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He puts the fingers of his other hand against my wrist again, but I don’t think he’s counting heartbeats, because he starts to talk.
“My superhero knowledge is definitely inadequate for any real exploration of your power or mine. My first guess is that I’d become your nemesis, but I don’t like that idea at all. So let’s not go there.” His voice is soft and low, and I feel my shoulders relaxing against the floor beneath me.
“If I were your sidekick, I’d want a really cool name, though. Nothing diminishing or objectifying.”
I shake my head. “Oh, sorry. It will definitely be diminishing and objectifying. It’s sidekick rules. You’re either going to be Sexy Lil Doctorman in lab coat and tights or you’re Lightning Boy, played by a computer-generated nineties Keanu Reeves. With the floppy hair. And the smile.”
He nods. “Oh, I see. This is the movie of our lives, not our actual lives.”
My hand is still in his, and he must have decided my pulse isn’t dangerously high, because he’s stroking my arm now, running his fingers from my wrist to my elbow. Under my coat, my skin can somehow feel every point of contact.
“No, you’re a hologram. In real life. It’s a natural effect of lightning powers. Everyone knows this. And it makes travel very easy for you.”
I know my words are making no sense at all, but he’s sitting here, smiling and holding my hand and stroking my arm, and I don’t care that I sound ridiculous.
“So can I fight crime as a hologram at the same time I see patients in the clinic?” he asks, as if he’s in a job interview and he needs to know exactly what the work requirements might be.
“You’re making a dangerous assumption,” I tell him. “Who said we’re fighting crime?”
“You want to be the bad guy?” He makes an exaggerated expression of offense. “I’m definitely not going to be sidekick to a villain. My basic code of ethics wouldn’t allow it.”
I shake my head. “No, you’re right. Villain’s sidekicks are probably all badly treated anyway. You’d eventually have to overpower me and wrestle me into submission until I give up my evil ways.”
I’ve never actually thought I could read minds, but at this second, I can see exactly what Dr. Grayson Mercer is thinking. And even if I couldn’t, he’s not letting me get away with saying something like that and not turning it back on me.
“I have no plans to wrestle you into submission,” he says, and his voice has changed. It’s deeper. Even softer. There isintentionthere, and no mistaking that he intends something. With me. Oh, mercy. Every nerve in my body is radiating tingles. My skin dances across my muscles—is that even a thing? And if my hair just got curlier, I won’t be at all surprised.
Turns out getting (almost) struck by lightning is an unforgettable, incredible experience.
11
GRAYSON
Inever make it back into the clinic’s exam rooms. Sage wants me to stay, so I stay. I can see her improvements, so I don’t need to hook her up to any monitoring machines.
When she feels well enough to sit up, she sits up. And she tucks herself so close in beside me that I naturally put my arm around her.
Not that I’d make a move on a woman who just experienced electrical and medical shock. It wasn’t a move. It was natural progression.
As soon as I see her yawn, I stand up from the floor and help her to her feet.
“Time to go?” she asks, and the second yawn stretches out the last word.
I nod. “Your body is announcing its intentions to sleep,” I tell her. “We’re listening.”
At the door, the school-issued Chamberlain Academy umbrella stand holds a few umbrellas. They’re branded with the school logo and the imprint of a tech company that needed a charitable contribution tax write-off. The idea is, take one when you need it and leave it at your destination. Someone on campus is probably paid to maintain umbrella balance between buildings.
I open first the door and then the umbrella. Sage strikes me as a person with strong opinions on superstition. She steps outside and holds her hand out to test the weather. It’s immediately wet. “Good call on the umbrella,” she says.
I hold it over her head and make my way at least half way inside the arc of protection. Nobody complains about free and ubiquitous rain gear, but these were made for one person at a time, and my priority is that Sage stays dry.
As we walk toward her apartment, I start speed talking. I want to end this admittedly weird night on a positive note.
“I bet you’ve been on a lot of pretty impressive dates, but when you’re remembering tonight, I hope you take into account that we managed weather phenomena. Just, you know, for ranking purposes. People may have taken you to dinner in amazing restaurants or whisked you off to sold-out shows, but together? Wecreatedelectricity.”
She wraps both her hands around the arm holding the umbrella. “I don’t know what kind of dates you think I’ve been on,” she says, looking up at me with a laugh. “I mean, except apparently they’re the kind that are either amazing or sold out. Or both. But I don’t really have much of a dating history. I promise, the whole struck-by-lightning thing is definitely at the top of my list of exciting dates.”
I smile at that, even if it’s not true.
