9

HOPE SPOKE IN A LOW MURMUR. “Well, that was amazing.”

He chuckled and buried his face into the hollow between her shoulder and neck. “Thanks. I was just about to say the very same thing.”

Her fingers ran through his hair. “Well, if I had known what was going to happen, I would most certainly have foregone panties.”

“I owe you a pair of panties,” he lifted his head and gave her an unrepentant grin. “Tell me where to buy them, and I will get you a dozen pairs.”

She laughed at that, but her laughter was interrupted by a loud gurgle from the direction of her belly. She slapped a hand down and went a little red. Her smile turned sheepish.

“We should get you fed.”

He sat up slowly and stared down at her. Sprawled out across her narrow bed, she was a vision, and he wanted to stay right there and make love to her again and again. She sat up with her hair spilling over her shoulders in a glorious tumble. She said, “I almost canceled our date.”

He said, “Me, too.”

Her mouth hung open. Then she asked, “Why?”

He tilted his head to one side. “I could give you the long answer or the short answer. Your pick.”

“Go short.”

He wished he had not admitted that, but now that he had, he had no choice but to say why. “I do not want you to feel like you have to do this just so I will create that program for you.”

“I never thought about that.” She brushed aside a tangle of hair. “Is that why you offered?”

“No. I offered because I wanted to.”

“Because you’re bored.”

He shrugged, “Well, that and the tax deduction.” The joke fell flat, so he pressed on. “Look, I really want to get to know you and…hell, to be honest, I have not done many good things in my life, so I would like to maybe do one thing that is totally for someone else.”

“I see.” Her eyes dropped then came back to his. “Listen, I don’t know what this, exactly, that we are doing, but I am not doing it because I feel like I have to.”

Relief hit. “That’s good to know.”

His relief was short-lived. “But you should know that I…well I…I don’t know what we…I mean I don’t know what you want from me exactly.”

He didn’t know either. Might as well admit it. “Yeah, me neither.”

Her eyes widened. “I see.”

“Then could you explain it to me, please?” He gave her his most disarming smile. “Seriously, I just want to spend some time with you. Beyond that, I don’t know. I know you care a lot about your work and that you are busy and that you do not date in a serious way.’

“Wow. How do you know that?”

“I asked Ashton, and he sort of asked Laura.”

He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “You were checking up on me?” There was a flatness to her voice.

“No, I just wanted to know more about you, and I asked before that party. That answer was why I stayed away.”

Hope frowned. “So you knew before the party that I did not date in a serious way, so you did not want to talk to me?”

Jackson shrugged. “Honestly, I am a bit sick of the one night stand and NSA thing. I want a woman who wants me around. I get that you are busy and you have a career that does not leave you with much free time. I’ll take whatever time you have to give right now, if you want to spend it with me. If you do not, it’s okay. I won’t get all pissy and not write the program, and I will not try to force you into it either because that is not how I roll. I believe in consent and mutual wanting.”

Hope gawked at him and then burst into laughter. “You’re a feminist!”

“I’m a guy who thinks a woman has the right to call the way her life will work out. Call it whatever you want.”

She swung her lean legs off the bed and stood, giving him a delightful view of her heart-shaped ass. “I am starved.” Her words floated back to him. She looked over her shoulder. “Also, I do not really want to go to some fancy place where we have to be polite and distant and order the perfect wine. How do you feel about pizza and beer?”

“You are speaking my language.” He climbed off the bed and gathered his clothes. “I might be overdressed for pizza and beer though.”

“You’re naked,” she pointed out.

He laughed. “Yeah. True. But I meant…”

“Oh, The Pit gets all types.”

She opened a door and yanked out jeans and a shirt, a denim jacket, and a pair of boots. She dressed quickly and he did, too.

He asked, “The Pit?”

“It’s here on campus. It’s cheap and grimy, and on Friday nights there is usually a fight or two.”

“Sounds perfect.” He wanted to say a dozen other things, but it seemed she was done talking about the serious things for the moment. Okay then, he would just roll with it. He really did want to spend time with her and he really did want to get to know her, so now would be the perfect time to start.

She grabbed her keys and they headed out, Jackson shrugging into a jacket as they went. Once outside, he went toward his car, but she said, “You will never get a parking space. Let’s just walk it. I always do. In fact, I walk most of the time here on campus because it means I do not have to look for parking.”

He had to ask, “How long have you been living here?”

They swung out of the small complex and onto a paved-brick path. She said, “Ever since I graduated med school and finished my internships at the research hospital, which is part of the campus, too, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” He paused, then added, “You just seem awful young to have done so much.”

She laughed at that. “You should meet my sister. I graduated high school at fifteen…”

“Fifteen? Holy shit!” He had known she was smart, but god damn! “You’re a genius!”

She said, “I’m glad you think so, but it’s not as uncommon as you might think. Lots of kids graduate even younger than that. Hell, my sister graduated at fourteen, so I do not even hold the record in my family.”

He heard the irritation in her voice. He guessed that that was something of a sore spot. “You have a sister?”

“Yes. Clara. She’s a hedge fund manager and very good at her job. My stepfather is very proud of her.”

No mention of him being proud of her, and no mention of her mother either. Jackson mulled that over as they wound down paths past frat and sorority houses and then onto a small street fronted by stores.

He asked, “So why be a doctor? I mean, your kind of doctor? Was it just always what you wanted?”

“My dad died.” Her words held no emotion. “It was right after I was born and I do not even remember him, but I always wondered what my life would have been like if he had lived.”

He stopped walking. “Oh shit, Hope, I’m sorry. That was a lousy thing to bring up.”

She turned to face him and her feet halted, her smile reassuring. “It’s okay. You did not know and really, I never knew him. I was just that young. I was not even a year old and…and well, my mom got remarried not even a few months afterward.”

Wow. He searched her face. “I see.”

“No, you don’t. It is one of those things people always tiptoe around because, really, what kind of woman weds again when her husband’s barely cold in the grave? I don’t know why, but if I had to guess, I would say she was scared and alone and Robert, my stepfather, gave her a convenient out from those things.”

“Now that I really do get.” He did. He shuffled his feet. “I’m still sorry if the question dredged up anything you would rather not talk about.’

“It’s fine. Come on, let’s walk. It is getting cold out here.’

They started walking again, their hips and hands occasionally touching. She said, “My dad was in a car wreck, and he was in a coma for a few days before he was taken off the machines. There was no saving him, and I get that. But there are many people in comas who might still be in there somewhere. I mean, we just don’t know. We have the idea that they can hear us but can’t really communicate with us. I want to try to find a way to do that, and not just to do it but to use the communication sort of like a map to bring them back.”

It sounded like some sort of futuristic medicine, like something done in a sci-fi movie or something. It was also one hell of a goal. He said, “I thought they had already found out that people in comas could talk or something.”

“There’s been lots of research done, mostly on people who woke up from short-term comas, but nothing much has ever helped people in long-term comas, and those are the people I most want to help. I feel like if we can just get one long-term patient back, just one, we might be able to figure out a way to get back people who are in short-term comas faster, before physical and mental disabilities and changes occur.”

“You want to sort of record their journey back so you can outline the steps in a way.” He wondered if such a thing would ever be possible. It seemed too far-fetched, but it was clear that she believed it was possible.

“Exactly. Like I said, if we had some kind of map, we could know where they were, no matter how long or short a time they have been in a coma.”

He said, “I have to tell you, you just impressed the hell out of me.”

She said, “You do know your program might just be a part of it. If we ever figure out how to do it, that is.”

He was astonished by that thought. He had not considered that he would be a part of something so monumental until she had said so, but once he did, a huge sense of wanting to be a part of that filled him.

He had never been a part of anything that was life changing, and the idea that he could be had never occurred to him. Filled with that sense of awe he said, “Thanks for letting me be a part of it. I had no idea…I thought maybe you were doing cancer research or something.”

“Oh, there are lots of talented people already working in that field.” She let her hand brush against his, and he took her fingers into his. Her fingers were slightly chilled, and he curled his around hers, a sense of protectiveness erupting in him as he did so.

“Not so many in the one you are in, huh? Is it competitive? I mean, is it like a race between the people who are working on a cure?”

“Oh, yeah.” She walked a little faster as the wind began to blow harder, and he adjusted his pace to keep up with her. “Especially if the competition is a big corporation. They have all the money and investors in the world, you know. They also want to hold the patents, because that would mean that they gain the most, money wise.”

“I read something the other day about medication costs going up again.” He had skimmed across that article in truth. He was young and healthy, and he had no need for the meds that the article had been discussing, but now he wished he had paid more attention.

Hope snorted. “The CEOs all want to show massive profit. It is how they get paid the money they do. They are basically soulless sharks, skimming the blood off the water. In the case of the pharma CEOs, it is the real blood of people they are thriving on. It’s sick and sad.”

“Wow, you really are serious. You are not at all into this for gain.”

They strolled down a long sidewalk that led them to a grim, industrial-looking strip just outside campus. Hope said, “I am. Robert, my stepdad, is a CEO, and I used to sit and listen to him talk about all the ways he could line his and the company’s pockets. I used to ask, ‘but what about the people who have to pay for that stuff?’ ”

Jackson realized something then. Her loathing of people in it just for the money stemmed from her childhood and that her childhood had been far from happy. She had grown up rich, yes, but she had not been happy.

He asked, gently, “What did he say?”

Hope said, “He said he would never meet them, and he did not care to.”

Ouch. Hope tugged his hand and said, “There it is.”

He stared at the building with some interest. No wonder they called it The Pit. It sat smack in the middle of a low building with corrugated steel siding and a low roof. The windows were large and wide and showed a huge amount of people jammed into the place. Hope pushed the door open, and they walked into the scent of tomato sauce and garlic, fresh baked dough and spilled beer.

The place was packed, but they got a table near the wall, just beyond the dance floor on one side and the pool tables on the other. The noise was terrific, but the corner they sat in was quiet enough that they could talk without shouting if they sat close together.

The darkness, the closeness of their bodies, and the pitcher of beer and the two glasses the server brought gave the whole thing a sort of intimacy. What was more, Jackson felt comfortable there.

“I like this place,” he said with a grin.

Hope laughed and sipped beer. When she set the mug down, there was a foam mustache above her lip, which she licked away with a sensual swipe of her tongue, a gesture that made his heart hammer hard in his chest and his dick wake up and poke its head up just a bit.

Hope said, “Yeah, me too. I hate to tell you this, but I am never going to be the fancy dinner and all the trimmings kind of girl.”

“Good to know.” He laughed at that. “I’m not into that either.”

She paused for a minute. Then she said, “Jackson, look. I like you, and I like hanging out with you, but you have to know that the last thing I need in my life right now is someone who values everything with dollar signs. I thought that was how you were, and I can see I am wrong, or I think I am wrong about that. I hope I am wrong about that. Still, if you are looking for the woman who will always be just as rich and successful as you are, then I’m not her. I don’t have a trust fund, and I am not living off my parent’s money. I told you before I’m broke, and honestly I am. I get my housing and a small salary every year, but that is it.”

The words offended him, but he bit back the reply that wanted to come. He recalled her words during the walk and the bitterness in her voice when she spoke about her stepdad. There was some serious tension there, and he was willing to bet that that tension went way deeper than he thought.

Did her sister have a trust fund? He was sure she most likely did. He also did not doubt that if Hope had even been offered one, and he doubted that she had been, that she would have said no to that money.

Her words had offended him because he liked her, and he didn’t care what she had, but he could see why she had said that.

He said, “Okay. Hope, I made a lot of fucking money. It was kind of accidental, you know, at least the first time around. Ashton and I made up the app one night when we were drunk and we had both struck out at the club. We were bored and young and stupid. I always wanted to design video games, and the money I made off the app let me do that. Now that I have…well, I am even richer.

“But I don’t count myself successful because I made money. I count myself successful because back when I was a kid, everyone told me I was out of my mind. They all told me to take shop classes or some shit – do something that would help me get a job.

“My folks were college educated, in case I didn’t mention it, and I knew that having a degree did not mean I would automatically be granted a pass out of the old neighborhood. I wanted to do something nobody else had, or at least something nobody I knew had ever done. I did that, and that is why I consider myself a success, not because I happened to get rich along the way.”

Their pizza, a thick, bubbling pie, laden with four cheeses and a spicy smelling sauce, came just then, saving him from having to say anything else. Hope took up one of the paper plates on the pile and waved it over the pie, trying to cool it. She looked into his eyes.

“Thanks for telling me that.”

He nodded and leaned into her. His leg and side pressed against hers. The warm and ripe curve of her breast met his arm, and desire leaped into being all over again.

“Why video games? I asked you before, but you never said.” She waved the plate over the pizza again, and the fragrant aroma rose higher on a curl of steam, making his mouth water.

“I needed them.”

She stopped trying to cool the pizza. “Say what?”

“Things were not all that awesome when I was a kid. I mean, I had it way better than a lot of kids in my hood. I had two parents and a house that we had always lived in. We always had food on the table and lights on, but…”

He stopped there. He was not ready to tell her about his folks. They had been addicts, but highly-functioning addicts, and the strangeness of their lives had been reinforced by their need to always pretend that things were normal. Jackson had been forced to keep those secrets too, and as a result, he had not been able to talk to the kids who would understand because their own folks were also addicts. Nor had he been able to reconcile his mom or dad with the other shambling and burned-out wrecks of humanity he saw selling themselves, stolen goods, or drugs on the streets of his hood.

Her hand found his and squeezed it. He gave her a smile. The warm pressure of her fingers had snapped him out of those particularly depressing thoughts at least.

He said, “I was kind of a nerd and I got picked on a lot. Not like teasing and that kind of thing, like the shit kicked out of me kind of thing. There were a lot of other things, too. Anyway, until Ashton moved in and decided to be my friend, I didn’t really have a friend. So, I played video games. I also designed them in my head and used whatever I could find to build them, too. For me, it was all about escape. I know you think that they are a huge waste of time, but for real, if I had not had them, I would have probably lost my mind.”

Hope sat back in the chair, her eyes fastened on his face. “I didn’t realize that video games offer that for kids. I always read books to get away.”

“Oh yeah?” Eager to get the limelight off himself, he asked, “What kind of books?”

“Oh, anything I could get my hands on. Our housekeeper loved those trashy romance novels – you know the kind where a guy in tights sweeps a lady of the court off her feet only to reveal later on that he is not, in fact, a highwayman but a lord of the realm.”

Jackson knew his face showed his horror before Hope burst into long and loud laughter. He said, “Well, okay then.”

Hope kept laughing. She put a piece of pizza onto a plate and slid it neatly in front of him, and then she took a large slice and bit into it. Jackson tried his pizza and found it a delicious mess of gooey, melted cheese and herbs, thin and crispy crust with a little bit of chew to it and a sauce that had some sort of smoked pepper at its base.

They ate slowly, letting the moment draw out. They were just enjoying each other’s company and the time they were spending together. Jackson had never found himself wanting to spend a lot of time with anyone before, but Hope was endlessly fascinating, and he could talk to her.

When their meal was over, they walked back out into the night. The temperature had dropped yet again, and they walked fast, skirting past couples strolling slowly and clots of drunken college students reeling their way back to their dorms.

Jackson said, “This takes me back to when I was in college.”

Hope asked, “Where did you go?”

“MIT.”

Her mouth hung open. He burst into laughter. “What?”

“You went to MIT?’

“Yeah. Why?”

“Wow.”

Jackson laughed again. “It was a lot harder than I thought it would be, for real.”

“I bet.” Hope shook her head. “That is impressive.”

“Yeah, if I ever have to get a real job I have that to put on my resume.”

Hope said, “True. Do you think you ever will get a real job?”

Jackson said, “Well, money is not a concern, but boredom is. To be honest, I sort of regret selling that platform I created.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. It was my life’s goal, and once I was done with it, I just dropped it, you know? I wanted it to be this great big, shining achievement and it was, but when it came right down to it, I did not really have much interest in it once it was over.”

“I see.” Her voice held a low note.

He said, “I know how that sounds, but I think what happened is what happens any time someone fulfills a dream. I got left there with nothing left to accomplish. That sucked. I just feel like I’m sort of hanging around with nothing to want anymore. Well, that’s not entirely true. This thing, this program I want to build for you, it matters to me.”

“I’m glad.”

He was too. They reached her building, and she asked, “Would you like to come up?”

He looked from her face to the building, and a slow smile spread across his face. “I would love to.”