Page 11 of Anti-Player

Chapter Four

Mikel

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Paige is going to bemy savior.

I know it for certain.

That's how I feel when I drift to sleep after our first meeting at the Palm. It's how I feel when I stir from slumber, awake before my eyes open the next morning. I lie there in my California King, luxuriating in the darkness of my eyelids, recalling Paige's face.

She has hawkish hazel eyes. Clever, untrusting, perceptive eyes the same shade as the wires inside a computer motherboard. But the rare moment she smiles, they sparkle and she grows dimples. It was like watching a flower bloom. The first time I saw it happen I knew I wanted to see it again.

Watch yourself. You can't let yourself lose focus.

My eyes pop open at the cold thought.

Right. I have something of immense importance to complete. I only met Paige recently, I can't get distracted by some primitive, wild urge to touch her hair, her cheeks, smell her skin... see what other expressions I can get her to make.

I throw my blankets aside. My hard-on stands out in the dim lighting of my bedroom. Groaning, I rock sideways, putting my bare feet on my floorboards. They're warm—the power of advanced heating that I've paid a pretty penny for. Resting my head in my hands, I fluff my hair, draw my fingers down my face towards my mouth. The fully mirrored wall across from me throws my flustered expression back my way.

Staring for a second, I laugh grimly. “Get it together, Mikel,” I tell myself out loud. “You've got hundreds of hours ahead of you. It's too soon to be this tired.”

Jumping up with renewed determination I hurry around my large bedroom to get my routine over with. I've never been great with things like cleaning or taking care of myself. If I didn't hire professionals to keep my condo in check, my home would look worse than the average college boy's dorm.

My mother had visited me once in my first year at Brown. She'd been aghast at the mess, and her horror had led to advice. She'd sat me down and said, “If you can't find a way to do it yourself, pay someone.” I'd taken that to heart and now have a staff in charge of my groceries, meals, cleaning, everything except...

“Beanie!” I laugh when my massive labradoodle slams his full weight into my chest. His black curly fur feels good in my hands as I give him a scratch around his neck and collar, the places he loves most. “Ready for a quick run?”

His tongue slobbers on my cheek, forcing me to push him aside with more laughter. “Good boy,” I say when he sits long enough for me to leash him. Running along the Santa Monica beach is my only chance for a workout, but exercising with my dog goes deeper than that. Seeing his unburdened joy helps me experience my own. It's inspiring in a way I struggle to put into words.

All I know is that when I'm out in the damp ocean air with the smells and sights of the world attacking my senses, I work more diligently than ever. As busy as I am, I hope to never lose this single act of personal fun. I don't have many, after all.

Even in college I had a hard time choosing play over work. Once I graduated there was some relief on my end to stop forcing hobbies with fellow roommates and students. I quickly flourished in the tech world, hired on by my own father when his shareholders saw I was creating a competitor for them. Now I lead Hause Industries.

Honestly, I don't care what title I have or where I work. If I can create... if I can fix problems...

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