Chapter Thirteen

Hawk

The silence hangs in the air over our heads as we wait to see who will break it first. I’ve just had the best sex of my life, but now the inevitable doubts creep in, insidious and searching for fulfillment.

What if this affects how we work together?

What if she starts taking whatever’s happening between us too seriously?

What if she doesn’t take it seriously enough?

That last thought somehow seems scariest, though that seems silly to me. I’m not averse to casual sex between consenting adults. At conventions and seminars and conferences, there are always plenty of cute tech groupies who are eager to take me up to their hotel rooms once they learn my name. And I don’t even have to do much. They all want to suck the cock of the man, the myth, the legend.

The problem is always getting rid of them afterward when they won’t stop chattering about codes, programs, and algorithms that they barely seem to understand. A few of them even resort to stalking me for a while – a blast from the not so recent past actually created a couple of fake online profiles, claiming to be other people to try to trick me into seeing her again.

Girls can be crazy and clingy, and somewhere along the line, the problems inherent in these encounters became frustrating enough that I just didn’t bother with them unless I had a physical need so strong it couldn’t be denied. And in Vegas, cheap pussy is easy to come by with any kind of a bankroll.

But now this.

Why did I do it? What did I expect from it? What do I want? Is this some bizarre reaction to finding out she’s as good a coder as me? Do I feel like I have to prove my – I can’t believe I’m using this word – dominance over her by taking her when she offered herself up on a silver platter?

That seems like a pretty gross instinct. And it doesn’t entirely feel true. It sure as hell doesn’t feel right.

Maybe what it comes down to is that I’ve just been lonely for a long time without even realizing it. Maybe now that I’ve finally found someone who really understands what it’s like to be me – someone I can actually talk to without getting bored and frustrated – I just feel like nothing’s more important than seizing her and holding on as tight as I can, even if we just met, even if we’re expected to work together. In this moment, nothing seems as important as knowing whether she feels the same.

A strange thought breaks through the rest of the noise in my head. Is this what falling in love feels like? Which was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Waverly says, pulling me away from the rabbit hole my thoughts had been going. “I’ll be right back. Unless you, uh...I mean, unless you have to get...”

The way the words spill out of her mouth on bursts of nerves lead me to believe she’s as conflicted as I am about this evening. Is she nervous because she already regrets this, and she’s about to give me the brush-off when she gets back? The idea turns my heart into a rapidly-descending elevator.

“I’m fine here,” I answer, immediately kicking myself. “Unless you want me to–”

“No.”

She says it in a rush, so I guess that’s a positive sign. I shake my head. Jesus, it feels like I’m cracking up. I’ve gotten manic and jittery over projects a bunch of times, but never over a person. A woman. I realize that I’m still naked and lying in the middle of a strange woman’s bed. But not so strange anymore. Who the hell am I?

As I look down at my body, I see something odd. Between my legs, there’s a small red spot on the sheets. At first, I figure it’s just a stain from something that got spilled – we tech-heads are an absent-minded bunch, known for staining floors, furniture, clothes, all because we’re too focused on the lines of code in our heads to pay attention to the drinks and sloppy junk food we’re holding.

Then I examine it a little more closely, and I see that it’s still wet. In fact, it looks a lot like...

Blood?

I peek down at my cock, and yep, there’s blood on it. Not much, just a few spots here and there on the shaft. It’s a bit of a shock, but no reason to treat it like a big deal. Unless I hurt her. If that’s what this is, I’ll cut my own heart out with a dull fork and stab it.

I get to my feet, figuring after I point this out to Waverly, I should probably hop in the bathroom myself. Even then, I should probably yank my underwear back on before we transfer to the couch. Despite our newfound ease with one another, I don’t think we’re to the traipsing around the house naked stage yet.

And then...what? We talk about what happened? We avoid that by talking about coding some more? We “open up about ourselves,” since let’s face it, no matter how strong the attraction is, we still barely know anything about each other? It’s always like this with a new lover, a promise of only the things that come easily.

The last option gnaws at my mind like a rat. Even though I told Caldwell about looking for my real mother, I’m not sure I want to tell Waverly. That’s a burden I’m used to carrying alone, and it’s saved me from a lot of pity and psychobabble from people who think they’re helping. I might not know exactly how she sees me or feels about me at this point, but I know I don’t need her looking at me like I’m some kind of lost puppy who needs to be saved. That’s not a solid dynamic to build a relationship on.

Build a relationship? I’m making a hell of a lot of assumptions.

I turn hot with embarrassment since I shouldn’t even be thinking these things after a one-nighter. I blast myself for it, and I blame her for resurrecting the uncomfortable emotion.

Waverly walks in and stops. Her eyes move to the stain on the sheets and widen. Her jaw drops.

“Did I hurt you, Waverly?” Part of me wants her to start screaming at me, pummeling me with her tiny little fists.

She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. “No. Um. No. That’s not it at all.”

It takes me a second to understand what she’s saying. When I do, it feels like a wrecking ball to my chest.

“Waverly...was this your first time?”

She opens her mouth, closes it, takes a deep breath, and nods. “I should have told you. You’re probably mad that I didn’t. Right? Are you mad? I probably would be...mad.”

Am I? Maybe I should be. But I try to picture how that exchange was supposed to go for her. When would the right moment have been? What would she have said?

Hey, I know we were mortal fucking enemies about three hours ago, but now that we’ve bonded a little, how ‘bout you punch my V-card?”

“No, I’m not mad at all. But I would have done things differently. I would have gone slower. When I thought I’d hurt you, I wanted to beat the shit out of myself. I’d never, ever hurt a woman intentionally.”

I suppose I must be smiling a little, because she looks at me hopefully. “So, you’re not mad, and you’re not running for the door. These seem like good signs.” The words tumble out again, betraying her anxiety. I want to rush forward and take her in my arms, because I know better than most how regret can burrow beneath your skin, take up residence and never leave. “And I know your first question is probably going to be something like, uh, ‘Why tonight, and why me, when we’ve only known each other for one evening and doing something like this is such a big deal to...to...to most people?’ Not that it’s not a big deal for me, too...I mean, it is, of course it is, but it’s not...I’m not going to suddenly be, like...” She gives her head a frustrating shake, banishing whatever thoughts she kept hidden. “And you’d be totally justified in asking those questions, um...because I’m asking them to myself too, and I’m not coming up with any answers that make sense, or at least, um, none that I could...you know...” She flaps her hands, searching for the right word.

“Verbalize?” I guess. “Articulate.”

She nods, looking down at the floor. Her toes curl into the plush carpet.

“Everything doesn’t have to make sense all the time. It’s hard for us because what we do has to fit together perfectly in order to work, but it doesn’t. Most of life doesn’t make any sense. It’s a hot mess.”

“Yeah, but we’re coders, though,” she whispers. I want to gather her in my arms and start over. I want a do-over of her first time. I want to worship every inch of her sexy body, make her come at least once, so she softens. Dammit, with as hard as I fucked her, it had to hurt. “To us, everything literally does have to make sense all the time.”

“I’m willing to call this the exception that proves the rule.”

She looks up, her eyes meeting mine. A small smile plays at the corners of her lips. “I’ve never understood what that phrase means.”

“Me either.” Her words riot through me, welcome in their strange truth. I see that she’s filled with self-doubt about what we’ve done, and I can’t bear the thought of everything beautiful about this evening suddenly being jerked away because neither of us will just let go and see where it takes us.

But more than that – what she’s chosen to give me, to share with me, is monumental. And whatever her reasons were for the gift of her body, I want her to feel like they were valid. No one has ever given so much of themselves, bestowed something so precious upon me. Maybe it’s because I’ve acted like a prick to most people. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so much of my life staring at the screen instead of living out in the world. But whatever it is, I need her to know that I understand how vulnerable she’s made herself to me and that it’s appreciated.

I need to share an important piece of myself with her too.

In a burst of fear and anguish, I tell her everything I told Caldwell. I tell her what happened with Darlene. I even tell her how tormented I felt after, how pulled in several different directions, and how badly I want to just give up on my search and make peace with never knowing my mother or why she abandoned me.

And when I’m done, there’s no pity in Waverly’s eyes. There’s a little sadness there. Regret. A desire for closure for me. I’m drawn to that familiar emotion like a moth to a flame. And after a fleeting second, understanding settles.

She takes my hand in hers. “Thank you for sharing that. I can tell how hard it was for you.” She pauses, then smirks. “I mean, it’s not, you know, taking-someone’s-virginity hard, but whatever, I’ll take what I can get.”

We both laugh as my heart pounds at devastating speed. The weight that crushed my chest just moments ago eases off, and I inhale a strong breath.

“I guess what I’m saying is that I’ve spent all this time trying to find her because you’re right – to people like us, everything has to make sense all the time. But people aren’t lines of code. I can keep smacking myself against a wall for the rest of my life trying to make that not be true, but it is. And whatever’s happening between us right now, I’m not going to fight it just because it isn’t rational. I don’t need to know why you chose to give yourself to me. I don’t need for you to know. All I need to know is how special it is that you did that, and believe me, I do.”

Waverly touches my cheek gently. “Thank you. But seriously, ‘people aren’t lines of code?’ What kind of soap opera shit is that?”

I shrug, a smile playing at my mouth. “Well, fuck it, what do you expect? I’m a software engineer, not a writer. That’s the best I can come up with on the fly.”

We dissolve into hilarious laughter again.

“So, what happens now?”

It’s her turn to shrug, and for the first time, I notice how lovely her shoulders are. I’m possessed by a sudden urge to kiss her collarbone. Then I think of where that might lead and figure she might still be a little too sore for Round Two. If I don’t do anything else, I’m going to treat this woman with kid gloves from now on.

“Tomorrow we start working on the project,” she says.

“I wasn’t talking about that. I meant what about now...for us?”

“Tomorrow...we...start working on the project.” She sighs helplessly. “I got nothin’. I don’t exactly give my virginity to a lot of people. In fact, I don’t exactly date a lot of people. Or...anyone, really. Ever.”

“That’s the only thing I actually find bizarre about all of this,” I admit. “I mean, you’re a virgin? You’re not exactly a teenager...and you’re hot as hell. Smart. Talented. Everything.”

“Hey, I’m four whole years younger than you are, so careful with the age comments, old timer.” She sticks her tongue out at me. It’s adorable, and that’s a word I usually never even think, let alone use. “Oh, damning me with faint praise now. Thank you, kind sir.” She bows dramatically. “I’m guessing this is your ham-handed way of asking why no one’s fucked someone as pretty as me yet?”

I nod.

“Honestly? Dunno.” She appears to give it some thought for a moment, then shakes her head. “Jeez, when it comes right down to it, I guess I really don’t. I think there was a time when guys didn’t like me because I was too much of a tomboy, and there was a time when I just started shoving dudes away when they were interested because it seemed like they all sucked. But for the life of me, I can’t tell you which one came first, or how much of it overlapped. I never gave it a ton of thought, frankly. Maybe I figured it would happen when it happened. Or maybe I just got used to the idea that it never would, and it stopped being important somewhere along the line. Whichever it is, it’s left me, wow...utterly, hilariously, ridiculously unprepared to answer a question as simple as ‘What happens now?’”

Damn. She is adorable.

“I get that,” I assure her. “I haven’t exactly been the flowers-and-candy kind of guy myself. The projects we work on just...start to seem like the whole world, don’t they?”

“Uh-huh. But this time, we’re working on the project together. So, we’ll be part of each other’s world. So...”

“...what happens now?” I finish with her, laughing. “Well, starting tomorrow I suppose we’ll just have to find out together, won’t we?”

She nods slowly, leaning over and resting her head on my shoulder.

We stay that way for a long, long time. And when I look into my future, it doesn’t seem as bleak anymore.