Page 67 of Crave Me

“Hi, are you home?” Evan asks, sounding confused.

He knows it’s thirty-five minutes back to my place, and it hasn’t been that long since I left him. “No,” I say. “Are you on your way?”

“Soon, I have a few projects to sign off on and was delayed when the lab called with issues surrounding the new Mechanicus prototype.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work.”

He pauses. “What’s wrong?”

I tried keeping my tone even, but there’s no hiding my frustration. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Then tell me,” he says, his voice sharpening with concern.

I groan when traffic slows to a stop ahead of me. There’s been an accident or something, delaying me even more. On the plus side, it gives me more than enough time to tell Evan everything I told Curran.

When I finish, he doesn’t hesitate. “You’re spending the night at my house,” he says.

“Wait, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. Alfred, show Wren to my residence straight away.”

“Initiating shortest route,” Alfred says.

My navigation screen flashes, honing in on the surrounding area and spiraling out like some futuristic satellite. “Whoa, slow down there, Alfred.”

“Shortest route initiated,” Alfred answers, totally ignoring me and taking Evan’s side. “At the next block, make a left on North 10th Street, travel three blocks, and make a left onto Vine Street toward the Vine Street Expressway.”

I mumble a few swears, but make the left Alfred suggests.

“Alfred, shut down my office,” Evan’s voice booms.

“Shutting down office,” Alfred repeats.

The sound of shuffling papers increases with Evan’s words. “Alfred, protect Wren and see her inside my residence.”

“Protecting, Wren,” he repeats.

I stare blankly as an infrared netting flares out from the screen, onto the dash, and across the cabin. “Uh. What did you just do?” I ask.

“I’m protecting you,” Evan says, like it’s obvious.

A small light flashes on above my rearview mirror, extending the bright red, crisscrossing a pattern of lights across the hood. “Evan, what the hell did your Geek Gang do to my truck?”

“Installed Alfred into your vehicle,” he responds, appearing to move fast. “We discussed this, they applied our protection and intelligence to fit your needs.”

“I’m not carrying the Hope diamond,” I remind him. “You’ll see for yourself when I strip down to my panties.”

“I’m only assuring your safety so I can help you out of those panties.”

“Wren secure,” Alfred says, oblivious to the surge of blood now thumping my nether regions.

A 9-1-1 icon appears on the corner of the navigation screen, blinking as if readying to dial. “Is a bazooka going to pop out of my dash?” I ask.

“No, a machine gun,” he responds, not missing a beat. “It carries more rounds and is easier to manipulate.”

I only hope he’s joking. “About your tech team,” I begin.

“Yes?”

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