Page 20 of Lust

Usually, I’d let my sister Linda do this part. Sure, she grumbles about the ethics, but we’re close to completing the algorithm that’ll pick for us, and there’s no better training than showing the app who its human overlords would choose.

Jonah Matthew Hamilton. Good old American boy. Handsome guy, sandy blond hair, blue eyes. Only thirty-one. Wonder why he’s using the Black app? Based on the credit card that made the purchase, he either has a very understanding wife, or his mama subscribed for him. The boy’s a lawyer, but his parents are loaded, too. My guess is, they want him to settle down.

I look back up and catch Everly tucking a stray lock of hair behind one ear before leaning over to drizzle a work of art into someone’s cappuccino. Her green sweater hangs loosely on her tiny frame, exposing the thick strap of a black tank top and the pale skin of one soft shoulder.

Many men would find her very attractive. In fact, two months ago, I might have asked her out just to give the paparazzi something pretty to photograph. I might have even taken her to bed, though I would have wound up disappointed. Jonah Matthew Hamilton, on the other hand, could probably show her a proper good time.

As if she can hear my thoughts, Everly looks up and stares directly at me with those piercing sapphire eyes. A rosy flush blooms over her cheeks and she nods toward where my scone sits on a small colorful plate next to a tiny espresso cup.

Yes, she deserves a little excitement. And Mr. Hamilton and his meddlesome mother deserve to find out just what the Arrow Black Platinum package can buy. I click the match button, and let the artificial intelligence get to work. Who needs the cumbersome process of getting to know someone through conversation when a computer can do it for you?

I watch Everly’s tattered Vans sneakers glide across the worn wooden floor of the cafe.

“Sorry for the wait.” She sets my scone and espresso on the table. Then she looks up at me from under long, dark lashes. “I’m sorry to bug you—I bet you get this all the time—but you look just like that Arrow guy. Mr. Luther.” She hesitates.

Shit. Is she going to ask me out?

I don’t have time to respond before she rambles on. “I know it’s silly, it’s just that he’s from around here, and if you were him, I’d have a huge favor to ask.”

“And if I were him, what favor would you ask?” A smile plays over my lips.

She blushes to a deep pink.

Definitely going to ask me out.

“It’s my mom. She’s, like, obsessed with you—with Mr. Luther—and if I could get an autograph…”

I nearly choke on a relieved laugh. “Your mom, huh?”

Everly nods.

“Show me where to sign.”

Eyes wider than satellite dishes, Everly zips back to the counter, returning in seconds with a framed photograph of a familiar-looking brunette.

“She gave me this to keep at the counter for when I get lonely. I think she just likes knowing my male coworkers drool over her.” She notices me staring at the picture and laughs. “She had me really young,” she explains. “She’s only thirty-seven.”

“What’s her name?” I pull the picture closer, searching the smiling brown eyes and chestnut locks for some clue that will jog my memory.

“Lawson.” Katie smiles. “That’s our last name. Her first name’s Emma.”

Of course! The queen bee.

“We went to school together.” My tone is breezy, though my heart thuds audibly in my ears. “And your dad?”Please not Brent. Please don’t tell me I’m sitting here planning the demise of your father…

A cloud of pain furrows Everly’s smooth brow, then passes just as quickly. She shrugs. “You probably remember him, if you went to school with mom. I guess it’s no secret. He never admitted to being my dad, but we got a paternity test and everything.”

The suspense sends my pulse screaming past my eardrums.Please, for the love of everything, don’t let it be Brent.

“My mom won’t even say his name, but he was the quarterback of the football team. Apparently, something happened. Other football players were involved…” Her hand travels to her throat, rubbing the pale skin on her neck. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Don’t feel bad.” I grasp her free hand. “You’re answering my questions, that’s all.” Her fingers tremble under mine. “What shall I write to your mom?”

Everly frowns. “She always said everyone was mean to you and she wishes she’d paid more attention to guys like you instead of the popular jerks. She says she wouldn’t deserve even the time of day from you.” She hands me a thin-tipped marker.

I slide the photo out of the cheap plastic frame and scrawl across the picture.

Of course I’ll give the time of day to one of the prettiest girls in school.

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