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I scoff at him as I zip up my bag, then yank out the twinkly star earrings. “Right. You’re one of those guys who’s too cool for pop music, right? What do you listen to, then, cyber death metal?”
He narrows his eyes. “Maybe I do. Would that be an issue?”
“No. I listen to everything,” I say before moving behind the curtains, then draw them together so I can get changed into some real clothes. I’m freezing, and the rhinestone bikini is itchy.
“Ah, and you’re one ofthose. I get it.” Though I can’t see his face, I can tell from his tone that he’s mocking me.
“Even country and rap! Yes! Everything!” I fling open the curtains and step out, clad in a pair of joggers and a T-shirt with a cartoon kitten plastered on the front.
Xavian is exactly where I left him, leaning against the vanity dresser. His eyes move from my face down to the kitten on my chest, and I can’t tell if he’s looking at my boobs or the image.
“Is that Puum Puum Cat?” he asks, all smiles. “I used to love that show as a kid.”
“That’s impossible,” I tease, taking the elastic band from around my wrist and tying my hair up in a quick, messy bun on top of my head. I’ve removed my Weave, so my hair is back to its natural mousy brown. No more violet eyes, either. “Puum Puum Catwas on the air twenty-five years ago. There’s no way you’re younger than forty.”
It’s meant as a taunt, and Xavian’s mouth falls open as he slaps his palm across his heart. It’s like I’ve kicked him in the balls. Mission accomplished.
“I’m sorry, you think I’m forty? Fuuuuuck me.” He staggers forward and groans. “I knew the bounty hunter lifestyle was going to take years off my life, but I hadn’t realized it made me look fifteen years older than I actually am.”
“Wait. You’re twenty-five?” My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline.
He straightens, grabs my duffel bag off the vanity before I can snatch it up, throwing it over his shoulder. “Yes, ma’am. But evidently, I look like I’m forty already, so … I’m not sure if it really matters,” he teases right back.
“I’m twenty-nine,” I say quietly.
Placing my hand on the doorknob, I look over my shoulder and stick my tongue out at him. He responds with a wink, and my heart flutters against my breast. Damn, there he goes again. Being all stupid and hot and giving me butterflies.
I can’t work with a guy who gives me butterflies, but firing him also isn’t an option. He’s the only bodyguard I’ve ever had who’s cared this much, and I don’t want to let him go.
21XAVIAN
Despite Margot’s nagging, I take Kallista out for celebratory midnight noodles. Okay, so it’s actually two in the morning, but it’s close enough to midnight, alright? It counts.
Kallista yawns sleepily beside me in the jammer as I pull up to the curb. The vibrant lights of Latrixia’s downtown district pulse and dance all around us, and when I look at Kallista’s exhausted face, my heart clenches. Maybe this was a mistake. I should have just taken her straight back to the hotel so she could get some sleep.
“It’s fine, I want to be here,” Kallista says firmly, as though she’s read my mind.
I put the jammer into park, run around to her side of the car, and tap on the glass. “Weave,” I remind her, pointing at her head. She looks far too much like herself right now, and the last thing she needs is a barrage of people flocking to her table for autographs and pictures.
She yawns again, holds up her wrist, and pulls up the Weave app to swipe through her options. After what feels like an eternity of waiting for her to get ready, she finally picks a new face from the lineup.
I open the door for her, and she shimmies out with her legs crossed. Her hair is a dark chestnut brown, and her cheekbones are smattered with freckles. It’s a cute look, but I still prefer her real face. I miss the tiny little pox scar above her right eyebrow.
Ever since Weave technology hit the markets when I was fifteen years old, life as we knew it changed. Drastically. It’s the smallest imperfections on people’s faces I miss. It's awkward to be in tenth grade with a mom who’s trying to look like a contestant onThe Galaxy’s Next Top Model.
“Look, if you’re tired, we could just turn in for the night,” I murmur as she glides past me. The little noodle shop’s sign flickers to life in hues of pinks and yellows as we approach. The entire restaurant is open-air, so we take two bar stools at the counter and wait for someone to notice us—but it’s then that I realize there are no people here.
“Are they closed?” Kal asks, tilting her head at the vacant-looking kitchen behind the counter.
I’m about to answer her when a hologram suddenly appears in front of us, practically making us tumble out of our seats.
A hologram woman wearing a crisp white chef’s jacket smiles at us, then nods in greeting. “Welcome to Chen’s. Can I get you two started on some drinks while you look over our menu?”
Kallista opens and closes her mouth several times before squeaking out, “Uh, menu?”
The hologram waves her hand in the air, and suddenly a neon blue menu appears in front of us. Another hologram, of course.
“Is the food at least real?” I ask.
