Page 63 of Black Reign

That is the part I envy.

Not the touching.

The certainty.

She knows his name.

Knows the shape of his hand.

Knows what expression he'll make when she steals food from his plate.

I have spent years developing feelings for a blinking green dot.

Excellent.

My gaze drops back to NULL.

What if Ghost is disappointing in person?

That's the practical fear.

Not danger.

Disappointment.

What if I finally meet him and the entire thing dies in five minutes?

Maybe he has bad teeth.

Maybe he smells wrong.

Maybe he talks with food in his mouth.

Maybe his laugh irritates me.

Maybe he is one of those men who communicates beautifully through a screen and becomes painfully shy in a room.

Or worse, maybe he thinks I am disappointing.

I glance toward my reflection in the café window.

Caramel curls.

Blue eyes.

Pink mouth.

I've never struggled for male attention.

Attention is cheap.

I've learned that.

Beauty attracts men who think attraction is achievement.

They smile at me like we have both been blessed because they have shoulders and I have breasts.

Then twenty minutes later I'm staring at an emergency exit wondering whether climbing through it would be socially acceptable.