Love Hacked

“I can get us in.”

I didn’t want to offend him, so I didn’t ask, Are we breaking in? Instead, I opted for the other obvious option. “So, you know someone who works there?”

I glanced at him in time to see him nod. I also noted that he looked extremely cold. In fact, his lips were turning blue.

“You need a better jacket. This one is just sad.”

He glanced at himself then at me. “What’s wrong with this jacket?”

“Aren’t you cold? Just looking at you makes me cold.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I don’t notice the cold.”

He didn’t notice the cold? How was that possible?

I scanned his face. “Alex, you’re freezing.”

“I’m used to it.”

I shook my head in disbelief and surveyed the street, and saw that we were indeed very close to the natural history museum. Janie and Elizabeth’s old apartment was just a mile or so beyond, on the north side of Grant Park.

“Okay.” I sighed. “But you need to warm up and you have to promise me we’ll go to the apartment after.” I made a mental note to finish his hat, scarf, and mitten set as soon as possible.

He nodded again without looking at me. “I promise.”

I huffed, my exhale visible as a little cloud. “I’m going to buy you a decent jacket.”

He chuckled, hugged me tighter. “Don’t. Didn’t you read my note? You keep me warm.”

Gah…and zing!

The letter. Oh, how that letter did things to me.

Now I was hot.

***

Alex did indeed know someone who worked at the museum. He knew the director of procurement. Apparently, the director was friends with Mr. Patel, and Alex had waited on him at the restaurant a number of times.

We were met with a friendly smile and unceremoniously shown into the building through the north entrance. As we walked in, Sue—the gigantic T-Rex—towered over our heads, her mouth open in either a roar or a laugh.

I loved the natural history museum. It was full of the coolest stuff. I gaped even though I’d been there a number of times. Everything was interesting and amazing, and I loved that he wanted to take me. I could tell by his barely contained energy, the bounce in his step despite the bitter cold, that he was also excited.

Alex and I were introduced to the lead guard on duty, who was also all politeness. He informed us to take our time; then we were sent on our way to explore.

Alex grinned over his shoulder, and he led us beyond the impressive dinosaur fossil down a flight of stairs. When we reached the bottom, he walked over to a recycling container and retrieved a cooler, hidden behind the bulky bin.

“Come on.” He motioned for me to follow.

I trailed behind him, unable to help my silly smile. “What’s in the cooler, Alex?”

“Food.”

“Are we having a picnic?”

“Yes.” I heard the amusement in his voice just as we stopped in front of two rather ginormous stuffed lions behind a sheet of thick Plexiglas.

I blinked at the lions then at him. He was watching me.

“What’s this? You want to eat in front of the man-eating lions of Mfuwe?” I’d seen the lions before. Their story was gruesome and, quite honestly, as scary as Darth Vader in a Jedi Padawan training camp. They were two man-eating lions who’d stalked and killed nearly thirty men in Africa during the 1930s. Their behavior was unusual for lions, as they typically don’t enjoy the taste of humans.

Some hypothesized that the lions were insane. Others believed they just liked how people tasted. The significance, of course, was that these lions had somehow evolved to become the very top of the food chain—above humans.

“Yep.” He began unpacking the contents of the cooler on a nearby bench.

“Okay.” I shrugged and turned to help Alex with the food.

“I just figured you’d feel comfortable here, with the lions.” He tilted his head toward the great cats. Even dead, stuffed, and behind Plexiglas, they were a little scary.

“Really? Why? Are we dining on lion meat tonight? Do I strike you as a woman who enjoys endangered species taxidermy? What gave me away—was it the stuffed American bald eagles in my apartment?”

He didn’t look at me, and he was bravely trying his best to hide a grin. “Lions aren’t endangered. I only meant I thought you’d be comfortable around your own kind.”

My own kind?

Did he mean an old, prowling cat? Honestly, it was the only line I could draw between the lions and me.

I felt a burst of disappointment and hurt. As was my way, I decided to accept my limitations and countered with a joke. “Shouldn’t they be cougars?”

His eyes lifted then and some of the merriment was replaced with surprise. “No. I said that because they’re man-eaters. You’re a man-eater—remember?”

I blinked at him, my eyes narrowed as I tried to place the reference he made. Then it came back to me—the night at the restaurant, when we’d first kissed, when I’d referred to myself as a man-eater.

The disappointment and acceptance I’d felt at being compared to an old cat was replaced with embarrassment about my assumption. What did it say about my subconscious feelings of self-worth that I’d jumped to such an unflattering conclusion? And what did it communicate about my subconscious impressions of him?

I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Yes.” I said through my hand. “Now I remember.”

Alex set down the food and crossed to me, took my shoulders in his large hands, and forced me to look at him. His eyes were dark, intense, and seemed impossibly wizened. “Sandra, you need to stop doing that. What is it going to take for you to believe me? You are not a cougar, and I am most definitely not your cub.” He shook me, gently, as though to drive his point through my brain. “I do not think of you as older than I am. In fact, I appreciate how inexperienced and trusting you are.”

“I’m inexperienced?”

“Yes. And naïve.”

“I…I….”

I didn’t know how to respond to that.

Before I could, he said, “I think of us as perfectly matched.”

“How can that possibly be true?”

“Because you’re youthful and fun, and yet level-headed and practical. You are an optimist. If anything, you remind me that I’m still young, that my life isn’t over. And I trust you. You feel like a beginning to me.”

“Oh…Alex.” I couldn’t help it; his words both broke my heart and made it sing. Perhaps it was singing brokenly. I took his face in my hands and let my thumbs trace his cheeks. “You say the nicest things.”

“No, I don’t.” He stepped closer, one of his hands caressed my neck and slipped upward into my hair. His fingers gripped my short locks and tugged my head back and down, forcing my chin up. His tone was distant, aloof, almost cold, though his words made me feel hot all over. “I never say anything nice. I just want you more than I want the easiness and comfort of numbness. You make me want things, Sandra. Our ages are irrelevant, and I can’t have you believing otherwise. Don’t bring it up again. Don’t even think about it.”

As he spoke, his mouth drifted closer as though it was pulled to mine. When he stopped speaking, he kissed me—just once—a soft, lingering kiss, gentle and possessive and controlled. With most men, it was the kind of kiss they administered as a way to say, Let’s take our clothes off…you start.

When he pulled away, all I could think was more…more of that…more of everything.

I opened my eyes and found him staring at me. His attention flickered briefly to my mouth, then back up to my eyes. “Agreed?”

I nodded because I couldn’t speak. He’d rendered me speechless. I want you more than I want the easiness and comfort of numbness…. I assumed he meant numb from the trauma of being incarcerated at fifteen. The thought troubled me.

A numb Alex was a crime against humanity. I made a vow that Alex would never be numb again.

***

After our picnic, we walked around the museum until late. Very late. And we had a great time talking about nothing much of consequence. Again, though, he seemed to know everything about everything. Again, I had to draw the details out of him with a bevy of questions.

As well, I questioned him about his favorite things. He had no opinions on TV shows, but I did learn that his favorite dessert was strawberry shortcake. He’d always wanted a dog, a German shepherd. His favorite book—a collection of short stories—was The Dubliners, written by James Joyce. I’d never read it, but made a mental note to add it to my book list.

I also learned that he didn’t know very many pop culture references. As an example, he didn’t know of any internet memes, like Rickrolling or Ermergad! I supposed this made sense, as he hadn’t been near a computer in years.

I was yawning when we left, and Alex made the executive decision that we would take a taxi instead of walking.

I shivered as we waited for our ride and Alex stood behind me with his arms wrapped around my shoulders. I allowed myself to lean against him, and he took the opportunity to bury his nose in my neck.

“Are you cold?” The question was a whisper against my ear.

I shivered again. “A little.”