AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She scoffs, sinking her key into the lock. "Even if you did pay, I don't want strangers touching my things. I have valuables, just so you know. Nothing I want broken out of carelessness... Besides, I already rented a U-Haul."
The snarky response I had primed and ready rockets right back down my windpipe. She's going to drive a U-Haul? In the city? Knowing I'll likely be her unwilling passenger, dread washes over me, but not as much as when she opens the door, unveiling a nightmare I'm instantly wishing to wake from.
Three words sum it up quite nicely.
Nerd. Shit. EVERYWHERE.
Cyberpunk posters on the walls. Retro gaming consoles that I can't put names to sitting comfortably inside glass cases. A decked-out PC, sporting—
"You gonna help, or just stand there in the doorway?"
Juliana's sass drags me from my fixation, as I note the hand propped on her hip and the heap of empty boxes stacked beside her.
Great.
The door swings shut on my entrance, followed by a loud thud. Blinking, I look past the total nerd haven and take the apartment in as a whole—if I could even call it that. Sure, studios are quite common in dense cities like New York City, but I didn't know they came this small.
The whole room is much longer than it is wide and can't be more than a hundred square feet, utilizing the precious space down to the last foot. Floating shelves mark the walls, tiny cabinets stack up to the ceiling, and a two-person couch stands next to a Murphy hideaway bed that folds out into the kitchenette.
This place is even tinier than her mom's growing up. Sick bile rises up my throat, full of sympathy and anger, and suddenly I can't move her into my place fast enough.
"Enough with the pitiful looks, Mr. Judgy. I happen to like my apartment just the way it is." Against all odds, pride flows from her, putting a damper on my emotions.
I tilt my head, examining with a new perspective. Aside from the nerdish knickknacks, there's a certain charm to the space, similar to her bedroom back home. A deliberate arrangement of furniture accented by aesthetic blends of pinks and purples, forming a moody vibe with a surprising amount of natural light.
A large bin gets shoved into my hands.
"Chop, chop."
I press my lips into a thin line. Defiant pride or not, she's still coming home with me.
Four hours later, I've carried more overly stuffed bins than I cared to count down to the U-Haul, effectively aging my lower back at least thirty years, and we're not even finished yet. Almost, but a few stragglers remain.
Her couch. A nightstand. Several lamps. Miscellaneous bathroom and kitchen essentials. And, most notably, the beast that is her computer. To clarify, I don't mean her laptop, although I wish that were the case. I'm referring to the geeky battle station over in the corner, in front of the apartment's only window, fading an array of RBG lights in and out like alluring breath.
"How do we go about packing this monstrosity?"
"Huh...?" Her voice breaks through the clattering of pots and pans. "Oh, that'll go very last."
I approach with caution, as if one misstep might disrupt the quiet hum of the tower, or scrabble the indiscernible lines of code displayed across three monitors. But I quickly think better of it; there's not a wire in sight for me to mess up. With a shrug, I sink into her girly, pink gaming chair, and study the gibberish some more, unable to deduce a splinter of meaning.
"Really? You want to wait? This seems... important."
"It is." Her voice comes up beside me, the sound pleasant in my ears. "It needs to have maximum run-time, so we'll pack it last and set it up first."
I squint, noting a section of green code vertically zooming up the screen, seemingly writing itself. An automation, of some sort. And here I am, Hayden Kingston, player of players, the smooth operator—or the rake of New York City, as my friends like to say—debating whether to ask about code.
C.O.D.E...
There's no valid explanation, except that I fell on our last trip to the truck. Or that it came from her fingertips, so I have no such restraint.
"This, right here." I point at the moving part. "What in the world is that?"
She sucks in a breath, then hesitates. "You really want to know?"
No! my internal instincts scream in my head, that'd normally steer me into acting unimpressed and subtly demeaning her little project. But instead, like some pussy-whipped amateur, I nod.
Her eyes light up instantly, and when she flashes the most genuine smile I've seen since storming back into her life, my heart contracts.
