The Operator

Silas scooted to the end of the bed, and her first complaint turned into a moan of pleasure when he pulled one of her legs out from under the knitted blanket and began to rub her foot. “I’m thinking Arizona,” Silas said, and her eyes closed in bliss. She’d forgotten that the Opti requirements for their psychologists included sixteen credit hours of massage therapy. “A ranch close to the border where it never gets cold,” he said as he found a trigger point and released her back. “You could raise quail.”

She opened one eye to find him half-serious. But she liked people too much to become a hermit. Slowly her smile faded. She was going to miss Detroit, the way the city had found a new greatness—an independent confidence, maybe—after being abandoned to those who were too poor or stubborn to move—like she was.

“Still holding your tension in your lower back, I see,” he said, running a firm thumb to the outside of her arch.

“Oh, God. Don’t stop,” she moaned as the pain evolved into relief—and then guilt. He knew how to make her feel good, and she’d done nothing for him but abandon him and ignore that he loved her. Being scared was not an excuse.

She must have stiffened because he sighed and let go of her foot. Her eyelids cracked, and she closed them again as he moved to the head of the bed, expression pained. “Move over,” he said gruffly, but it wasn’t as if she had a choice as he pushed her to the center of the bed, his bulk moving her slight frame easily. Jaw clenched, she scrunched down under the blanket. She could feel his warmth, soaking into her, and she avoided his eyes.

“Why are you so hung up on me doing anything nice for you?” he finally said.

“I’m not.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Is it because you think it’s the Opti conditioning? That they made you into a deadly but dependent princess who expected to be waited on all the time?” She looked away, and he made a knowing sound. “Peri, you broke that a long time ago. Well, most of it,” he added, and she grimaced at his chuckle. “You don’t need anyone. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need you.”

God, why is this so hard? “Silas . . .”

“No.” He put a finger to her lips, shifting to lie sideways beside her, propped up on an elbow. “You read your diary, right? The one I gave you?”

She nodded, thinking of it stuffed under the pillow. The love she’d had for him was obvious in the pages, and still, she’d destroyed it—for a chance at glory. “I did,” she said softly.

“Then why?”

“Because I don’t remember it. Every time you look at me, I feel as if I’m broken.”

He brushed the hair from her forehead and kissed it. “So?”

“So I don’t like feeling broken.”

“Everyone is broken.”

“But my pieces don’t fit together anymore.” Unable to face him, she rolled away. Her chest hurt when he snuggled tight behind her. His arm draped over her, a taunting familiarness wisping about the edges of memory. Her eyes welled up, but she refused to cry.

“You’re the strongest person I have ever known,” he whispered in her ear. “Do you remember how we met?”

“I don’t want to do a recall,” she said petulantly, and he chuckled.

“You were with Allen at the time. Just friends, but it was obvious that anyone hanging with you had ulterior motives.”

“Allen?” Interested, she rolled back, wondering at the weird, pained smile on him.

“He’d hijacked a drone, and you were trying to fly it into Opti’s armory to get a look at the weapons you’d be up against in one of your finals. One of the stabilizers went out. It crashed into the med hall auditorium right during an exam. Knocked me a good one.” His smile became fond and he pushed back a lock of hair from his forehead. “Look, you can still see the scar.”

She touched it, finding it by feel. “How come I never wrote that down?”

“You vaulted through the broken window after it. Bold as brass, you picked up the drone, changed one of the answers on my test, and walked out.”

She chuckled, imagining it. “I’m surprised I didn’t get expelled.”

“You would have if you hadn’t been wearing smut to throw off the recognition software. You were new. No one recognized you. Yet.”

His fingers ran a delicious trace of sensation over her shoulder, following a line of muscle, and she shivered. “I ran into you a few days later, pissed because my entire exam was thrown out because of you. It was at Overdraft, actually. I recognized the limp you got by kicking the professor into a wall when he tried to detain you.”

“Huh.” Settled back in the pillows, she played with the hair about his ears. “That might explain one of my grades.”

Silas’s expression shifted abruptly. “I’m sorry you don’t remember, but I do.”

“Silas,” she protested.

“Just . . . shut up, will you?” he said, leaning over and soundly kissing her.

Her flash of startlement vanished in an inrush of air. His lips were warm and soft . . . familiar. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and she wouldn’t let him pull away until a slip of his tongue surprised her and he drew back. The sound of their lips parting echoed through her memory, the scent of his skin against hers sparking flashes of vision.

Silas’s eyes were wary. “This isn’t—” he started, and she laced her hands behind his neck to keep him from pulling away.