Single Player (11 page)

Of course, for someone who wasn't a kid anymore, he really was living like he was still in college.

The thought felt uncomfortable, and he'd had enough of uncomfortable thoughts, so he forced himself to put the guilt aside. There was nothing wrong with fun, he reminded himself. With that mantra running through his head, he fired up the gaming system on his PC and ported over the display to his television so he could play on the big screen on the wall.

As he logged in, he continued to talk reassuringly to himself. After all, it wasn't like Silas was really a great role model. He worked all weekend? What a square. As soon as Matthew thought “square,” he had to laugh, because his inner monologue sounded like someone from the 1960s, or a hipster. Maybe he was the one who was a square. Silas, though, had a work ethic that was more suited to an Amish farmer than a modern man, perfectly suited to his Amish farmer name.

He certainly wasn't Amish in bed, though. Despite Silas's crazy work schedule and his aversion to having hobbies, he
was
pretty amazing in the sack. Watching Silas lose control was practically a religious experience in itself. They'd had an uneven start, with Silas more nervous than confident, but Matthew had seen all that change tonight. That moment when Silas had slammed forward, fucking him like a man possessed, Matthew had almost lost his mind. Silas would be much better off if he always applied his obsessive focus to sex instead of his career. Of course, having amazing sex wouldn't save the world, and clearly, Silas didn't care about anything except saving the world.

Mocking Silas gave him a pang of guilt. The guy had lost both parents just a few years ago. Even though he hadn't wanted to talk about it, clearly their deaths affected him. If he'd come from two overachieving parents, logically he'd want to overachieve as well, whether from a learned work ethic or from guilt about doing otherwise. Maybe that's what was happening with Silas. And he'd obviously had some issues after the sex, shaken up about something. He'd been distracted for the rest of the evening. Maybe some latent guilt about being gay? Although his responsiveness in bed didn't
seem
like self-loathing. No, Silas had more going on than he wanted to discuss, and while Matthew was curious, it wasn't his place to press. He wasn't even sure if he'd see the guy again. They hadn't discussed it before Silas had left, even though he had finally gotten Silas's number. Honestly, he wasn't sure he
wanted
to see the guy again if he was going to end up questioning his values and priorities every time they met up.

Maybe he could do a
little
more at work. He'd delegated most of the coding for
Endgame
to the rest of the team, but he could always take the project on himself. The team would probably appreciate it
,
since nobody had gotten very far into the assignment as of their last check-in. And honestly,
Endgame
was a pretty neat project. The coding was complex, since the game was designed to interact with the player and change based on the player's decisions and emerging psychological profile. It would require some serious effort, but it would also be awesome when it was done. Maybe instead of picking up a shift next weekend at Gigi's, he could put in a little overtime and get
Endgame
up and running.

Feeling more settled, Matthew nestled into the couch to do some gaming.

Silas could feel someone
watching him from the doorway as he bent over his workstation, fastening the final connections into place. Maybe if he ignored them, they'd go away. He was giving all the visual cues of busyness: he had a focused expression on his face, he wasn't looking up from his work, and he was doing a job that clearly required minute focus. Even despite all the cues Silas thought he was sending effectively, the feeling of being watched persisted, until finally he spun around on his stool to face the door.

Travis was standing there, hands thrust awkwardly into his pockets, looking uncomfortable. “You still here?” he asked.

Silas raised an eyebrow. The question was incredibly stupid, but he knew it would be rude to call that out.

Travis shook his head. “I mean, why are you still here?”

Silas gestured at the table. “It's Friday. I was trying to finish before the weekend.” The excuse wouldn't have worked any of the previous days, though, because he had been here late every night this week.

Travis wasn't fooled. “You've been here late every night. I know, because
I've
been here late every night.” Travis walked in, concern on his face. “You should go home and get some rest, man. It'll still be here on Monday.”

“Yes, and that's the problem.” Silas gestured to his work area, which was littered with the tiny parts he'd need to assemble to get everything working. “I can't leave a project half finished.” Ever since leaving Matthew last weekend, he'd thrown himself wholeheartedly into his work. That had been just what he needed to regain a sense of control over his life. It meant that he'd stayed at work until almost eight at night every day that week, including tonight, and his eating habits hadn't been great, and he hadn't been sleeping very well, but he also felt like this was expected of him. This is what all the great scientists did: they lived their work. They didn't get distracted by dreams about a dark-skinned, hot-mouthed programmer with strong hands and bruising kisses.

He fumbled with the piece he was holding, which broke apart into fragments as it tumbled onto the table. He refrained from swearing, but just barely, instead sighing heavily. Even though he'd been working on this all week, there was still so much more to do, and he was getting tired. Maybe if he worked himself to complete exhaustion, he could fall into bed tonight and sleep through it, rather than waking up every few hours from either terrifying nightmares or overwhelming sex dreams. He was used to the nightmares, because they were predictable; sometimes he dreamed of a car crash that he hadn't been in, with the earsplitting sound of screaming metal and smashing glass. Other times, he was assembling the components of a medical device, only he didn't know what he was supposed to be building or how any of the tools worked, and everyone around him was yelling at him to finish his work because people were dying without this device. Neither one of those dreams was particularly difficult to figure out, and he'd had both numerous times this week.

The sex dreams were new, though, and he didn't know how to process them. He had relived his two encounters with Matthew every night in his sleep, and then his brain had begun inventing new possibilities. Matthew holding him down, fucking him, filling him with hard, firm strokes. Each morning, he'd woken up achingly hard and shaky, the mixture of sex dreams and nightmares turning him into a complete wreck.

Travis sat on the stool next to him. Silas thought of him as a kid, even though he was only a year younger, because he had a baby face with wide, innocent eyes. He picked up the screw that had rolled over near him and handed it back to Silas. “You've been really putting in the overtime this week. Everything okay?”

Silas wanted to say no, that everything wasn't okay. He hadn't slept well all week, and his only refuge was work, because at work, he was in control. He could handle this.

“Yes, everything's fine.” He turned back to his work. When Travis didn't go away, he felt a wave of irritation, which he tamped down with great effort. He wanted to say that none of this was any of Travis's business and he should back off, but instead he gritted his teeth and picked up the pieces he'd dropped. “You should go home, Travis. I'm fine. I said I'm fine.”

“Okay, man, if you insist. Don't stay too late. Everybody works better on a good night's sleep.” Travis patted him on the shoulder, and Silas managed not to jerk away, despite his aversion to unexpected physical contact. He knew Travis was only trying to be friendly.

“Thanks. Have a good weekend.” Silas went back to his work as he heard Travis leave.

He knew the kid meant well, but Travis didn't understand what Silas had been dealing with. He didn't know what it was like to feel like your entire life was spinning out of control after a couple of encounters with a guy who shared none of your values and yet still got under your skin. That was the real problem here. Matthew. Silas didn't want to feel out of control like he did when they were together and yet couldn't stop thinking about him. To get his body under control, he focused all his attention on work, but he wasn't nearly as efficient as he should be. His working late wasn't due to meticulous habits. No, he was taking eleven hours to do eight hours of work, since he kept screwing up and having to redo his tasks. If he didn't take the time to fix things, his project manager was going to find out, and he was likely to be reprimanded or have a note put in his file.

Adjusting his position on the stool, he turned back to his work. He'd finish this one task, and then he'd go home. He could always come in and work on it over the weekend. If he didn't have work, he didn't have anything. He could almost see his mother's disappointed face when he brought home an average grade or a teacher gave a less-than-stellar report about him at conferences.

“Silas,” she'd say, her expression grave. “I thought you were better than this. Don't you want to be better than this?”

And he did, of course. He wanted to be as good as she wanted him to be. She always wanted him to live up to his full potential. That's why she made sure he studied every night, why they didn't have a television in their house, why she carefully monitored his friendships to make sure he was “associating with the right kind of people.” Even if her methods had seemed unreasonable at the time, she'd always put his best interests first, and he was wise enough to know that now. He'd taken her for granted, and now she was gone, and all he could do was honor her memory by succeeding the way she'd wanted.

He was going to live up to her hopes for him if it killed him.

Matthew stifled a yawn
as he stepped out of the PI Games building and into the warm Florida night. He never worked late like this, but he had gotten so immersed in the
Endgame
programming that he hadn't wanted to go home. How long had it been since
that
had been the case? It was Friday night and he was finished with his project for now, ready to rest and relax all weekend.

As he stepped off the sidewalk, he heard a distinct mewing noise from the bushes near the building. There were always stray cats hanging around. This one sounded young, though, with the high-pitched cry common to kittens.

Standing there in the dark parking lot, he had a split-second moment of indecision. The easiest thing to do would be to walk away. It was late, he'd had a very long week at work, it was Friday night, and he wanted to get back home and relax with some leftover fettuccine Alfredo from last night and a marathon gaming session until the wee hours of the morning. Cats were resilient, he knew, given the number of feral cats that wandered the city.

That train of thought lasted only a moment, though, because it meowed again, and there was no way he was going to leave a kitten in the bushes, especially one that sounded as pitiful as this one. For all he knew, the mama cat had abandoned it, or maybe it was injured. With a sigh that no one was around to hear, he followed the source of the noise to confirm his suspicions.

The kitten was a little orange and white ball of matted fur and indignation, making its displeasure known with repeated mews as it dragged itself forward along the grassy area next to the building. There was something clearly wrong with its back legs. Matthew gingerly picked it up and examined it, noting that even though he didn't know much about cats, this one looked too young to be on its own. It was barely bigger than his hand, and he could hold its whole body draped over his palm. The cat gave another loud cry and stretched its tiny front legs forward, needle claws swiping at the air.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Matthew had already resigned himself to his next steps. “Let's get you a box, and then it's off to the vet.” He swiped his key card to get back into the building and went in search of an empty box, meowing kitten still in one hand. He could wait until the morning to go to the vet, but he wasn't sure what was happening with this kitten's back legs, and if it was seriously injured, he should get it looked at right away. Once he and his new furry companion were back in the car, he looked up twenty-four-hour veterinary hospitals on his phone.

---

Matthew woke up the
next morning to a much louder mewing. He blinked groggily up at the ceiling, trying to figure out when he'd changed his alarm clock sound, until he remembered the events of the night before. Right. He was now the proud—reluctant? resigned?—owner of a five-week-old kitten with a hip deformity and otherwise perfect health. In a bit of
Ghostbusters
nostalgia, he'd named her Zuul. They'd arrived home at three in the morning with a lot less money, a bunch of starter kitten supplies, and a crate to keep her in until she was accustomed to the apartment. Now, apparently, Zuul had woken up and probably wanted to eat. Sure enough, when he dragged himself out of bed, she was alert and sitting in her crate by her empty food bowl making disgruntled cat noises.

This was not at all how his weekend was supposed to go. As he prepared Zuul's food, he reminisced on what could have been: he'd been planning on sleeping a lot, gaming a lot, and not thinking about Silas. Although to be honest, those had been his plans for the entire week, and those plans hadn't gone very well. Sure, he'd done a lot of gaming, but he'd been staying up too late to do it. Not to mention that he was thinking about Silas far too often, and the gaming was mostly to distract him from those lines of thought. He had turned down a Gigi's
shift last night, but one of the bartenders was looking for someone to switch for tonight, and he hadn't ruled it out, even just as a way to flirt with some cute customers and take his mind off his . . . whatever was going on between him and Silas.

No, instead of his original plans, he was taking care of a kitten with mobility issues and figuring out what in the hell that was going to entail.

Zuul ate her food like a creature possessed, living up to her namesake, and Matthew couldn't help smiling as he watched her attack the meal with vigor. So far, she'd been able to drag herself into and out of the litter box, since it was one of those low-sided ones for kittens, but there had to be something that would make it easier for her. Cat-adaptive technology, as it were.

His plan to not think about Silas was hindered by the very obvious fact that he worked on adaptive technology for humans. Maybe he could rig something up for Zuul. The vet had been clear that not every person wanted to deal with a cat whose litter box use might be problematic and who wouldn't be able to jump and run like other cats, but Matthew wasn't about to abandon her, especially if there might be a solution.

He thought about texting Silas, but this might be lengthy to explain via text, so he called instead. He hadn't spoken to Silas all week, and as the phone rang, he felt an unexpected flutter of nerves. That flutter became a spasm when Silas picked up.

“Um . . . hello?”

He sounded groggy, like Matthew had woken him up, even though it was already ten and Silas didn't seem like the kind of guy to sleep in.

“Hi. It's Matthew.”

“I know.” Silas's voice was still groggy, but also confused. “You put your number in my phone.”

And Silas hadn't deleted it. Maybe that was a good sign. “Right. I, uh, need your help with something. I was wondering if you wanted to come over.”

There was a pause. “Is this a sex thing you need my help with?” Silas sounded like he was smiling now, which made Matthew relax. Sometimes he forgot that Silas could joke.

Matthew smiled back. “No, it's not a sex thing.” He looked over at Zuul, who was pacing in her crate, dragging her legs behind her. “It's an engineering thing.”

“Really? What kind?” Silas sounded intrigued.

“Probably better if I just show you.” Much easier to show Zuul to Silas than to try and describe what was wrong with her. “I promise, this isn't a ruse to get into your pants. Unless you want it to be.”

Silas laughed. “Should I bring equipment?”

“Now that sounds really dirty.” Matthew leaned against the wall. Hearing Silas joking around again, it made him want to see him, and not just for sex. “No, I don't think you need anything. I just want to talk through my ideas with you.”

“All right. I just got up. I can be over there in a little while, though.”

Matthew could hear noises in the background, like Silas was getting out of bed and finding clothing. He pictured Silas in his boxers and a T-shirt, groggy and unkempt, searching for something to wear. The mental image was endearing.

“Okay. Use the intercom button in the elevator when you get here. Call apartment 3725.”

“I'll see you in a little while.” Silas hung up.

While waiting for Silas to arrive, Matthew showered, got dressed, ate breakfast, cleaned his apartment from a week of letting dishes and laundry pile up, and made coffee. He made enough for both of them, since Silas was obviously a coffee addict. The pot was just finishing brewing when the buzzer sounded, and he let Silas up to his floor.

Unlike last week, when he'd come straight from work and was in preppy clothes, this morning Silas was wearing an old T-shirt with the University of Florida logo on it and a pair of jeans that looked like they'd seen better days. He had a day's growth of stubble and looked like he hadn't slept well, but he also had a smile on his face.

“I see you decided to ignore the fact that I said you didn't need any equipment.” Matthew indicated the laptop bag Silas was carrying over his arm.

“It's not equipment. It's my laptop.” Silas slipped it off his shoulder and set the bag down on the kitchen table. As soon as he did so, he sniffed the air. “Is that coffee?”

“Yeah, that's coffee.” Matthew poured Silas a cup, smiling. “Come see what you want in it.”

Silas added milk and sugar after taking a sip.

“That bad?” Matthew teased.

Silas smiled sheepishly. “I'm just spoiled, that's all.” He took another sip of the doctored coffee. “Like this, it's quite good. So, what's the engineering challenge?”

“Come in here.” Matthew led Silas down the hall to his bedroom, where he'd been keeping Zuul's crate.

“You said this wasn't a sex thing,” Silas said, teasing, following him in. As soon as he saw the cat, though, he stopped. “Oh.”

“This is Zuul.” Matthew opened the door of the crate and scooped Zuul out, lifting her up so Silas could see her.

Silas studied the cat, from her wary green eyes to her twisted hips and straight back legs. “What's wrong with it? And what kind of name is Zuul for a cat?”

Matthew stared at Silas in disbelief. “
She
is named after Zuul, the gatekeeper of Gozer, from the first
Ghostbusters
movie. You obviously lived a deprived childhood if you don't know who Zuul is.” Matthew shook his head in pity. “And she has a hip deformity. I found her in the parking lot of PI Games last night and took her to the vet.” Matthew cradled the kitten in his large hands, and she tried to roll over, purring as he scratched her on the head. “The vet said it's causing her no pain, but she obviously has mobility issues. Must have been why the mother and the rest of the litter abandoned her. I had some ideas for helping her, but I figured this was your area of expertise, so I wanted to run stuff by you.”

“Sure, sure.” Silas seemed completely distracted by the cat, not taking his eyes off her throughout the entire conversation, even as he sipped his coffee. “It's—I mean, she's really small. How old is she?”

“About five weeks. A little young to be away from the mother, but eating solid food and everything. You want to hold her?” Matthew offered the cat to him.

Silas held up his free hand in a “no thanks” gesture. “Nah, I'm good. I don't want to hurt her.”

“You sure it's not because animals are fun, and you're allergic to fun?” Grinning, Matthew held the kitten to his chest.

“I am not allergic to fun!” Silas gave an indignant huff that made Matthew laugh. Then his expression turned serious. “I had a kitten when I was a kid. For about a week.”

“Oh?” Matthew scratched Zuul's ears.

“The family down the street was giving them away, and I came home with one. She was gray. I named her Stormy.” Silas smiled, looking down at Zuul with a longing expression. His smile faded. “My parents were not pleased.”

Matthew chuckled. “Yeah, I can't imagine any parent would be thrilled with a surprise pet.”

“You have no idea.” Silas put his hands into his jeans pockets. “Of course, I wanted to play with Stormy rather than study, so after a week of that, my dad gave her away.”

“Your parents gave your kitten away so you would
study
more?” Matthew stared, mouth agape. “I'm sorry. That's terrible. How old were you?”

“Eight or nine.” Silas shrugged. “They did what they thought was best.”

Sure they did. Matthew refrained from commenting, because he wasn't the kind of guy to insult someone else's parents, especially knowing they were dead. He put Zuul back down into her crate and closed the door.

“Why do you keep her locked up?”

“The vet told me to give her a safe space to get accustomed to for a little while before letting her out. That way she can get used to me and the way the place smells and all that.” Matthew led Silas out of the bedroom. “I was thinking that mostly what I need is an accessible litter box, ramps for the furniture, and a cat wheelchair.” He looked over his shoulder. “What do you think?”

Silas shrugged. “I have to tell you, I don't really know anything about cats.”

“I know, but it's all still your field. I thought you'd be helpful.” Matthew ran a hand over his head. “Maybe it was a long shot, I don't know. Cats? People? We're not that different, right?”

Silas gave him a patronizing stare. “Yes, Matthew, cats and people actually are fairly different.” A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “But I think I can help you. Making a cat wheelchair shouldn't be that hard.”

“Making one?” Matthew hadn't seen that coming. The guy seemed stressed out enough by his real job without Matthew adding to his workload. “No, I didn't mean to imply—I was just going to order one on the Internet.”

Silas raised one eyebrow. “You're going to order one on the Internet? No. That's ridiculous.” He shook his head. “I'm a biomedical engineer, Matthew. I can show you how to build a cat wheelchair.” Sitting down at the kitchen table, he pulled his laptop out of its bag and logged in. “You know how to use CAD?”