Page 29 of The Dis-Graced

“Listen! If you’re so worried about ALAN understanding and liking humans, he needs to be able to relate to us. You said he liked Rachel from friends, well you need to make another AI and find an acronym that spells out Rachel!”

“Wait, just a moment. You expect me to come up with an acronym for AI intelligence using the word Rachel? Do you know how difficult that will be?”

“The fact that you’re more worried about how to name it than how hard it is to make is very telling.”

He sits on the bathroom counters, forearms pressed against his knees. “Well, I am somewhat of a technical genius, but not a master of the English language. You’re the journalist. You come up with a name for her,” he says, casting me a wink.

“Fine. You build Rachel, and I’ll figure out the acronym.”

He shifts back, stretching his arms out behind him to lean. “How about you either stick to your journalistic endeavors, or, if you’d like, you can apply to become one of my software engineers, and you can take on the entire project.”

My lips form a pout, to which his brow wrinkles, his mouth forming a mocking frown. “Is Gracey sad?”

“I’d be careful if I were you.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Because ALAN isn’t in here to witness your next assault.” I launch my fist playfully into his shoulder, but he’s quick and grabs me by my wrist, setting me off balance. I fall into him as his other arm comes up to catch me, his hand unexpectedly cupping my breast.

Well, this is awkward…

We stare into each other’s eyes, our upper bodies pressed together, his hand tightening around my breast, probably a reflex.

He clears his throat, his eyes darting to my body. My eyes shift downward. It takes a full five seconds before I realize I need to right myself and that he’s merely the hapless victim in all this.

“God, I’m sorry,” I say, pushing against the edge of the counter.

Our bodies disconnect, but the embarrassment is far from over as I realize, exactly when he does, that he’s now sporting a raging boner.

And by God, I thought ALAN had been exaggerating.

He wasn’t.

“It’s a reflex thing,” he says so fast I can tell he’s absolutely mortified.

“Yeah, most men have that reflex when they grab a pair of tits.”

“Hey! First—it wasn’t a pair, it was one.”

“God, you science men are so technical.”

“Second, that was one sexy tit.”

My jaw damn near unhinges itself in response.

“Heaven knows what would have happened if I had grabbed the pair.”

His words send a familiar rush coursing through my veins headed straight for my core. I feel myself grow red all over. My body further betrays me, and I find myself cocking my hip to the side and inhaling deeply to further accentuate my chest.

Dammit! What the hell is wrong with me?

Drake hops off the counter, looks me up and down, smirks, and exits the bathroom without another word, while I’m left standing, completely flabbergasted.

Did Drake just hit on me? Did my body just invite him to hit a little harder?

Fuck, I need to get myself under control, because if I don’t, I might as well kiss this last chance I have goodbye.

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