Matt Maeson – Put It On Me
"I'll have the Cabernet Sauvignon," Alex raised an eyebrow at her as the waiter began praising her choice, talking about the Bordeaux region and the vintage. Smiling politely, Taylor nodded along and let Alex order the food. After the wine list, she lost her ability to focus.
The dark red swirling in her glass felt like a focusing point. It was damn good too, even if the waiter was still chattering somewhere in the background. He'd recognized her when he'd seated her across from Alex. He must have been nervous.
"You want him to bring the bottle?" Alex's voice finally cut through her thoughts. Her eyes met his over the rim of the glass and she placed it delicately back on the table. Barely a mouthful remained swirling at the bottom. Said waiter had finally disappeared.
"No," an instant later the waiter materialized again, depositing a basket of crusty bread wrapped a napkin. He made a show of preparing a dip out of olive oil and spices, then when he noted her empty wine glass, he refilled it for her immediately. Taylor watched it all in silence. Despite her refusal, Alex told their waiter, Sam, to leave the bottle.
"Well?" Her pulse quickened, but Alex dug in the basket for a breadstick, looking at her imploringly. "I know you love bread. Isn't it the reason you started running?"
"One of them," she conceded, reaching for a breadstick as well. She dropped it on the smaller plate in front of her and started tearing off smaller chunks to stuff in her mouth. When she glanced up, Alex was looking at her.
Or he was looking at her bruises, she realized. His dark green eyes were focused below her face, at the dark black and blue circles that looked disturbingly like fingerprints. She had spent some time staring at them herself in the mirror earlier, and no amount of concealer or contouring would lighten them. Alex took them in with singular focus, his eyebrows drawn down low over his eyes.
Still, she couldn't start the conversation. She kept pinching bites of her breadstick off and shoving them in. As long as her hands were occupied, she could ignore the anxiety curling like smoke at every edge of her awareness, trying to set her aflame.
"You know," he finally spoke, startling her, hand pausing halfway between the plate and her mouth. His eyes finally rose to hers again, "When I saw you this morning, all I could think of was the last time we were in Detroit. Do you remember?"
"Yes," she breathed. It was snowing then too. Jake had been crying. There had been a dull ache in her chest that had started the moment she had walked into her mother's bedroom and never stopped. She didn't feel anything else, even when Alex took her hand and led her away, toward the departure gate.
"I thought we were starting over." He glanced down at the table. She lowered the hand holding her bread while reaching for her wine instead. "I never thought I would see you like that again."
"It started in Los Angeles." Taylor took another sip of wine. "Weeks after I started posting about deviants on social media. This android approached me, and I didn't realize he was an android at first. He had a proposition for me and..."
She met Alex's eyes across the table. He was looking at her, rapt. "And I took it. I helped deviants escape into Mexico."
He just kept staring at her. She found the silence more unnerving than anything he could have said. When he realized she wasn't continuing, he finally asked, "Is that why you've been turning down so much work?"
She nodded. Alex sighed. "Is that why you asked me find you work related to deviants? The reason you've been throwing yourself into danger at every possible opportunity?"
"Not exactly," Taylor faltered, "Everything that happened when I came here was completely unplanned. Markus contacted me and asked me to help with the revolution."
"You came here as a consultant on a police investigation." He retorted. "What do you mean by 'not exactly'?"
"I came here to find out why deviants were becoming violent in Detroit. Things just kind of escalated once I got here." The look of disbelief he was giving her gave her that familiar feeling of anxiety crawling through her stomach. She refilled her wine glass.
"Anthony Jacobsen?" He asked softly. Her fingers tightened on the glass.
"You already know," she answered, taking another long sip. "He was at that charity event. He knew I was in town. I don't know if he was planning it from the start, or from the moment he saw me. What else do you want me to say?"
"I sent you here. I sent you to that event. I didn't do anything to protect you." Taylor glanced down at Alex's hand, clenched into a fist on the table. She leaned forward in her seat, placing her hand over his.
"I didn't let you."
"Your food." There was a runner standing over their table, tray balanced in their hand. She leaned back in her chair as they set out the plates. She was starting to feel a little floaty from the wine, but when the smell of the chicken marsala hit her, her mouth watered.
The first bite was heaven. She couldn't remember the last time she had good food. Maybe that burger with Hank at Chicken Feed. "One more thing. Tell me about Connor."
The bite of chicken she had just swallowed diverted to her lung and she started coughing. Grabbing the napkin in her lap, she covered her mouth while she struggled with her coughing fit. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She downed several gulps of wine, trying to clear her throat.
When she finally regained control of herself, she found Alex watching her with an amused expression, his fork poised over his plate. She lifted her wine glass to her lips, but it was empty. Was that the second or third glass?
"What about him?" He raised his eyebrows, swirling the wine in his own glass before taking a sip.
"This is the same android you were working with on the deviant case. You took him with you to a party. You showed up with him this morning, which didn't seem to surprise Hank in the least." Taylor schooled her face into neutrality, but Alex just smiled. "I thought he was going to charge that interview room today."
She cleared her throat again, feeling like maybe that chicken was still clogging her windpipe. "He's my friend."
"Do try to remember who you're talking to." He was still smiling, Cheshire-like now. "I've known you for eighteen years. You get the same stupid look on your face when you're into someone."
"I don't know what you mean." Her fingers fumbled over the wine bottle and she poured herself another glass, keeping her eyes averted from Alex while she did so.
"Uh huh." His smile faded as he watched her raise the glass to her lips. "Just, are you so sure about this? A deviant android? Controversial, even for you. Complicated."
"There's nothing to be sure about!" She insisted, but she realized now that Alex had covered his mouth with his hand, and he was trying not to laugh. He was making fun of her. "You are insufferable."
"Sorry, it's just too easy." She glared and started shoving bites of chicken marsala in her mouth again. "Really, though. Should I be worried?"
Taylor hesitated, an impaled mushroom hovering just centimeters from her lips. Connor's face materialized suddenly in her mind, his soft brown eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, that stubborn curl of hair that fell across his forehead.
"No," she said, shoving the tines in her mouth. Alex didn't respond to that, eating his meal in silence for a few minutes. When she had cleared her plate enough to be satisfied, she filled her wine glass one more time. "Markus wants me to be an ambassador for the deviants."
The sudden clink of Alex's fork hitting his plate made her jump. The wine was making her head swim now. She realized she had lost count of how many glasses she'd had. When she went to sit her glass back on the table, she almost spilled it.
"He wants you to stay here?" Taylor raised her blue eyes from the still swirling red wine to Alex's startled face. She nodded. "What did you say?"
"I told him I wasn't a good choice." Her fingers curled around the stem of the glass. Whatever he had anticipated her saying, it wasn't that. His eyes narrowed.
"So you said no." He sounded unconvinced, had placed his silverware on the table and offered all of his attention to her.
"He asked me to think about it." She said uncertainly. Alex grimaced. The waiter came to collect their plates while his green eyes stayed locked on hers.
"Sometimes I forget," he said once the waiter had disappeared, leaning back in his chair, "how good of an actress you are."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Never mind," Alex finally turned away, accepting the check from the returning waiter. Taylor frowned at his vague response, wanting to press the issue, knowing he wouldn't answer her if he didn't want to. When he finished paying, he stood. "Let's get you back to the hotel."
Connor hesitated, his hand hovering over the door to Taylor's hotel room. He was about to knock, but he knew it was getting late. He didn't want to wake her. Though considering his reason for coming, he wasn't sure he could put it off.
He knocked softly and waited. A few moments passed. As the minutes stretched on, he thought no one was going to come to the door. Then there was a thump on the other side, and the handle rattled. It swung wide and Taylor was standing there, one shoulder leaning into the frame.
"Connor?" She looked up at him, confusion knitting her brow, her lips curving down into a small frown. Her blue eyes looked glazed and slightly out of focus. Her cheeks were flushed. "What are you doing here? I thought you were room service."
"I need to speak with you." Connor said, glancing past her into the room. He could hear a television on low volume but no indication that there was anyone in the room with her.
"Fine, come in," she mumbled, pushing her weight from the door frame to step away and let him enter. She pushed too hard and stumbled. Connor reached for her, but she regained her balance, taking several long steps back toward the bed.
He watched her climb back in amongst the pillows, pulling the robe she was wearing tighter around her and reaching for an almost empty glass of wine on the nightstand. She was clearly inebriated, much more so than the night he had gone with her to that charity event and she'd had too much champagne.
Her blue eyes found him, still standing just inside the room, and she spoke first, "Well don't just stand there. I know I look like crap, don't say it."
Connor walked further into the room. There was a king-sized bed where Taylor was seated across from a dresser. The flat screen TV was playing the news, the volume so low he could barely discern it with his android senses. The door to the bathroom was shut. There was a small vanity in the corner that had her belongings strewn across it.
As he stepped closer to the bed, Taylor's leg shot out to halt his progress. Her foot was pressed against his thigh, both hands curled around her wine glass. She inclined her head toward the vanity, her expression carefully blank. "Sit over there, please."
He met her eyes, startled, but she didn't back down. Nodding, he retreated to the vanity, moving her suitcase to the floor. He turned the chair so that he was facing her and sat. She pulled her leg back in and crossed her legs in front of her. The white robe she was wearing stopped just above her knees, and as it rode up, he could see a generous portion of her bare, tanned legs. He glanced away.
"We're not working on the case anymore. I didn't expect any more late-night visits," Taylor brought her glass to her lips, her blue eyes still watching him over the rim as she drank. He kept his gaze on her face when he turned back to her.
"Markus asked me to come," he explained.
"Ah." She didn't sound surprised in the least. "I suppose that makes sense."
"He asked you to be our ambassador." He said. She nodded. "You said no?"
"I said that I was a poor choice." She corrected him with a shrug. A knock at the door interrupted the conversation. Taylor sat her wine glass down and climbed out of the bed, stumbling toward the door again. Connor almost stood to go help her, afraid she was going to fall, but she made it to the door with no incident.
"Room service," he heard the person at the door say as she opened it. He handed her a bag and left just as quickly. She closed the door and brought her prize back to the bed with her, settling in once more.
Digging through the paper bag, she pulled out another bottle of wine and placed it on the nightstand. Then she reached her hand in again and pulled out what must have been her more immediate goal: a pint of strawberry ice cream and a spoon.
She was paying absolutely no attention to him now, thoroughly enjoying her dessert. At least she had temporarily forgotten about her alcohol. Connor watched her in silence, concern gnawing at him, but thinking of nothing to say.
"Taylor, why did you turn Markus down?" He finally decided to continue their conversation instead. She paused, spoon in her mouth, her blue eyes finding his again. Swallowing, she stuck the spoon back in the container.
"I just told you." She took another bite, looking away from him again, unconcerned.
"You've spoken in defense of deviants for months." He persisted. "I don't understand."
"You wouldn't understand." She stared into the pint of ice cream, no longer eating it, her face still blank. Connor was getting more worried the longer he watched her. She looked up at him suddenly, their eyes locking, "Why don't you do it? You'd be good at it. You're good at everything."
He narrowed his eyes. Taylor blinked rapidly and looked down at her ice cream again. Standing, he approached the bed. This time she didn't block his approach. He took the container of rapidly melting ice cream from her hands and sat it on the nightstand before settling on the edge of the bed.
"Taylor, talk to me." Her fingers were icy as he tucked his hands around hers. Taylor looked up, meeting his eyes, but still didn't say anything. "Please."
"Maybe I don't want to," she said, frowning. She was being obstinate, and he didn't know if he'd done something to upset her, or if it was just because she was drunk and not acting like herself.
"I think you would be great," he said softly, squeezing her hands. "I think Markus made the perfect choice."
"You haven't known me long enough," she argued, turning away. "I can't do it. I'll just screw it up. Look at me, I'm a mess."
Taylor tugged on her hands, trying to pull away. Whatever stoic façade she'd put in place to speak to him was starting to fray, tears collecting in her eyes. Connor held on, afraid if he let her go that she would make him leave, and he didn't want to leave her alone.
A sob shuddered through her, and he pulled her against his chest, folding his arms around her. He held her, his hands sliding up and down her back, until she stopped trembling. "If you don't want to do it, I won't ask you again."
He pulled away and reached his hands up, cupping her cheeks and wiping gently at her tears. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "But if you're saying no because you don't think you can do it, then I can't let you."
She opened her eyes. He could feel her heart rate ticking up. She slid closer to him, her bare leg pressing into his thigh. Petulantly, she said, "You can't tell me what to do."
"No, I suppose that's true." She leaned in. He held her gently in place, his brow furrowing. "Taylor, you're intoxicated."
"I know," she said, but she didn't move forward again. She hovered there in his touch, staring into his eyes. He wanted to close that small gap, press their lips together. Taylor's glazed, half-lidded eyes held him back.
"You should sleep." Connor forced himself to pull away. Taylor's brow knitted. She slid away from him and burrowed back into her pillows. He reached to tuck the blankets around her, but she withdrew from his touch, rolling onto her side so that her back was facing him.
His hand hovered there for just a moment before he pulled away and stood. Retreating back toward the vanity, he settled in to watch over her for the night.