Page 43 of The Refusal

Jo

The sky is a heavy gray outside the window as I mosey around my little kitchen. All I want is to grab a bowl of cereal and hole up under the covers with my laptop and sugared snacks. As I stare absently at the machine chugging through its brewing cycle, a few raindrops start to appear on the windowpane behind. Well, at least I have no excuse for avoiding the pile of work now.

Over a week later, and I still feel bad about the fight between Fabian and Janus. After we worked late, Fabian insisted, at 3 a.m., that I took his bed and handed me a T-shirt. Then, in an embarrassed flurry, he showed me his shower and changed his sheets, mumbling something about being ashamed of the state of everything, and my heart went out to him. He’s such a nice guy under that crazy exterior. He swore he was fine on the sofa and, in fact, “often slept there.” The following morning, Janus was there looking like a thundercloud and then he left, and Fabian ran around the apartment like a mad thing, saying that Janus thought we’d slept together. I mean Fabian is so unstable, I’d no more think of sleeping with him than fly a kite. But he chased Janus down the stairs, and when they came back it was clear they’d been fighting, and I got no sense from either of them.

I’ve been working with Fabian almost constantly since, despite the fact that joining forces with a known hacker to work on a billion-dollar company makes all the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. But, to be fair, heisa friend of Janus’s and has been a godsend this week; his knowledge of how hackers operate has been nothing short of incredible. He’s lounged around our office several times, ostensibly to work with me and the guys, but mainly to tell us about the drugs he likes to experiment with. I also have a sneaking suspicion he enjoys the company. Des has a complete man-crush on him and his spectacular tattoos, and just smirked at me when I told him I’m sure he bats for the other team. The memory of Des plonking himself down next to him on our sofa yesterday makes a wide smile break out across my face.

Back in my bedroom, I’m just getting hunkered down when my phone buzzes, and I lean right out of bed to pick it up from the floor.

“What are you doing now?”

Janus. A little thrill runs through me.

“Looking at your system,” I type, adding a smiley face, because honestly what else can I say? Caught working in bed.

“Seriously? I need to be paying you overtime.”

I start to reply that we’re doing extremely well from his contract—thank you very much—when I see the writing icon appear again.

“You do your coding day on Friday?”

And I immediately want to write this in my diary: Janus Phillips remembered something I told him weeks ago.

“No.” The truth is that my time in the office is getting harder and harder to protect. “Too many company problems to solve.” Another smiley face.

“Tell me about it. How do you fancy giving up on my system and coming over and writing software with me?”

I laugh at the kind of invites that make your pulse race when you’re a girl in tech. He thinks I’m worth coding with: another entry for my journal. In fact, never mind that: Janus Phillips just invited me over to his place. Although we have another mentoring session scheduled in a couple of weeks, I’ve not seen him in ten days, and I can’t contain the buzz in my bloodstream. My finger hovers over the text box. What do I do here? Spending one on one time with him at his apartment strikes me as madness, but so help me God, I’ve got a ton of work in front of me, the day is miserable, and the idea of doing something that I love with him right now sounds like the best thing in the world.

The typing icon starts again.

“Warning: my mom and dad are here and I’m actually looking for an excuse to not have them nag me twenty-four seven about my laundry or the state of my apartment.”

There are so many things about this statement that make me smile so wide: Janus Phillip’s parents give him a hard time? He’s scared of them, so he needs a cover story? Priceless.

“How can I resist an invitation like that?” If his mom and dad are there, then how much of a risk will it be?

The writing starts and stops on his phone several times, and when the words come through my heart skips in my chest.

“I’m working on being impossible to resist.”

Ugh, he’s clearly an expert at the flirty text thing. He’s good because he does it a lot, I remind myself. How many dates has he been on in the last ten days? Is he still seeing that woman from the tech dinner? I squint down at my phone. I hadn’t intended my response to be suggestive, but our interactions always have some edge, a line that we never quite step over. Clearly I’m silent too long because a follow-up message appears.

“Didn’t mean to imply anything inappropriate by that.”

Yes you did, I snort to myself as I peer at my screen: 9 a.m. I’ve been up for hours but it’s still early for a Sunday. The giddy sensation comes back: This is Janus Phillips texting me, inviting me over. What is my life? I tap out the words, hands shaking.

“What time?”

“How soon can you get here?” Then immediately followed by another text. “I’ve got fresh croissants.”

Be still my heart.

“The way to a girl’s heart is through her stomach,” I reply. “See you in an hour.” And I leap out of bed and race into the shower.

27

Janus

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