Reggie finished her preparations for bed with frayed nerves, the anticipation she felt slightly tarnished by the way every interaction in her family had to somehow be a competition between her and her sister, which meant they both always lost.
She climbed into bed, reminding herself that she couldn’t control other people’s behaviors and she shouldn’t try, as her therapist had been pounding into her stubborn brain for years. She had more pressing concerns in that moment, like figuring out why she’d finally opened the nine-step skin-care set that Portia had given her, so that her skin was dewy and glowing and her lips were scrubbed smooth and kissable. Or why she’d put on her TARDIS blue camisole top, with its dipping neckline, and matching pajama bottoms when she usually slept in an oversize Tanuki, My Love T-shirt.
She’d drawn the line at her hair, though, slipping on her yellow silk bonnet before getting under the covers and repositioning the snakelike device that wrapped around one of the posts of her bed and held her tablet out in front of her.
It was go time.
Reggie tapped the link to the video conference on the screen, where they would watch the episodes—and each other—in a private virtual viewing session not so different from how they’d originally met.
Gus N. has entered the meeting popped up on her screen and her stomach flipped.
She didn’t care what Gus thought of her. This wasn’t a date, it was a barter. But . . .
Her heart began to beat a little bit faster. This felt like a date. And first dates with people she hadn’t met in person before often had one thing in common for Reggie—the moment when they looked at her disability instead of looking at her. She’d taken control of the world’s reaction to her by using a flashy wheelchair, an expensive red sci-fi–inspired design that put Charles Xavier’s to shame but was slightly impractical for most first dates. All of her public chairs had elements of flair to them. She’d never met with a guy she had a crush on while in pajamas and without the armor of her badass mobility devices.
She was nervous.
There was the brief pause as the connection between them linked, the little circle spinning on her screen, and she ripped the silk bonnet off and tossed it aside, running her fingers through her curls. The anticipation that she’d suppressed all day bloomed alongside the nervousness in her stomach, winding together like a briar patch. She remembered the last time she’d gone on a roller coaster—years and years ago—the almost overwhelming fear at the top of the ride that was only tolerable because you knew something exhilarating would follow.
Gus’s static image shifted into a live video feed and God. Damn.
He was attractive. Really. Fucking. Attractive. There was that familiar square jawline and grapefruit-red mouth, and his plump lower lip. His face was lean and long, with slight hollows that delineated his cheekbones but didn’t make him look gaunt. His brown eyes were hooded, gently sloped beneath thick brows, and his skin was golden tan with warm undertones, enhanced by the white sleeveless T-shirt he wore. The T-shirt that revealed toned arms and the shadow of hair beneath his arms.
She licked her lips even though they were moist and exfoliated—it was a reflex to the thirst trap that had just apparated onto her screen. “Hey, Gus.”
In the small square that showed her own face, she could see that her eyes were wide and, wow, this camisole was much more deeply cut than she’d realized. She didn’t have huge breasts, but they were very apparent thanks to the angle of her tablet’s camera.
If Gus noticed, it didn’t show. His expression didn’t change until, finally, his mouth moved. “Hey.”
She smiled because it was cool, finally getting to put a face—well, eyes and a nose and hair—with the voice, and he mirrored the action, revealing he also had a dimple in his left cheek. Just one cheek, as if someone had known that asymmetrical features were her catnip.
UNFAIR. COMPLETELY UNFAIR.
“I didn’t think about some aspects of this when I suggested a video chat,” he said, his brows drawing together. “I won’t mind if you turn off the video feed on your end.”
A nasty thought crept from the recesses of her mind, a well of doubt that she thought she’d long ago sealed over with the warding spell of her own confidence.
He doesn’t want to look at you.
She slapped that thought down, crushing it like a soot sprite.
She was cute and she wouldn’t let anyone plant seeds of doubt, especially not her own mind.
“You’re the one who suggested video. Is there a problem?” Her brow raised in the video thumbnail.
He inhaled deeply, the hollow of his throat suddenly thrown into relief by shadow. “Well, no, but I’m realizing that maybe I was asking something unreasonable of you. Sleep is a private thing, and maybe you don’t want me in your bed, so to speak.”
She could see on the HD screen of her tablet that a blush was spreading across his cheeks. His gaze dropped away. Gus was embarrassed.
Gus is maybe having impure thoughts about your boobs.
She wasn’t as upset about that as she should have been.
“No, it’s fine.” She pulled her blanket up over her chest so he could stop blushing. “Thank you for making sure, though.”
His eyes lifted back up to the screen and his features softened a bit now that her cleavage was hidden. She’d wear her Tanuki T-shirt next time.
Or she’d buy more camisoles and let the chips fall where they may.
“Will you be hot?” he asked. She could see now that he was glistening, too, and probably not from a shimmer night mask. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. “It’s so humid.”
“I have central air,” she said, trying not to sound smug and failing.
He smiled, and that dimple she’d seen a hint of deepened. “Show-off.”
Something warm whispered through Reggie’s stomach and she realized that even though her air conditioner was on full blast, she was suddenly hot.
“Well, I didn’t invent it. It came with the house.”
“You live in a house? Show-off.” He was still grinning and his gaze was still locked on her. He . . . was flirting? “I spent all my savings on avocado toast, so I live in a crappy apartment with a crappy roommate.”
“That sucks.” She shifted in mild discomfort. Even in college she’d had a single because, well because of what it always came down to. Her parents weren’t mega rich, but they were well off enough that certain things weren’t denied to them. “Um, so. Reject Squad Ultra? I can give you the basic sales pitch that I give to my follo—friends to convince them to watch, if you want.”
He leaned closer to his monitor, and Reggie could see the back of his computer chair and, not too far behind him, a door framed by white walls with no artwork. His room was maybe a third of the size of her bedroom.
“Go ahead,” he said, his attention totally on her. She could feel his focus, even through the screen.
“Well, it’s about two childhood enemies who end up at the same military high school. When they were younger, she beat him at every competition—and beat him up because they were supposed to get married when they grew up and he annoyed the hell out of her. And now they’re at this school, fighting dragons and minions of the Evil Queen, and they still have this sense of competition, and she hates that she can no longer beat him because she now falls asleep when her adrenaline starts going.”