ground against his thigh, desperate for more.