Page 14 of Hard Wired

Tanner stuck his hands in his shorts pockets. Max had a pretty easy-going philosophy when it came to their dress code, but Tanner was always pushing it. His flip-flops slapped against his feet.

“Then it’s better he stays away. You shouldn’t waste your time. There must be plenty of guys knocking on your door. Whether you’ll answer them is another question.”

That was fair. She was picky. Sylvie hadn’t had a boyfriend for at least a year. The last one had been a professor at a state school in Los Angeles. Theology, of all things. They’d had engaging conversations, even though their chemistry had only been so-so.

But Sylvie rarely had experienced intense passion in real life, as opposed to just in her fantasies.

She’d been on countless dates and had plenty of boyfriends in the years since she’d moved to Southern California. She didn’t do one-night stands, but she’d slept with all kinds of men. Nice guys, some not-so-nice ones. But no matter how attracted she felt to them, or how much desire she experienced beforehand, the actual sex always turned out disappointing. She’d accepted the fact that it was her issue and not theirs. She just wasn’t cut out for experiencing that kind of pleasure.

Specifically? She’d never had an orgasm. Not once. With anyone.

She only knew she was missing out because of the experiences other women described. Sylvie was an intellectual creature, not a physical one. That was nothing to be ashamed of. Or so a multitude of doctors and therapists had told her.

Of course, in Dominic Crane’s entryway, she’d wondered if maybe he could get her to places she’d never been before… But it was probably better she hadn’t tested that theory. Crane could stay in her fantasy world, which was better for all of them in more ways than one.

“What about you?” Sylvie asked. “Why haven’t any ladies managed to tie you down yet?” She poked his side with her elbow.

“Because I’m wild and untamable.” He shook out his mane of curly hair to emphasize the point. “But if you and I both stay single forever, you could be my wingwoman in the nursing home. You could handle my schedule of horny widows who want to come take a ride.”

She cracked up at that horrifying yet hilarious image. “And what would I get out of this?”

“Job satisfaction? I could offer prescription discounts and a pension plan. Gotta keep that juice flowing, even in retirement.”

“Now you’re speaking my language. Investment portfolios get me all riled up. Talk dirty about 401(k)s, please.”

This was all she needed—good friends, a challenging job, a boss she respected. Her cousin Ethan was her roommate and best friend, another refugee from their former life.

Sylvie didn’t lack for many things. She was determined to be grateful for all she had, instead of dwelling on what might be missing.

* * *

She was bangingaround in the kitchen when Ethan came downstairs. “What’s for dinner, honey?”

“Why, baked ham and boiled peas, sweetheart,” she said in a falsetto.

Sylvie and her cousin had bought this house together a year ago. He lived in the upstairs, while she took the lower part. Ethan had his own kitchen up there, but he loved mooching off her when it came around to dinnertime. And of course, she didn’t mind.

Actually, she was making lentil soup and homemade sourdough. Ethan bent over the pot on the stovetop and inhaled. “That smells amazing. I’ll set the table.”

Ethan had been Sylvie’s inspiration for moving to Southern California in the first place. Sylvie’s dad was from Louisiana originally, but he’d put down roots in a small town in the Texas hill country where cows outnumbered people. There were so many things that Sylvie loved about growing up there. The wide-open skies, the beige color of the local stone used to construct their grandparents’ home, line dancing on Friday nights.

But Sylvie had always felt like an outsider there. Like a foreign plant someone had stuck into the soil but didn’t know how to thrive.

It was her nature to question things, and her parents never appreciated her attitude, nor had her Sunday school teachers. She used to doodle tattoo ideas on her textbooks and got in trouble for drawing on everything—her arms, her hymnals, even her clothes—with sharpie marker.

In high school, Sylvie decided what books to read based on whatever the local parent community wanted to ban. As soon as she had access to an internet connection, she got into coding and joined every message thread on hacking she could find. She’d instantly felt drawn to the hacker ideology and culture. In her mind, information should be widely accessible to all, and anybody who abhorred free and open communication didn’t deserve their power.

She’d daydreamed of going so far as Austin to attend the University of Texas and was thrilled to receive a scholarship her senior year.

But then, her cousin Ethan came out of the closet. Their entire family disowned him. He’d known it was likely to happen, but still, the loss devastated him. For Sylvie, it was the last straw.

When Ethan called her up and told her he’d moved to L.A., she’d decided to drop out of her freshman year at UT and follow.

They’d lived near one another ever since. Ethan was a freelance graphic designer, so his work was flexible. After Sylvie got the job at Bennett Security, Ethan moved with her to West Oaks.

Neither of them had any family now but each other. None worth mentioning, anyhow.

“Where’s Luis tonight?” Sylvie asked. Often, Ethan’s boyfriend joined them for dinner. They’d been together for five years, but Luis still had his own apartment closer to Los Angeles, where he worked as a photographer.

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