Page 21 of The Refusal

One.

Two.

Then her hand is gone.

I am branded. The buzz of her touch moves all the way down my body, and I only just stop myself leaning right over the knee-high table and kissing the perfect pink shine off her mouth.

“You need to keep doing the things you enjoy, don’t you? It keeps you sane. Do you do hack days in the office?”

“No. Actually, well, to be honest, I’m not sure … I don’t manage that area anymore.” I shrug, heart sinking, as I study the guy on his laptop at the table behind Jo. “I just get the reports.”

“Maybe you could set something up, or even join in. I bet there would be a real buzz if the CEO came along and hacked code. Make the techies feel like they’re the lifeblood of the business.”

“They are the lifeblood of the business,” I growl.

Her eyes skirt away from mine and then back.

“Don’t bark at me. You’re talking to a geek, I know they are.”

“Okay, okay, apologies.” I hold up my hands, palms forward. “Shit. I hate how developers are used and abused. They create all the value.”

She slumps a bit as she smiles. “I think I’ve hit a sore point.”

“Yeah, sorry.” I’m being an ass.

“Perhaps we could code together sometime?” she says.

I gawp at her. This sounds like all my best fantasies rolled into one.

Nervousness chases across her face like a cloud scudding across a perfect sky.

“I mean I’m sure I wouldn’t be anything like as good …”

I wave my hand at her, shaking my head. “That would be awesome,” I choke out, trying not to crumple at her feet in adoration. “You’d do that?”

“Well, of course! It would be a blast. You could come to a coding Friday at my company if you like. The tech guys would be so excited.”

“I’d love to do that, too. The thought of getting stuck into somebody else’s problems for a change would be fun.”

Warmth hums through me as I bring my coffee to my lips, but I’m somewhat ashamed that I’ve set this all up because I am a jealous prick who didn’t like other guys hitting on a girl he was interested in. I have so many ideas buzzing through my head now. I should have thought of her skill and insight first, not all the other inappropriate thoughts. There is no way I am good enough for this girl.

13

Janus

Ihave my first Sunday off in what feels like forever and I’m almost light-headed as I head out of Clark Street subway and into Brooklyn’s leafy streets. The brownstones wrap around me like a protective blanket, and the sidewalk is almost empty, so unlike the downtown frenzy. Sun glints through the trees, bouncing off the buildings and the frosty sidewalk, warming my face and my arms. Tension slowly seeps out of me into the cold January air as I walk toward Fabian’s. A sudden shout snaps my head upward.

“Janus Phillips, sex god!” Fabian is leaning right out of his top-floor window.

My lips curl up and I wave. Turns out he hasn’t forgotten one of our ongoing jokes, this one from a newspaper headline that ran above three pictures of me all taken in the same week, each of them showing me kissing a different woman. If anyone knew how little sex I got now, they wouldn’t find my life quite so amusing. I certainly don’t. Then I’m laughing at him as he’s hanging out the window, shirtless, waving what appears to be a spliff at me.

“Come do dem drugs,” he yells, and I wince as a couple of people stop chatting on the stoop over the road and observe him in confused silence.

He cackles loudly as he slams the frame down, and I wonder how much he’s smoked and how stoned he might be. Fuck. I didn’t do dope at college, not from some moral high ground; I just didn’t like the lack of control and had no time to be high anyway. But God, today with all that is going on in the business and the constant jitters from my crush I am trying to hide, it has never sounded more appealing.

The buzzer unlocks the door, I take in the out of order sign on the elevator and the battered hallway, then trot up three flights of stairs. Fabian meets me at the doorway to his apartment, all naked tattooed chest and the dirtiest, roughest denim I’ve ever seen on anybody. I narrow my eyes on his face, but I can’t see any outward signs that he’s high at all. I nod at the joint in his hands and at his jeans. He peers down at himself and winces.

“Let me take a shower.”

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