said.
Splotches of color bloomed on Cindy’s face. “Ouch,” she whispered. “That was really cold and nasty.”
That was Miles Davenport. Cold as an iceberg. Nasty as a pile of fresh dogshit. He sat there, glaring, and didn’t take it back.
“You’re still mad about what happened at Erin’s wedding?” Cindy’s voice was tight. “It’s been a whole year! Forgive me already!”
“I’m not mad,” Miles lied. “I’m just not particularly interested. And if you don’t mind, I’m working down here, not just dicking around.”
She brushed angry tears out of her eyes with the backs of her hands, and turned to go. “Fine,” she muttered. “Fuck you, too, Miles.”
He felt like shit for making her cry. “Cin,” he called out. “Stop.”
She stopped at the door. “What?” Her voice was small and hurt.
“What do you want?” he asked wearily. “Do you need to pass an exam? Do you need somebody to help you move? What the hell is it?”
She sniffed. “I don’t want any favors. I just miss shooting the shit. Watching Battlestar Galactica with you. Can’t we just be friends again?”
Miles swallowed. Yeah, sure, she missed being adored by her panting, drooling personal slave. Of course she missed it. So did he.
But he couldn’t afford to adore Cindy. It tore him to pieces.
“I’ll burn you some copies of my DVDs. I’m too busy to lie around watching the tube, Cin. I have a life.” He rummaged through the disc tower. “Battlestar Galactica? You want Firefly, too? I have the movie.”
Cindy’s face contracted. “That’s not the point. You stupid dork.”
Miles threw up his hands. “Then I don’t know how to help you.” She was so fucking pretty, her eyelashes glittering with tears.
She blinked at the screen. “Who are you chatting with?”
“Oh, that.” He turned to look, and grimaced in dismay. guess ur busy, bye 4 now, Jared had written.
“Oh, shit,” he moaned. “I lost him. Damn!”
“Lost who?” Cindy’s wet eyes brightened with curiosity.
“It’s a work thing. For Connor. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
“Aw, shut up.” Cindy peered at the monitor. “The gain and asymmetry of a parallel compressive gammachirp filter is comparable to…jeez, Miles, what does Con have to do with this techno stuff?”
“Nothing. There’s this predator who’s killing science geeks,” he admitted. “I’m creating characters with profiles similar to his victims. Then I put them out there in cyberspace, and hope he’ll hit on me.”
“Brr.” She squinted as she read the screen. “WitchywomanBware? You mean, you’re a girl? Oh, Miles. That’s, like, kinky.”
His face got hot. “It’s just the way I work. This guy Jared really likes Mina. I was hoping he’d make a move, but he’s wandered off.”
“Sorry.” Cindy shot him a sidewise glance, and read. “Chatter personal profile: Mina. Where’d you come up with that?”
“Dracula. We’re hunting a vampire. Not the sexy TV kind. The kind who sucks out your blood and kicks your corpse out of its way.”
Cindy shuddered. “Creepy. That is so negative.”
“Dealing with serial murderers will do that to you,” Miles said loftily. “Get out of my dungeon, if I’m too creepy for you.”
Cindy leaned closer to read the box headed Physical Description. “Height, five feet, four inches,” she murmured. “110—115 pounds. Eyes, dark brown. Hair, long, dark. Bra cup size?” Miles had duly filled in B-cup. Under Distinguishing Characteristics, he’d typed, pierced navel.”
“Hmm,” she murmured. “So, um…basically, you told this guy that you were me.”
Miles’s rolling chair shot back and hit the table behind him with a crash. Cindy jumped back, eyes big. “That’s the thing about you that bugs the shit out of me, Cin,” he snarled. “You think it’s all about you. It’s not, OK? So take your perky tattooed ass and get it out of my face.”
Cindy squeaked, and fled.
Miles dropped his
Splotches of color bloomed on Cindy’s face. “Ouch,” she whispered. “That was really cold and nasty.”
That was Miles Davenport. Cold as an iceberg. Nasty as a pile of fresh dogshit. He sat there, glaring, and didn’t take it back.
“You’re still mad about what happened at Erin’s wedding?” Cindy’s voice was tight. “It’s been a whole year! Forgive me already!”
“I’m not mad,” Miles lied. “I’m just not particularly interested. And if you don’t mind, I’m working down here, not just dicking around.”
She brushed angry tears out of her eyes with the backs of her hands, and turned to go. “Fine,” she muttered. “Fuck you, too, Miles.”
He felt like shit for making her cry. “Cin,” he called out. “Stop.”
She stopped at the door. “What?” Her voice was small and hurt.
“What do you want?” he asked wearily. “Do you need to pass an exam? Do you need somebody to help you move? What the hell is it?”
She sniffed. “I don’t want any favors. I just miss shooting the shit. Watching Battlestar Galactica with you. Can’t we just be friends again?”
Miles swallowed. Yeah, sure, she missed being adored by her panting, drooling personal slave. Of course she missed it. So did he.
But he couldn’t afford to adore Cindy. It tore him to pieces.
“I’ll burn you some copies of my DVDs. I’m too busy to lie around watching the tube, Cin. I have a life.” He rummaged through the disc tower. “Battlestar Galactica? You want Firefly, too? I have the movie.”
Cindy’s face contracted. “That’s not the point. You stupid dork.”
Miles threw up his hands. “Then I don’t know how to help you.” She was so fucking pretty, her eyelashes glittering with tears.
She blinked at the screen. “Who are you chatting with?”
“Oh, that.” He turned to look, and grimaced in dismay. guess ur busy, bye 4 now, Jared had written.
“Oh, shit,” he moaned. “I lost him. Damn!”
“Lost who?” Cindy’s wet eyes brightened with curiosity.
“It’s a work thing. For Connor. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
“Aw, shut up.” Cindy peered at the monitor. “The gain and asymmetry of a parallel compressive gammachirp filter is comparable to…jeez, Miles, what does Con have to do with this techno stuff?”
“Nothing. There’s this predator who’s killing science geeks,” he admitted. “I’m creating characters with profiles similar to his victims. Then I put them out there in cyberspace, and hope he’ll hit on me.”
“Brr.” She squinted as she read the screen. “WitchywomanBware? You mean, you’re a girl? Oh, Miles. That’s, like, kinky.”
His face got hot. “It’s just the way I work. This guy Jared really likes Mina. I was hoping he’d make a move, but he’s wandered off.”
“Sorry.” Cindy shot him a sidewise glance, and read. “Chatter personal profile: Mina. Where’d you come up with that?”
“Dracula. We’re hunting a vampire. Not the sexy TV kind. The kind who sucks out your blood and kicks your corpse out of its way.”
Cindy shuddered. “Creepy. That is so negative.”
“Dealing with serial murderers will do that to you,” Miles said loftily. “Get out of my dungeon, if I’m too creepy for you.”
Cindy leaned closer to read the box headed Physical Description. “Height, five feet, four inches,” she murmured. “110—115 pounds. Eyes, dark brown. Hair, long, dark. Bra cup size?” Miles had duly filled in B-cup. Under Distinguishing Characteristics, he’d typed, pierced navel.”
“Hmm,” she murmured. “So, um…basically, you told this guy that you were me.”
Miles’s rolling chair shot back and hit the table behind him with a crash. Cindy jumped back, eyes big. “That’s the thing about you that bugs the shit out of me, Cin,” he snarled. “You think it’s all about you. It’s not, OK? So take your perky tattooed ass and get it out of my face.”
Cindy squeaked, and fled.
Miles dropped his
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