High Energy (4 page)

look so sinfully delicious? What would that tongue feel like swirling against—

"Like peanut butter to jelly," he affirmed.

She swallowed convulsively, dispelling the image that provoked.

Tyber scooted over in the booth, making room for her to sit down.

Stan, having devoured his mountain of ground beef and grease; noticed her as she

took her seat. "So you haven't given up on us, eh, Zanita? Good for you!"

Zanita glanced sideways at Tyber, who smiled softly at her. Even seated, he

seemed to tower over her. "I didn't really have a choice, Stan."

Stan, completely misinterpreting her remark, replied, "I know what you mean.

Doctor Evans is inspirational!" He grinned broadly at Tyber, who winced under

the unexpurgated devotion.

Looking around the restaurant, he said, "We might as well start this."

He levered himself up on top of the back of the seat, straddling two booths with

his long, jean-clad legs, and addressed the group. "I thought tonight we'd

informally discuss artificial intelligence and some related topics…"

While Tyber spoke, the ultimate artificial life form, the restaurant clown,

listened in, peering over Stan's shoulder intently, his orange hair glowing

under the fluorescent lighting. Several stragglers from the class wandered in.

Eventually they had to move out to the playground to make room for everybody.

Even the clown followed them outside, his broom dragging on the ground behind

him.

There in the playground, under the stars, with a gentle breeze in the night air,

Tyber spoke of the mysteries of the universe from the top of a slide. Zanita

thought him the most interesting and unconventional man she had ever seen.

Frogs croaked, shooting stars fell, owls hooted, and trees rustled in the wind

as he discussed, in plain terms, bringing together seemingly dichotomous

subjects such as absolutism underlying relativistic principles.

What fascinated Zanita most was his way of taking several divergent topics and

bringing them together into a cohesive unit, pointing out similarities in

subjects not often talked about synonymously. He was brilliant.

He was a man captivated by ideas, both the sublime and the ridiculous. His

genuine curiosity about every aspect of the nature of the universe was

contagious. The group was entranced by his enthusiasm as he delved into

explorations of both the known and the unknown.

"Facts always remain absolute," he said. "It's everyone's point of view that is

different, relativistic, although, paradoxically, everyone believes 'their'

point of view is the correct or 'proper' one. As Einstein pointed out quite a

while ago: 'I'm right and everything else is relative.' If one listens to two

politicians in a political debate, one is observing the Theory of Relativity."

Everyone laughed. "And on that note, I believe we'll call it a night. I thought

it might be interesting if we caught the new science fiction picture playing at

the cinema at the mall in Stockboro tomorrow. I hear there are some intriguing

ideas at work on the nature of space travel and xenobiology. We can have an open

discussion afterwards if anyone's interested." Everyone was very much

interested—including the clown, who asked if he could join in. He was assured he

could.

Tyber caught up to Zanita in the parking lot as she was heading for her car.

"So—how was that? Did I keep my promise?"

Zanita smiled at him. "You did. In spite of myself, I was fascinated like

everyone else."

"Hmm... not quite what I was aiming at, but it is a start."

She reached her car and unlocked the door. "As a friend told me recently, in

certain matters I would do well to leap before I look." Of course, Mills had

been referring to a totally different subject. "You have piqued my interest,

Doc. I will be there tomorrow night."

He placed his hands against the door of her car, leaning down to speak to her

through the open window. "It is you who has piqued my interest, Zanita. Did I

tell you I have a cat? No? Well, I do. Good night."

Now what did he mean by that? she wondered.

The following evening, she waited for the group in the lobby of the movie

theater, trying desperately to stay awake. She had gone to visit her

grandparents at their farm last evening after the class. Her grandfather had

been sitting out on the front porch, idly rocking on the swing, enjoying the

unusually balmy October weather. The natives called it Indian summer, and every

New Englander knew to enjoy the brief respite while it lasted, for it presaged

the coming winter.

As usual, it didn't take long before they were heatedly "discussing" a current

topic of town politics. Zanita always liked engaging Hank in such discussions,

often playing devil's advocate just to rile the old man. Hank was something when

he got going on a subject he cared about; and Hank really cared about everything

that went on in Stockboro, and for that matter, the world at large. In her

opinion, it was one of the traits that had made him a great reporter. No story

was ever just a story to him.

Unfortunately, she had succeeded only too well in riling him up, for the

discussion went on well past midnight, with neither one of them aware of the

time. It wasn't until her grandmother came out onto the porch dressed in her

robe to shoo them inside that they came to their senses.

Due to the hour, Zanita elected to spend the night in her old bedroom. When she

made her decision, she hadn't counted on The Hogs hitting town.

It was around two in the morning when the pack squealed into the backyard,

reminding her of a motorcycle gang storming into a town for the fun of causing

mayhem. The "defiant ones" snorted and snuffled in glee, causing her to sit bolt

upright in bed.

She cautiously lifted the shade on the window in time to see the little picket

fence which surrounded her grandmother's rose garden crash over. Stomping pig

feet echoed in the night.

Her grandmother's garden was trampled in a random display of violence before the

herd inexplicably moved on.

Hank was fit to be tied.

The Hogs resided with their neighbor, Joe Sprit, who lived several miles down

the road. Every now and then, for reasons known only to The Hogs, they escaped

their pen to take a midnight foray through the town. It had been going on for

years. Zanita referred to it in her goofier moments as "The Night of The Hogs."

Since no one was sure how to deal with the problem, they tended to live with it.

Joe claimed he had reinforced the fencing several times, but somehow, when The

Hogs wanted out; they got out. When a Hog had mayhem on its mind, there was

little a human could do.

So now, she ruminated facetiously, she was just grist for the Hog mill. Deciding

that some fresh air might revive her, she walked outside to the front of the

theater. It wasn't long before she saw Tyber pulling into the lot on the back of

a Harley-Davidson. Somehow she was not surprised.

He slung his helmet over the bars, spotting her at once. Smiling a greeting, he

walked her way, looking altogether too sensuous and sinewy. He wore black,

thigh-hugging jeans with black boots. A gray shirt and cuffs turned back on his

forearms completed the dangerous look. His long hair was tied back, once again,

in a ponytail. She wondered what it would look like loose about his shoulders,

silently thanking him for not putting her through that torture.

"Waiting for me?" He greeted her with a grin.

Unashamedly arrogant. "Getting some air. Everyone's waiting for you inside."

He nodded, steering her through the door. "I have a confession to make—I really

wanted to see this picture, and I hate going to the movies alone."

"So you engineered it so the whole class would accompany you? Talk about abuse

of power…."

"Afraid so. I'll tell you what—to make it up to you, I'll buy your ticket. But

you have to buy the popcorn."

"What kind of a deal is that? The popcorn in this place is more than my rent."

"I never said I was stupid." He winked at her, revealing that engaging dimple.

After greeting the class and telling them to meet after the movie in the mall

court, he drew her determinedly over to the refreshment stand.

"A jumbo deluxe popcorn," he told the girl behind the counter.

"Thanks a lot! Why don't you get Stan to buy your popcorn for you? I'm sure he'd

be more than willing."

He considered her question for a moment. "Because Stan doesn't have legs like

yours."

That shut her up. He had noticed. "You shouldn't talk to your students like

that."

He threw her a look. "You're not a student, and this is not a classroom. It's a

seminar—for colleagues." He fished his wallet out of his back pocket to pay the

girl.

"I am not a colleague of yours, and I said I would pay for that."

"I'm aware of that. As for the popcorn—I was joking."

"But—"

"Let's go see the movie."

As he led her to their seats, she got the uncomfortable feeling that she had

somehow been maneuvered into a date without ever agreeing to one, or for that

matter being asked to one. The sneaking suspicion crossed her mind that Tyber

could have manipulated the entire class just for that purpose. But that was

absurd. Why would he do such a thing?

She felt an elbow nudge her side.

"You're falling asleep again, Ms. Masterson. I don't mind, but the two rows

behind us are complaining about your snores."

"I don't snore." She mumbled, falling into a doze again.

Jab.

"Will you quit it?"

"Why are you so tired?" he whispered low in her ear, sending a frisson down her

bare neck. "Is my company that boring?" His heated breath teased against her.

"No, it's The Hogs," she murmured sleepily, turning unconsciously toward his

warmth.

He was amused by both her response and her action; she was just short of

snuggling into him. He casually put his arm around her, drawing her closer,

pitching his voice low. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Hogs were on the prowl last night—God, you smell good." She promptly fell

back asleep.

Hogs? What hogs? He looked askance at the sleeping bundle of woman in his arms.

Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. And soft. Definitely soft.

He decided he liked the feel of her sleeping in his arms.

She awoke toward the end of the movie, mortified to find herself burrowed into

Tyber's chest. Worse yet, she had managed to fit her head into the crook of his

neck, her forehead flush against the warm skin of his throat. His chin was

resting on the top of her head as he watched the movie; his arm was casually

draped across her shoulders.

This was so unprofessional of her! Thank God the rest of the group were

scattered throughout the darkened theater. Hopefully, they were too engaged in

the movie to pay any attention to the two of them.

Damn! How could she ever expect the man to take her seriously now? He'd never

give her the interview she wanted. And how did one extricate oneself from such a

position gracefully?

Tyber's hand slowly rubbed her back, causing her to instantly stiffen.

"I know you're awake," he said into her hair.

"Can we pretend I didn't do this?" she asked in a small voice against his chest.

"Of course not." His husky tone held more than a hint of amusement.

Zanita quickly disengaged herself, affronted. "That's not very chivalrous of

you."

Tyber did not seem particularly concerned about chivalry. "Do you often fall

asleep in a public place in the arms of the person next to you?"

Before she could summon up a suitable retort, he grinned wickedly at her. "You

talk in your sleep."

Zanita flushed, opened her mouth like a fish, then closed it. What had she said?

Oh, God. Would he even tell her? Those damn Hogs!

She wisely stayed silent until the end of the picture, sitting ramrod straight

in her chair, trying desperately not to look embarrassed.

When the movie ended Tyber took her hand as if he had every right to, leading

her out to the mall court.

"Relax, Curls, you didn't say anything too revealing." He scratched his chin in

thought. "Except for the part about the sexual aids hidden in a shoebox under

your bed."

She stopped and stared at him, horrified.

He laughed out loud. "It was just a lucky guess, really."

She tried to tug her hand away from him; he held firm.

"I have no such thing! You're terrible—"

"That's not what you said in your sleep," he teased.

She blushed crimson. Considering her shameless thoughts about him, she might

have said anything. Anything at all. She ran her fingers through her hair in a

nervous gesture. Forget the interview; this was too embarrassing to be endured.

What must the man think of her?

"L-Look,Tyber, I really have to get going; it's late."

"Oh, no you don't." He laced his fingers through hers. "You're not running away.

You tried that once before with me, and it didn't work."

"Please, Doctor Evans… this is so embarrassing."

"You do seem to have a penchant for getting yourself into situations." He smiled

remorselessly at her while maintaining his firm hold on her hand.