Page 22 of Playing the Field
Okay, fine. I’m nosy.
I’m also smitten, despite my best instincts that tell me to stay far away from players with attitude. The best way I can think of to stanch that budding flame is to pour cold water over it before it can grow. In other words, I searched for any and all information about Hunter and women—the more compromising pictures, the better. I didn’t have to work very hard.
I found breathless posts showing Hunter with his arm draped over the shapely bare shoulders of models, actresses, and even a few people’s wives. When I finished rolling my eyes over his lack of scruples, I saw enough cleavage and curves to cure me of any illusions that he could ever be interested in someone like me. My curves are courtesy of Ben and Jerry’s, thank you very much.
Cold-water dousing achieved. Check.
It’s yet another helpful reminder that I’m new at my job, and the last thing I need is to compromise my integrity by appearingto favor players. It’s bad enough that people have gotten wind of our temporary living arrangements, resulting in a few raised eyebrows. I reminded anyone who commented that we’re all adults here. Give me a desk full of spreadsheets, and I’m happy.
With the apple-cinnamon scent urging me forward, I get into a groove and focus on the job I came here to do. It feels good to work. The player statistics fall into place, and I start making sense of all the data points I’ve been tracking.
“Morning, Tink.” Hunter sounds sleepy, and I know without even looking that he probably doesn’t have on a shirt. So I look.
There he is, rubbing his eyes, holding an e-reader with Bogie standing next to him, wagging his tail. “This one.” I point at the dog. “I have a bone to pick with your dog.”
“Uh-oh. Bogie, what did you do?” He looks at the dog, who, naturally, says nothing. His tongue lolls from his mouth, and his tail wags.
“He snuck up on me while I was sleeping. Put his face right next to mine and started doing this heavy breathing thing.”
Hunter chuckles. “Yeah, he does that. But only to people he likes. It’s how he wakes me up most days. He wanted you to invite him up to snuggle.”
“Well, I thought it was an axe murderer coming for me.”
“You should really watch the chocolate consumption before bed.” He looks over my shoulder at what must look like an Excel nerd’s dream. “What’s all that?”
“First, tell me what you’re reading.” I point at the device in his hands.
He looks down. “Love this thing. I’m toggling between a Louise Penny mystery and that one you were reading about the duke.”
I laugh. “You are not.”
He holds it up to show me, and sure enough, he’s queued up a Scottish period romance. “You never cease to surprise me, Reyes.”
He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m complex,” he deadpans. “Now, your turn. What’s all that? Can you…explain it to me?” The words sound like the usual grumpy grunt I’ve come to expect from Hunter, but there’s something vulnerable in his voice, as though not liking when he doesn’t understand something.
“The algorithms?”
He crosses his arms and nods. “I guess. What are you looking at that makes it clear that a player has potential?” The way his brow creases and his mouth edges down makes him look unhappy about the question. There’s something else behind it besides mere curiosity.
“Are you questioning my methods?”
He takes a step backward. “No. Of course not. I want to understand them.”
I tilt my head and study him. “You do?”
“Yes.”
I’m not sure how I feel about letting him into my world. It’s not that I don’t think I can explain it well enough, but my coding abilities are my one superpower. What if he thinks it’s not very interesting? I’ve spent most of my life as a woman in the STEM field, showing people I’m capable of doing the work while fending off the perception that what we do is nerdy, but I’m not in the mood for defending myself right now.
“I have to warn you, it might be boring.”
“Try me.” His tone is challenging, and the smirky sparkle in his gray eyes edges back.
Maybe I can teach him something. That gets me interested.
“Okay, pull up a chair, but first, go to the kitchen where you’ll find eight muffins. Please pop one onto a plate and bring it as payment.” I don’t bother suggesting that he bring two so he can have one. I already know about his fitness foods, and I’m pretty sure today isn’t a cheat day.
“Seven.”
