The Silicon Valley Connection

19 | faith - week 1: prototyping

The neatly wrapped, brown package sits in front of me at my door, and I'm scared to open it. I twist my key in the lock and go to my bed while carefully unwrapping the twine as I go. A note on pastel yellow card stock is written in his equally meticulous handwriting.

Dear Shortcake,

I hope you enjoy this blind book date. I saw on StoryGraph that you finished the first book in the trilogy and thought you should tackle this one next. I look forward to hearing your thoughts as you read. No more reading slumps for you; I'll make sure of that.

With love??

Specs

I laugh at the question marks in place of the comma and continue to pull apart the paper. After taking only one look at the cover, my mouth hangs open. This book's on my priority TBR list. He wasn't kidding about us finishing our reading goals together.

I laughed to myself. We're such dorks.

Dorks who have similar interests despite being from different backgrounds. And the fact that a certain dork's heartstrings are pulling her in every which way.

I sent him a text.

FAITH: I don't know whether to hate you or love you *slightly* more for this.

He responds within fifteen minutes--through a FaceTime call, no less. Of course, I catch him after he finishes a shower, and my eyes might have lingered a bit on his toned biceps and upper body longer than usual. The water drops that still clung to him refracted under the fluorescent white light, creating a glistening effect, and I was shocked that I hadn't been blinded yet. His hair which typically takes the form of waves now sits curly and spiky in all directions.

And perfect to run my hands through.

Nope. Not doing this. Not fantasizing about anything whatsoever with him. This is a perfectly casual video call.

To discuss his choice in the book he gave to me.

Except it sort of wasn't, seeing as the upper half of his body flexed with every movement as he milled about the spacious bathroom: picking up a spare towel to dry his hair, sliding his glasses back on, grabbing his toothbrush to clean his teeth...

The guy I'm fake dating just had to be an annoyingly fit athlete.

And have tattoos as well. His left bicep is beautifully designed with detailed cherry blossoms intertwined with branches and thorns, while The Great Wave has its own place, starting at the lower portion of his torso and wrapping across his right side. With his towel still precariously tied around the lower half of his body, he rotates ninety degrees, now facing me.

Well, he's technically facing the camera. The lump in my throat begins to harden, and I reach for my steaming mug of green tea to loosen the knot. His intent gaze contrasts with the widespread smile, and I take another hefty gulp of tea, the warmth relieving my tense muscles.

"Take a screenshot. It'll last longer."

I nearly spit out the liquid, burning my tongue in the process. Did I mention that I want to strangle this guy at times?

I end up moving--virtually, of course--and I shift closer to the screen to see an array of pots and pans along an opaque, glass-tiled wall. I know of no dorm hall with that setup, so I can only assume that he's in a building he's comfortable with.

Possibly alone? In an apartment, maybe? God, I really need to stop thinking like this. I ignore his remark, and his laugh occupies the shuffling of mugs before his morning voice that's definitely not swoon-worthy (it is) cuts through my thoughts. "Don't tell me you've read it already." He looks over his shoulder back at me and smiles cutely before adding, "I'd personally vote for 'love me more'."