Page 74 of The Love Scam
And all he was doing was holding her hand.
“You know I’m fluent, and not just in Italian.”
“Sure.” Of course she knew. It was cool, but annoying. Rake was hot enoughwithoutbeing able to whisper sweet nothings in French or order blood sausage in German or curse at Peeps in Italian.
(She had no idea what “Fanculo, Peeps,e leccare le mie palle!”meant, but Sofia’sandTeresa’s eyes went big when Rake let loose, and the two of them had heard everything. His shame-faced apology right afterward just made everything funnier.)
“The thing about languages,” he went on, “they’re codes. That’s all. You just have to figure out what the letters stand for, right?”
“Sure.”
“And for some people, that’s easy. Me, I’m great at figuring out languages, but I suck at poker and chess.”
“Okay.” Wary now. Which felt like the appropriate response.
“But the wiring that makes me good at languages but terrible at chess makes me good at crossword puzzles, Sudoku—stuff where the object is filling in the blank.”
“Okay…”
“And passwords. I’m really good at those. Because those are codesandpuzzles.”
She froze. As far as clichés went, it was pretty accurate: She actually felt everything in her lock up, like she’d been plunked down in the middle of a blizzard.
“You didn’t—” No. Impossible. It was long and dumb and had no significance except to her, and the odds that he guessed were billions to—
“I knew your laptop password had twenty-two letters. And now and again I saw which letters you were hitting, though you were careful never to let me see you put the whole thing in. We were
(past tense? yes, of course)
sharing a room, after all. And I didn’t have a laptop of my own, or a phone until recently, to distract me, so there wasn’t much to do in here except worry about Lillith and listen to you type and think about your password.”
Definitely should have tried to seduce him, then. To think I didn’t dare!
“I didn’t think you’d put in twenty-two numbers—you’d need a password to mean something. So what could be important to you? What does Claire Delaney care about? Not money—you don’t give a shit about it… unless someone goes back on their word. Baby-sitting random millionaires? I’m pretty sure I’m the only one. The other girls sure seemed to think so— No,” he said, seeing her expression. “They didn’t rat you out. I’m fun, I’m laid-back, and when I ask questions, it’s not at all threatening. And they keep forgetting I’m fluent. Which is just fine.”
She sat there, brain empty. Absolutely no idea what to say, or even think.
“So!” he continued briskly. “Twenty-two letters, and some of them wereCandHandMandEandIandAandB.”
“You still couldn’t have—” It was actually hard to talk; her lips had gone numb.
“C-H-A-R-I-T-Y-B-E-G-I-N-S-A-T-H-O-M-E-I-C-U.” When all she did was gape like a trout, he elaborated: “Charity begins at home. I see you.” He shook his head, amused. “Youreallyhate when they renege.”
“Yes,” she managed. Cracked it. Cracked it in two days and never said a word. Cracked it for fun, to pass the time, and never said a word. “Blake’s a fool to underestimate you.” She managed to look at him and said it, one of the biggest truths of her life: “I was, too.”
“Thanks.” He seemed pleased, which was a sizable improvement over pissed.
“I can’t really tell you every—”
“Hacks and hits. That’s what you do. All around the world.”
“Yes.” His eyes. Oh his blue, blue eyes that held reproach, but not as much as she deserved. “Since before I could vote.”
“Which one was I?”
“What?”
“A hack or a hit?”
