“Yes, that’s fine.”
Matt chose my leg, his big palm moved down, then up my bare thigh to the hem of my shorts and I had to smile because his touch wasn’t at all tentative. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it felt possessive.
“And Marie, maybe touch the back of Matt’s hand? The one on your arm. Play with it, entwine your fingers. Light touches.”
“Jared, we need you up front,” a voice I recognized as the hostess called from someplace down the hall.
“Okay, you two practice that. I’ll be right back.” Jared’s retreating footsteps sounded against the wood floor, eventually leaving us in silence.
Meanwhile, I lifted my fingers and softly petted Matt’s hand, tracing the bones of his fingers with my fingertips and then drawing ellipses on the back of his hand, from his wrist to his knuckles.
He made a rumbly noise, almost like a purr. It sounded content.
“You like that?” I whispered, closing my eyes, enjoying the feel of his hand languidly stroking my leg.
“Yes,” he said.
I grinned.
He was quiet for bit, we both were, and I felt myself relax more and more. His palm took a detour every so often, dutifully skipping my hip and sliding along my side, and then back to my leg. Soon, I was so relaxed I felt drowsy.
I felt fingers in my hair, moving the mass away from my neck with treasuring strokes just before Matt nuzzled the back of my neck, causing goosebumps to scatter over my skin.
“Mmm.” I smiled. “Hey. Jared said no tickling.” My voice sounded sleepy.
“Does this tickle?” Matt asked softly, nuzzling me again. I felt the brush of his lips—not a kiss, a brush—paired with hot breath against the bare skin of my neck and a zing shot straight down my spine, making my toes curl and a sudden hot ache twist in my lower belly.
Oh no.
I knew that ache. I hadn’t felt it because of another person’s touch in quite a long time. Nevertheless, no one ever forgets that ache.
My back arched instinctively, my bottom pressing back against his crotch, and I stiffened. I felt my nipples harden, strain beneath the cotton of my bra. I was now fully awake. No longer drowsy.
Nope.
Not even a little.
Matt stiffened, too. His movements abruptly ceasing.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he asked, alarm coating his words, and in the next moment his hand was suspended in the air above me. “Did I touch something I shouldn’t?”
I exhaled a short, nervous laugh, gripped by the urge to sit up.
“No. No. You didn’t.” I moved to the edge of the bed, righting myself, away from Matt, needing distance. “I’m good.” I gathered a silent breath and released it slowly because my pulse was racing.
Crap, Marie. Get a grip. It’s Matt Simmons. Professor Matt. The big kid. Why are you reacting this way?
“Did I . . .” These initial words were hesitant, and a moment of silence stretched before he continued, his tone comically teasing as he finished his thought. “Did I arouse you?”
I snorted, shaking my head, laughing at his silly tone. Turning at the waist to peer at him over my shoulder, Matt was grinning at me, twisting a make-believe mustache between his thumb and forefinger.
But then he stopped.
“I did, didn’t I?” he pushed, his hand dropping. He looked pleased, if not a little amazed.
I sighed, feeling a smidge embarrassed, and nodded. “Actually, yes. That’s a sensitive spot for most women.”
“The back of your neck?” He lifted himself to one elbow, his eyes darting to my neck with keen interest.
“My neck in general, actually.”
“Huh.” Matt frowned thoughtfully. “Where else?”
I pressed my lips together and gave him an incredulous look. “I’m not telling you that.”
“Why not?”
“Matt.”
“What if I needed it for research reasons?”
“Matt.”
“What if I told you it was part of our questionnaire?” He tossed his legs over the side of the bed and stood, walking around to my side and offering me his hand. “You should give me a schematic of your body with the erogenous zones circled and rated.”
“Let me guess, you want them rated on a ten-point scale,” I deadpanned as I accepted his hand, stood, and stepped away to gain some distance and straighten my shirt.
He shrugged, crossing his arms, stalking after me. “Or exponential. I was going to say a Likert scale, but a logarithmic scale works, too.”
Chuckling, appreciative of his attempt to diffuse my embarrassment and awkwardness with the joke, I realized Matt Simmons wasn’t a bad guy. He might even be a good guy, just a little . . . peculiar.
And wants to replace romantic relationships with robots. Best not forget that detail.
Yeah, he’d make an interesting friend.
“Thanks.” I gave him a small smile.
“For what?” His eyes moved between mine.
“For the cuddle. Thanks for the cuddle, Matt.”
“Anytime, Marie.” He grinned down at me, his eyes dancing as he leaned forward and whispered, “Anytime.”
10
Sophie
Emotional intelligence bot that interacts with patients who have chronic health issues. Unlike some bots made to optimize paid interactions, this one is built to act in your best interests.
Source: iDAvatars
Tuesday was a good news/bad news kind of day.
I’ll start with the bad news. Or rather, the I-don’t-know-how-to-feel-about-this news.
David, my ex-boyfriend, called me. I didn’t pick up. The flash of his number on my cell screen paralyzed me. I let it go to voicemail. We hadn’t spoken since he’d moved out and he didn’t leave a message this time. I obsessed for the rest of the day about what to do, caught off guard by how much I was obsessing.
But then, good news, I received a series of texts from Matt just as I was leaving work.
Matt: If you need help translating the scatterplots, let me know.
Matt: We should eat while we discuss.
Matt: Dinner?
Matt: Or coffee is fine.
Matt: I’ll stop texting now.
I smiled at the unexpected, but not unwelcomed, messages.
I’d decided over the weekend that if Professor Matt Simmons was interested in being my friend, I was going to make an effort to make the friendship happen. Because Matt, despite the short time we’d spent together, had made me more playful.
And braver.
Shaking my head at the weirdo, I typed my response.
Marie: I do have questions. I’ve got knitting tonight. How about tomorrow? We can meet for coffee or I can cook dinner.
Even though I’d taken copious notes during our meeting, I was having trouble interpreting the documents he’d given me, so his offer to help was a relief. It would also give me the opportunity to propose friendship.
Since I was on a strict budget, eating out wasn’t an option. Plus, I had a recipe for coconut curry that would have been silly to make for just one person.
He replied almost immediately.
Matt: YOU COOK
Matt: Sorry for my allcaps exuberance. I’m really looking forward to your food.
Matt: I mean, answering your questions.
Matt: And your food.