The boyfriend algorithm, p.6
The Boyfriend Algorithm, page 6
“That good?”
“The best. However, that’s beside my point, which is vastly cogent as usual.” He plucked the pillow out of her grasp and took her hands, meeting her gaze squarely. “You should be proud of yourself. You shouldn't try to cover up your work, especially the Love Program, as if it were on par with a career in snuff porn.”
“I'm not ashamed of it. Exactly. I just don't want to be obvious about it. Once you set yourself up as an expert, you're a target for everyone who disagrees with you.”
He flicked her thigh with a fingernail. “You post on tech sites and gaming forums all the time.”
“That's different. It's concrete. There are right answers that are provable. Social media is nothing but another chance for strangers to judge you based on how clever you can be in two hundred and forty characters, or on which guy's shirtless pictures you choose to post.”
“Shirtless guys?” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Charles, you've been holding out on me. Where are these alleged stud-muffins you've been ogling? It's not like you to be selfish. Share the pectoral wealth.”
She huffed out a sigh. “I'm speaking hypothetically.”
“Well, stop it.” He grabbed her elbow and stood up, dragging her with him. “Men don't speak hypothetical, not when they're trying to score. Innuendo, perhaps, or here and there a double entendre.” He pulled her over to the breakfast bar and pointed to a barstool. “Sit.”
She hitched herself onto the seat and slumped, her hands between her knees. “I don't know why we're bothering. Witty repartee will never be my strong suit.”
“Wit is overrated. Your problem, Charles—”
“Which one?” she muttered.
“—is that you’ve got the wrong dating mindset. Men don’t want to know about you. They want you to know about them.”
“What if they run out of things to say?”
“No man is at a loss when preening. But if all else fails, fall back on sports. Or order another beer.”
“Lord.”
“Enough with this negative energy! The best way for you to understand male mating behavior is to study the creatures in the wild.”
“But—”
He waggled a finger at her. “Ah ah ah. No buts and no more theory. What you need is a flirting practicum. So tomorrow we go live with Charlie Forrester, version 2.0.”
The following evening, Charlie crept down the hallway and peered around the corner into the living room. Gideon stood in front of their friend Toshiko, who had dropped by unannounced again. Great. More of an audience. Just what I need. Glancing down at the outfit Lindsay had selected for her, Charlie wished her roommate’s idea of fashionable and attractive aligned better with comfortable and inconspicuous.
No help for it now. She straightened her shoulders and took a giant step out of the shadowy hall. “Um, ta-da?”
Gideon turned away from Toshiko, who ignored both of them and continued to leaf through a book on machine language, her notion of light reading. He paced around Charlie, rubbing his chin with one thumb. Charlie’s hands twitched under his scrutiny and she clasped them together. He flicked her bare shoulder with one finger.
“Stop fidgeting.” His eyes narrowed as he hummed under his breath. “That dark green suits you, but lose the scarf.”
“The shirt is a little, um, revealing without it.” Charlie lifted its edge and peeked at the amount of cleavage on display above the tight silk tank. “Besides, Lin said it pulled the outfit together.”
“Nonsense. Women accessorize for women. Men just want the basics, and you can’t hide them, so don’t camouflage the goods.” He snapped his fingers. “Hand it over.”
“Okaaay.” She surrendered the scarf, and the breeze skating across skin that she normally kept hidden raised goose bumps on her arms in spite of the warmth of the evening. “If you’re sure.”
“Absolutely. Just point your chest at them. Guys get boob-stupid.”
“Isn’t that cheating?”
“Darling, we’re talking about men. Straight men. You can’t be subtle.”
Pivoting like a dog chasing its tail, she craned her neck to get a glimpse of her butt. “And the jeans. Not too tight?”
“What did I say? You want to emphasize your assets, not disguise them.” He bumped her shoulder with his own and winked. “Your asset is adorable, and if I can say that, you know it’s true.”
Charlie started to cross her arms but at Gideon’s glare, settled for twisting her fingers together. “All this stuff—the flirt training, the makeover, the wardrobe tricks. It won’t matter. I’ll still be a geek to the max.”
“Charles, I am just as much a geek as you are. The difference is that you’re secretly ashamed of it. I revel in it. I also know when to exchange the propeller beanie for the party tiara, and this is definitely one of those times.”
“I don’t know…”
“Well, you should. Smart is the new sexy.” He propped his hands on his hips. “Scratch that. Smart was always sexy, except some men were too stupid to know it, and trust me, you do not want a stupid man.” He gestured expansively. “Men should aspire to worship at the altar of your geek-awesomeness. If they don’t, they’re not worthy. Punt them to the curb and leave them to perish in their own piss and puke.”
Charlie scrunched her face. “Ewww.”
“Figuratively speaking, of course. Now, let’s review our plan.”
“We may need a new one. Lin was going to introduce me to her Stage Two friend from work, but she had to go somewhere. An unexpected family thing.”
“She did? Did she cancel with her friend, too?”
“I don’t think so. She knew where he’d be, but he wasn’t going because of us.”
“Excellent. Then fear not, Charles. I am the master of random bar chat. I know exactly how to orchestrate this. All we have to do—”
An ungodly noise, worse than the screech of the smoke alarm, filled the room.
“Gideon, your pants are shrieking.”
“Sorry. Must take this.” He pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of jeans nearly as tight as hers and ducked down the hall and into his bedroom.
Charlie sat on the edge of the sofa, afraid that if she sank back into the cushions while wearing her shrink-wrapped outfit, she’d never escape. She clasped her hands between her knees, and her gaze snapped to the distracting color on her nails. Manicures. Nail polish. Nail extensions. Lord.
“You needn’t worry about your appearance.” Charlie flinched at Toshiko’s matter-of-fact voice. She’d forgotten Tosh was still in the room, witnessing her meltdown from the wingback chair in the corner. “It’s well within the expected parameters of casual dining apparel.”
“Thanks, Tosh.” I think.
Gideon emerged from his room, a grim set to his mouth. “Bad news, Charles. I have to bail. Duty calls.”
Panic flared in her chest. “But… but I can’t do this alone. I mean, the guy is in the program matrix, and I’ve studied his data profile, but I don’t really know him. I can’t just walk up to him and say ‘Hi, I’m Charlie. Can I use you for flirting practice?’”
“Why not? People do it all the time.” He shrugged into his blazer. “Well, maybe not the practice confession. Leave that part out.”
“G. I’m serious. I can’t—”
“I will accompany you.”
Charlie pivoted, mouth agape, at Toshiko’s announcement. Dang it. How did she do that? Just disappear from perception? “Ah… really?”
“Certainly.” Toshiko closed the book and folded her hands on top, each movement spare and precise. “You sound uncertain, but the solution is obvious. You don’t want to go alone. I’m available. We’ll go together.”
“Resistance is futile,” Gideon murmured to Charlie.
She glared at him. “I get that.” She flexed her fingers and shook out her hands as if she was about to embark on a coding marathon. “Wish us luck.”
“You don’t need luck, Charles. You’ve got data.”
She glanced down at her awkward body in its unfamiliar costume and compared herself to Toshiko, as still and perfect as a dainty porcelain doll. With an IQ of 180.
“A little luck wouldn’t hurt.”
After a mind-numbing eight hours of tagging and bagging HTW history, Daniel felt like he was smuggling rocks in the back of his neck. Yet he still stayed late at the office, digging around online, hoping to find a few digital breadcrumbs that would lead him to a killer story.
Maybe if you’d get Argonne out of your head, you’d have room in there for something else.
When eight o’clock rolled around with no brilliant insights, he gave up. Philip had mumbled something about hanging out at Hana K’s Bar and Bistro, and although it wasn’t technically an invitation, Daniel figured it was close enough. He grabbed his jacket and headed out, walking the dozen blocks to the restaurant. Maybe a drink and some conversation with someone besides his own inner demons would chill him the fuck out.
He straight-armed the Bistro’s door and stalked past the ficus trees standing sentinel in the vestibule. More bodies packed the place than he’d expected on a Wednesday night, and the noise grated on his last nerve. The only thing likely to chill him here was the arctic blast of the air-conditioning.
This is a terrible idea. He needed to take his piss-poor attitude out of here before it redlined. No way Philip deserved to shovel that kind of shit. He turned to go.
Then he heard the laugh.
A woman’s laugh, full-bodied, musical, uncontained. Joyful, as if she hadn’t a care in the world and never had. Daniel’s shoulders relaxed. Please. Do it again. That laugh was better than an hour of psychotherapy and a Swedish massage.
Who was she? Where was she? He scanned the bar again, holding his breath, as if the air sawing in and out of his lungs would cause him to miss a stray chuckle.
The laugh didn’t come and didn’t come and didn’t come, until Daniel had to exhale, shoulders drooping. It was too much to expect that he’d find her. Not on a craphell day like today.
But he couldn’t force himself to leave. Not when he stood half a chance of hearing her again. So he ordered a double bourbon on the rocks from the bartender.
While he waited for his drink, he spotted Philip in a corner booth next to a beautiful but unfamiliar Asian woman. Someone from his dating group? Could she be the laugher? She didn’t look like she’d smiled in the last decade, let alone laughed.
Of course, she might simply be annoyed because Philip’s attention was riveted on the person across the table from him, a person blocked from Daniel’s view by the back of the booth. Philip leaned forward, smiling and eager, gesturing expansively with both hands, more animated than Daniel had ever seen him.
As he neared the table, a peal of that glorious laughter rang out again—from Philip’s unseen table companion. The hair on the back of Daniel’s neck rose. Now that he was closer, he recognized that laugh, remembering it from too many years ago. So when he reached the booth, he knew who he’d see.
He was unprepared for how she looked.
When he’d run into Charlie at her apartment, in her workout clothes with her hair in a knot on top of her head, she’d looked, well, cute. Like Pebbles Flintstone suited up for fight club.
Now, her hair framed her face and brushed her shoulders, loose ringlets of dark copper, russet, and cinnamon. In the candlelit gloom of the bar, her sherry-brown eyes were enormous, her lips lush and full. He should have known that laugh could never fit in a mouth less generous.
Her smile shone brighter than the candle and the mood lighting combined. Only one problem with it. It wasn’t directed at him. It was directed across the table.
At Philip.
She’d turned Daniel down flat, but here she sat, goddamned glowing at Philip.
All his previous tension returned, doubled, tripled, as Daniel’s anger at his boss, his frustration over his job, transferred to his alleged friend.
He stared at the bastard until he finally looked up. “Didn’t know you had plans. One of your club outings?” Hard to talk with his molars clenched.
“My… oh.” Philip laughed. “No. Not tonight. Toshiko, Charlie, this is Dan Shawn. An old friend.”
Daniel nodded at Toshiko. “Nice to meet you.”
She tilted her head a fraction and studied him, unsmiling. “Possibly. I’ll let you know.”
On any ordinary day that response would have been enough to pique his interest. But today Charlie sat there with Philip practically scaling the table to climb into her lap. “Charlie and I go way back.”
You used to smile at me, damn it. You used to laugh with me.
“Huh. Here I thought I was the only person in town you still knew.” Philip barely spared Daniel a glance. “I’d ask you to join us but—”
“Thanks. I will.” Daniel sat down on the bench seat next to Charlie, who lowered her gaze and scooted over, leaving way too much space between them. The high back of the booth must block the air conditioning because suddenly he was overwarm. He loosened his tie, removed his jacket, and rolled up his shirt sleeves, shifting another couple of inches nearer to Charlie in the process.
Although he wasn’t close enough to touch her, the heat of the smooth, bare skin of her arm raised the hairs on his own. His gaze followed the sweet slope of that arm until he got distracted by her shirt. The neckline of her shirt. The low, low neckline of her shirt.
Holy shit. Where did those come from?
Daniel caught himself staring like a fricking thirteen-year-old and snapped his gaze to Charlie’s face. Maybe she hadn’t noticed him communing with her cleavage. No such luck. She was looking straight at him with an expression he couldn’t interpret. Amused? Insulted? Stunned? Who knew? Christ. What was it about Charlie Forrester that punted him straight back to puberty?
With a tiny shake of her head, she turned back to Philip. “Yes, I’m perfectly serious.”
“Come on. Really? You want me to believe that if data told you to jump off a cliff, you’d go for it?”
“Sure.” She darted a sideways glance at Daniel. “If analysis proved the odds of survival were better at the bottom than at the top.”
Philip shook his head. “That is totally freaking weird.”
“But it isn’t. Data is all about making choices.” She leaned forward, the stem of her wineglass caged between her fingers. “Think about it. You analyze it to decide where to eat, what movie to see, what books to buy. Are you telling me you didn’t check at least one restaurant review site to find this bar?”
Daniel recognized that teasing edge to her voice, goading Philip, daring him to contradict her so she could flatten him with facts. In the two-person Circle of Trust they’d shared as kids, she’d used the same tone with him.
Until now, he’d never realized he considered it his property. He scowled into his drink as if it was its fault his day had gone from shit to shittier.
“That’s ridicu— Hold on.” Philip scratched his head. “Huh. What do you know? You’re right.”
“Word-of-mouth, social media, the internet. You have so much data at your fingertips that you don’t even think about it.”
“So you’re telling me data is my new best friend?”
“Exactly.” She grinned at him and an icy pit opened in Daniel’s belly. I’ve lost her. Before I ever got her back.
Philip laughed and swallowed the last of his beer. “Terrific. Too bad I can’t date it.”
Charlie blinked, grin fading, and dropped her gaze to her wine.
Ah ha. Somehow, Philip had fumbled the ball. Maybe Daniel still had a chance to get back in the game.
What would be the best gambit? They’d had dozens of friendly squabbles as kids. Hell, half the time he’d played devil’s advocate just to rile her up, to see what kind of weird solution she’d come up with. Right now, he needed something that would get a rise out of her, but also remind her that they used to be a team.
“Hey, Phil.” Let’s see you top this, buddy. “Know what Charlie’s teenage nickname was?”
Her smile transformed into a grimace and she hid behind a gulp of her white wine.
Phil chuckled, the poor, oblivious sap. “You know, Charlie, I still can’t believe we went to the same high school and never met. Probably just as well though. I was a total AV nerd. Spent all my time in the electronics lab tinkering with ancient film projectors.”
“Really?” Charlie inched away from Daniel. “What kind of LCD monitor do you recommend for—”
“It’s kind of a funny story.” No evading the subject. That’s against our rules. Remember? “See there was this guy in sixth grade—”
“Daniel.” Charlie’s voice held a plea and an admonition.
“Sixth grade?” Philip glanced from Daniel to Charlie, his grin uncertain, trying to hold on to his advantage. Not if I can help it. “That far back?”
“Further. I was ten. She was eight.” See? I’ve got seniority. A prior claim.
“Daniel, please.” She rested her hand on his forearm and he stilled, his heart lurching in his chest.
Well, that was new. Damn. Chalk up another kid-inappropriate response. He took a deep breath and got hit again. Because she smelled great, the scent of her hair like apples and summer. Had she always? Would I have noticed if she did?
He lifted his gaze, searching for her eyes, needing to know if she felt the difference, too, but she snatched her hand away and clenched it in her lap, her attention on Philip again.
“So. Philip. About that monitor.”
That’s right. Challenge. Response. They’d played this game hundreds of times, like poker with insults and information. Raising the stakes until one of them couldn’t make a comeback. Then they’d laugh and watch another Star Trek episode or tinker with some goofy invention. He’d lost count of the number of toasters they’d dismembered trying to build some damn thing or other.
Those hours with her were the last time he remembered being happy. Was it too much to want them back?
Daniel interrupted Philip’s monologue about resolution and aspect ratio. “So this guy, this bully, he’s always teasing Charlie about her hair, you know? Calls her Homey the Clown. Frizzmaster Three Thousand. Shit like that.”
