Love Hacked

This appeared to appease him, his hand on the sheets rubbed my thigh. “Okay. Drink your coffee; eat your fritters. We’re running late.”

***

I decided to dress in a rush and bring the fritters with us. Alex hadn’t eaten yet, and explained that he wouldn’t eat anything until after our first stop.

Our first stop, as it turned out, was the indoor pool inside the building. The expansive room smelled of humidity and chlorine. Alex discarded his clothes as soon as we stepped inside, tossed them to a chair, and revealed a Speedo underneath.

I almost died dead. It was officially the best morning of my life. I sat at the edge of the pool and watched Alex swim laps for an hour while I drank coffee and ate pastry. It was proof that God did exist and God loved me.

He told me, after emerging from the pool soaking wet, droplets of water running down his face, chest, back, abdomen…sigh.

Where was I?

Oh yes, he told me that he swam every morning, not just Sundays. This explained why he had the build of a swimmer—because he was one. Obviously, he didn’t usually use the pool inside Quinn’s building. He’d asked Elizabeth and Nico when they arrived earlier whether or not the building had a pool. When they confirmed, our first morning destination was decided.

Afterward, we stopped by the apartment so he could quickly shower. This quick shower turned into a quickie shower. Once finished, both satiated, we quickly dressed. He stuffed a fritter into his mouth and coaxed me out the door.

There was no way we were going to be able to keep up this pace; I knew that. However, I decided to just go with it, ride the wave as long as our combined chemistry and hormones would allow. Seize the day!

In typical Alex style, he surprised me—yet again—with our next destination. Tucked under his arm, I was distracted by my self-recrimination that I hadn’t yet given him his hat, scarf, and gloves, when we arrived at the Chicago Public Library.

My steps faltered when he pulled me toward the entrance. I blinked up at the impressive building.

“The library?” I found his eyes watching me, ghost smile and glasses planted on his face. “You go to the library on Sundays?”

“Yep.”

“What do you do here?”

“Read books.”

I frowned, still immobile. “What books?”

His smile intensified. He may have been laughing at me. “All books. Any books. I’ll read anything. Sometimes I read a novel, all day, finish it. Sometimes I do research on a topic that interests me. Usually I do a bit of both.”

“That’s so awesome!” The words were out of my mouth before I thought them, a completely honest reaction to this discovery.

He accepted my praise, his reaction not quite stoic. It reminded me of his reaction at the restaurant after he’d rushed outside to save Marie. Perhaps he was unused to praise, how to respond to it, deal with it, because he’d never received it. The thought made me both melancholy and angry.

I withdrew from his side and grabbed his hand.

“Let’s go. Show me what you read last week.”

We entered the library and it smelled like books, a haunting smell that reminded me of kindergarten, my childhood, arts and crafts, and adventures tucked away on tidy shelves.

I never went to the library; not anymore. But today it made me feel nostalgic, and gave me the warm fuzzies—a feeling and a place I would forever associate with Alex.

We’d just climbed the stairs from the lobby when I heard someone call my name. I turned, searched the carpeted hallway, and found my friend Devon walking toward me. Absentmindedly, I wondered whether he’d ever bought the red couch I’d suggested.

Devon wore his blonde hair impeccably coiffed, and seemed to favor business shirts and cashmere sweaters even on the weekends. He was tall but not towering, and naturally tan; this made his teeth appear unnaturally white. His hazel eyes, though on the surface were friendly, hinted at a haunted past.

Devon was a handsome guy if you went for the hedge fund manager type, which I usually did.

His long legs made quick work of the space between us. Before I quite knew what was happening, he’d wrapped me in a hug.

“Sandra, hey!” He pulled away, his hands on my shoulders. “It’s great to see you.”

“You too.” I nodded, returned his smile, then turned to Alex.

“Alex, this is…um….” I stuttered, stopped, because Alex’s glare—in fact, his entire demeanor—was dark and menacing. And his eyes were focused on Devon’s hand where it still held my arm.

“Um, Alex,” I began again, not able to stay the fluttering of my lashes. “This is my friend, Devon. Devon, this is my boyfriend, Alex.”

Alex stuck out his right hand, which caused Devon to surrender my arm in order to accept the handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Alex.” I noted Devon’s expression of surprised confusion, his words halting and forced.

Alex didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he tipped his head and continued glaring at my friend.

A beat of awkward silence followed before I turned back to Devon. “So, did you end up getting the red couch?”

He nodded, splitting his attention between Alex and me. “I did….” He frowned, glanced at Alex, then at me, then shook his head as though clearing it. “I did. Yes. I like it, a lot. Thank you for your help.”

“No problem. Anytime.”

I felt Alex stiffen, but I ignored him.

“Okay.” Devon smiled at me, but it was tempered, much dimmer than before. “Well. I’ll let you two get back to your day. Nice to meet you, Alex.” Devon said his name with a slight upturned lilt in his voice as though the word confused him.

Alex nodded; but, again, made no verbal response.

After one more tightlipped smile, Devon turned and walked down the stairs toward the main lobby.

As soon as he was out of sight and earshot, Alex reached for my hand, changed course, and led me through a door marked Law Reference. I followed wordlessly, as I had a pretty good sense of what he had planned.

He was looking for a secluded place where we could discuss Devon and his red couch.

Alex found a suitable corner next to Tort Law and tugged me into one of the soundproof listening booths.

His shoulders were stiff, his jaw was clenched, and he held himself rigid and away from me—which was impressive, considering it was a one-person booth. Alex’s eyes searched mine.

“Sandra.”

“Yes, Alex,” I said evenly. I wasn’t upset or put off by his behavior. In fact, I wasn’t even surprised by it. I assumed Alex didn’t have male or female friends, and never wanted them. The fact that I would have male friends—several of them—would likely be something of a surprise.

I was going to let him have his moment.

He took a deep breath as a range of emotions played over his features—anger, concern, frustration, confusion, reluctance, then anger again.

Finally, he said, “Help me understand this.”

I pressed my lips together and cleared my throat, reminded myself to feel my way through this conversation. “Alex, I have a lot of male friends….”

“I know that, but I didn’t think you actually did stuff with them.”

I flinched. “I do…I think. Wait, what do you mean by stuff?”

“See them. Hang out with them. Pick out their couches.”

“Oh, well then, yes. I do all those things.”

Alex’s eyes flashed fire, and I knew that he was imagining all sorts of other stuff. “What else do you do?”

A burst of aggravation ignited in my chest at the implied insult in his question. But I also felt his fear; everything about this situation was new for him.

“Do you trust me?” I asked.

“Obviously.”

“No, not obviously, because you wouldn’t have asked me that question if you trusted me.”

He appeared pained, torn by my argument, still undecided.

“I’m jealous,” he finally said. “I want to find Devon and kill him.”

“Kill him? Really?”

“No.” Alex glanced at the ceiling. He leaned against the door behind him. His voice was still a growl, but the surge of testosterone had visibly deflated—just a smidge. “But I would like to beat him up a little. Or maybe ruin his credit score.”

I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling; I didn’t think Alex was ready for me to smile about this.

At length, his eyes sought mine, and he inhaled as though bracing himself for bad news. “How many? How many are we talking about?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t counted them.”

“More than twenty?”

I shrugged, attempted a mental tally. “Probably.”

Oddly, this seemed to calm him a bit. He nodded, and his eyes shifted to someplace over my shoulder. “Oh, okay.”

Unprompted, I filled in some blanks. “Devon and I went on a date a long time ago. Then I referred him to my friend Thomas for counseling. Sometimes he and I have lunch. The last time I saw Devon, I helped him pick out furniture for his new apartment.”

Alex nodded, his attention returned to my face. “He likes you.”

I wrinkled my nose. “We’re friends.”

“No. He likes you.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, not really. But if he did, it wouldn’t make any difference, because Devon is not you.”