twenty-Eight

I woke to sunlight slipping around the edges of E’s bedroom drapes. I lay on my back on a soft mattress in a cozy double bed. E lay on top of me, her leg thrown over my torso, her breasts tucked against my chest after an exhausting evening that had featured an unusual variant of jiujitsu. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, my fingers resting on her toned arm.

The Internet intruded, grabbing my thoughts.

What were they writing? What had they said last night?

I slid my hand down E’s flank, over her bottom, flashed on a memory of our lovemaking and hoped that it would happen again soon, then slipped out from under her. E slept on, as only the young seem able to do. Padding around the bedroom, I pulled on underwear and jeans, checked the pocket for my phone, and headed for the kitchen.

My phone had died in the night, my constant Internet checking having exhausted the poor thing. I looked around the unfamiliar kitchen for a charger. One of the advantages of a Droid is that it can use any Micro USB charger, and almost everyone has one lying around their kitchen. Not today; iPhone only.

There had to be some way to get a glimpse of the Internet. Perhaps the tide had turned; perhaps there was a new #TuckerIsInnocent hashtag. Perhaps there was no traffic at all and the heaving mob of trolls had discovered something new to be outraged about. Maybe somebody had managed to distract the trolls by stealing a bunch of naked celebrity photos.

I snooped around the tiny apartment. No computer in the kitchen, none in the television room; same for the bathroom and dining room table. Made sense; kids today didn’t bother with desktops. Laptops are just as powerful, and could be—

E stood in the kitchen doorway wearing panties—just panties. She reached out for a hug, her breasts beckoning.

“Hey, you,” I walked to her and placed my hands on the small of her back. E rose on tiptoes, making up the couple of inches between us, and kissed me. Ran her hand down my chest, then lower, appraising the situation.

“Seems you’d like to come back to bed,” she said.

“Yes,” I managed.

E took my hand and led me back to the bedroom, saying, “Then we get muffins!”

I hadn’t paid much attention to where I was going the night before as E led me on a mad dash through the streets of the South End. As we emerged into the daylight, I realized that we stood on Hanson Street.

“Great location,” I said.

“I know, right? Let’s get breakfast.”

She led me down Hanson on a quest for the most Wholy Grain. I chose a cheese, jelly, and butter-filled pile of breakfast goodness, while E went with a fruit cup. We found seats on a little patio out front. April had relented on its policy of acting like March and had decided that today it would act like June. Dusty warmth presented a disorienting contrast to the leafless trees lining the street. E reveled in the heat, wearing her crop top and tiny skirt from last night.

“My God,” I said. “You’re even prettier in the daytime.”

E gave me a delighted smirk. “You look good too.”

I drank some coffee. Took a bite of my pastry. I took out my phone to call Jael and tell her where I was, then remembered it was dead and put it back in my pocket.

E asked, “Do you have plans for today? Going to dox anybody?”

“I think my doxing days are over.”

“Really?”

“You look disappointed.”

“I figured after all PwnSec had done to you that you’d at least want to dox them back.”

I ate some pastry. Thought about it. “I think it’s time to polish my karma.”

“If you change your mind, let me know. I want to help. I could be like Felicity Smoak.”

“Who?”

“Seriously? You know, from Green Arrow.”

“Green what?”

E adjusted her glasses and leaned in, causing her shirt to fall away from her breasts. “Okay. Let’s go old school. I could be like Robin.”

“Robin didn’t look as good as you in a crop top.”

“So, you get a modern, super-sexy female Robin.”

I flashed back to yesterday, when I had a guy trying to arrest me. “No.”

“No?”

“No. As much as I would like to have my own modern, super-sexy female Robin, I’m not going to have you following me around.”

“Why?”

“Did you see how many death threats I got?”

“Yes. But they aren’t serious.”

“That CapnMerica guy assaulted me in the street yesterday. That’s pretty serious.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“Idiots can still be dangerous.”

“I’m helping you and that’s final.”

This had to be nipped in the bud. I stood.

“Where are you going?” asked E.

“I need to get home.”

“You’re just dumping me? Last night was a one-night stand?”

I squatted in front of E. “It doesn’t have to be. I like you.” I leaned in and gave E a kiss, which she accepted in tight-lipped annoyance. “But don’t forget, you still haven’t told me your name, so this does kind of feel like a one-night stand.”

I gathered my Danish and coffee. Waste not, want not.

E said, “Let me do something to help you.”

I needed to give her something safe, something harmless. I pulled out my phone. It was dead. I told E my phone number.

“You’re online more than me. Could you keep an eye on the mob for me? If it looks like something dangerous is brewing, give me a call.”

“Like an early-warning system.”

“Exactly.”

E beamed at me. Stood. Pulled me in close for a longer and softer kiss.

“Does kissing me break some sort of hero-sidekick HR policy?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” said E. “It’s just giving the people what they want.”