it is.” I winked. “Believe me.”
C HAPTER E IGHT
“You’re going to want to see this,” Lex yelled the minute I walked into our shared house a few miles off campus. We had a sick view of Puget Sound, thanks to the house that my wealthy parents had left me when they died. Rather than paying Lex for his services, I let him live with me for free. Not that he really needed it. He already worked for Apple and was basically able to name his price for all hacking activities done on the side.
Selfishly, I kept wishing Microsoft would come knocking so he’d stay local. We’d been inseparable since we were kids, and the last thing I wanted was to retrain a best friend.
But in his words, “Working for Bill Gates would be like working for the enemy,” and he viewed using Windows as the equivalent of spitting on Steve Jobs’s grave.
Our two-story house was a relic from the fifties, but it had been completely gutted and remodeled before we moved in last semester, so while the outside still had old-home character, complete with a front porch and white-framed windows, the inside was an HGTV dream home.
Each bedroom was its own master suite, complete with a fireplace and balcony. We had an extra two thousand square feet of outdoor living area that had a kick-ass barbecue, a fire pit, and a bar that overlooked Lake Union.
Another reason we didn’t mix business with pleasure: we were pretty sure that if we let any girl see our man cave, they’d never leave. And then we’d find sparkly toothbrushes, tampons, and homemade cookies in all the wrong places. I shuddered at the thought as I tossed my keys onto the granite countertop and made my way to the living room, where Lex was working.
“In all my time with Wingmen Inc.”—Lex didn’t take his gaze away from the screen—“I’ve never seen one of the clients answer questions like this.”
“Which one?”
He snorted. “Which do you think?”
“Our little athlete who wears Adidas flip-flops like it’s still 1992. I bet she named her first pet Slim Shady.”
Lex burst out laughing. “Close. Eminem.”
“Damn it.”
“I know you pride yourself in taking less than a week for a client to gain true love’s kiss, but damn, man, she’s . . . a piece of work.”
“She can’t be worse than Tara.”
We both shuddered.
Tara had been one of our very first clients. Never kissed a guy, sported a unibrow, and when Lex tried to tutor her, she started crying midkiss because she was afraid he was going to bite her.
When he asked her why she would think that, she said it was because her daddy told her all boys bite.
I’m assuming what was meant to be a warning against teen pregnancy ended up making it so that Lex got punched in the face and I had to finish the kissing lesson.
It was horrible.
When she finally managed to figure out that kissing could be special, personal, and romantic, she latched on to me and Lex emotionally, making it nearly impossible for us to get her to follow any rule.
Hell, she was the reason we had rules and why we never made exceptions. The last thing we needed was another Tara.
Lex chuckled. “On that note, I’ve rearranged your schedule and taken on two of your clients to free up some time for”—he motioned to the screen—“this.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“No,” Lex said. “Actually, it’s worse.”
“You mean she’s a little virgin who’s never kissed a man, can’t spell the word “orgasm,” blushes when people talk about sex, and believes in love at first sight?”
Lex remained silent.
“Shit,” I muttered. “Did you print off the questionnaire?”
He thrust a stack of papers in my face. “Check out number fifteen.”
My eyes roamed across the questions until I found fifteen through twenty, which pertained to relationships: What would you wear on a first date? Her answer: Something comfortable. I tend to sweat when I’m nervous, so maybe a baggy sweatshirt? Or a hat. Hats are good because they
C HAPTER E IGHT
“You’re going to want to see this,” Lex yelled the minute I walked into our shared house a few miles off campus. We had a sick view of Puget Sound, thanks to the house that my wealthy parents had left me when they died. Rather than paying Lex for his services, I let him live with me for free. Not that he really needed it. He already worked for Apple and was basically able to name his price for all hacking activities done on the side.
Selfishly, I kept wishing Microsoft would come knocking so he’d stay local. We’d been inseparable since we were kids, and the last thing I wanted was to retrain a best friend.
But in his words, “Working for Bill Gates would be like working for the enemy,” and he viewed using Windows as the equivalent of spitting on Steve Jobs’s grave.
Our two-story house was a relic from the fifties, but it had been completely gutted and remodeled before we moved in last semester, so while the outside still had old-home character, complete with a front porch and white-framed windows, the inside was an HGTV dream home.
Each bedroom was its own master suite, complete with a fireplace and balcony. We had an extra two thousand square feet of outdoor living area that had a kick-ass barbecue, a fire pit, and a bar that overlooked Lake Union.
Another reason we didn’t mix business with pleasure: we were pretty sure that if we let any girl see our man cave, they’d never leave. And then we’d find sparkly toothbrushes, tampons, and homemade cookies in all the wrong places. I shuddered at the thought as I tossed my keys onto the granite countertop and made my way to the living room, where Lex was working.
“In all my time with Wingmen Inc.”—Lex didn’t take his gaze away from the screen—“I’ve never seen one of the clients answer questions like this.”
“Which one?”
He snorted. “Which do you think?”
“Our little athlete who wears Adidas flip-flops like it’s still 1992. I bet she named her first pet Slim Shady.”
Lex burst out laughing. “Close. Eminem.”
“Damn it.”
“I know you pride yourself in taking less than a week for a client to gain true love’s kiss, but damn, man, she’s . . . a piece of work.”
“She can’t be worse than Tara.”
We both shuddered.
Tara had been one of our very first clients. Never kissed a guy, sported a unibrow, and when Lex tried to tutor her, she started crying midkiss because she was afraid he was going to bite her.
When he asked her why she would think that, she said it was because her daddy told her all boys bite.
I’m assuming what was meant to be a warning against teen pregnancy ended up making it so that Lex got punched in the face and I had to finish the kissing lesson.
It was horrible.
When she finally managed to figure out that kissing could be special, personal, and romantic, she latched on to me and Lex emotionally, making it nearly impossible for us to get her to follow any rule.
Hell, she was the reason we had rules and why we never made exceptions. The last thing we needed was another Tara.
Lex chuckled. “On that note, I’ve rearranged your schedule and taken on two of your clients to free up some time for”—he motioned to the screen—“this.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“No,” Lex said. “Actually, it’s worse.”
“You mean she’s a little virgin who’s never kissed a man, can’t spell the word “orgasm,” blushes when people talk about sex, and believes in love at first sight?”
Lex remained silent.
“Shit,” I muttered. “Did you print off the questionnaire?”
He thrust a stack of papers in my face. “Check out number fifteen.”
My eyes roamed across the questions until I found fifteen through twenty, which pertained to relationships: What would you wear on a first date? Her answer: Something comfortable. I tend to sweat when I’m nervous, so maybe a baggy sweatshirt? Or a hat. Hats are good because they
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