“It’s a storage room.”

“Yes. My plan didn’t work out exactly as I’d hoped.”

“You are so weird.” Even as he mumbled the words, his eyes softened and he smiled just slightly.

“Seriously, I wanted to see you.”

His eyes searched mine. “Why?”

“Because I found something out that made me realize I’d been operating under a misconception, and it was coloring my understanding of your character.”

Alex flinched and crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you find out?”

“First I need to tell you, I saw you with someone that Tuesday night before our date, a woman.”

His eyes moved between mine, lost focus, presumably because he was attempting to recall the events of that Tuesday. I helped him by filling in the blanks.

“You invited me to go out that night. My friend Kat cancelled on me, so I came back. When I walked around the corner, I saw you going inside with a woman.”

A slight frown cast a shadow over his features. He watched me for a moment before asking, “Did you think that I was involved with her?”

“Yes.”

“Even when we went out on Thursday? And when you came over Saturday?”

“Yes and yes.”

He looked quite shocked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“For a few reasons. Every time I ask you a question, you either respond with something sensational or you dodge it. Also, I took it as proof that we were on the same page: that you were on board for a puppet show with no strings attached, featuring only bananas and figs.”

“Why figs?”

“Have you ever cut a fig in half? It looks as much like a vag as a banana looks like a peen.”

“I’ve never seen a fig.”

I narrowed my eyes at this claim, and wondered if he meant a fig as in the fruit or a fig as in the metaphorical vagina.

Before I could ask him to clarify, he said, “So what happened?”

“Well, your lady friend, Agent Bell, visited me at work….”

Alex sighed heavily and his head fell against the door behind him. “Is that why you’re here?”

“What? No. I’m here because I figured out that they were the same person—the Tuesday lady and Agent Bell. And that maybe your claim about wanting more than a booty call was true.”

He opened one eye. “Bell didn’t ask you to do anything?”

“No, not at all. She just kept saying you were dangerous, asked me if I cared about my safety, and told me you were a threat to national security.” I shrugged. “You know, what I would typically expect from the federal agent of the guy I’m going out with.”

“Are we? Are we going out?”

I paused and considered my unintentional word usage and the flare of intensity I’d seen behind his eyes when I’d said it. I decided to stall by inhaling slowly.

“Alex….” I released his name on a breath. “I honestly don’t know.”

His expression turned severe, and his eyes looked distant. “Don’t play games with me. If you’re not interested in being with me, then leave me alone.”

“I am interested.”

“But not as something more than one night?” Everything about his asking the question was bitter.

“I don’t know. I don’t even really know you.”

“All right. Go ahead. Ask me anything. I’ll answer if I can.”

I decided to start with a very basic open-ended question. “Who are you?”

Alex’s eyes narrowed, moved over my shoulder, and focused on some point beyond me. I could tell he was thinking, considering, weighing his next words. I was glad, because if he’d answered quickly I wouldn’t have believed him.

His response was reluctant and belated; “Everything I tell you puts you at risk.”

It sounded so melodramatic, yet I recognized he believed the words.

“Then only tell me what Agent Bell already knows so I’m not at risk.”

“Then it’s only a small part of the story.”

“Give me something.”

“Fine.” His jaw clenched and he looked over my head. “I’m a hacker.”

I stared at him.

“You mean you’re a computer hacker?”

He nodded, his expression expectant, guarded.

I turned this information over a few times in my brain and felt some of the pieces click into place. This made complete sense. In fact, I was a little annoyed with myself that I hadn’t picked up on the clues.

“I see.”

His gaze flickered to mine and held. He looked angry, and I perceived something more behind his eyes; again, and as usual with Alex, something I couldn’t quite place.

“So that’s why you have no cell phone.”

His jaw ticked. “I’m allowed to have a cell phone. I choose not to.”

“You choose not to? Why not?”

“Because it’s an effective way for them to keep tabs on me. I’m not interested in making their job easier.”

“And your apartment—I didn’t see a computer or, really, anything else.”

“Anything with a computer chip—sound equipment, television, tablet, gaming system—just gives them a reason to conduct a search.”

Egad. How frustrating. He was living in the modern world with no access to it.

“And, during our date, when you said you’d left the show early just in case you’d been followed. That was the truth?”

He nodded.

“How old were you? When you were arrested?”

“Fifteen.”

Uhhh…what?!

“Fifteen? They put you in federal prison at fifteen?” I repeated, to make sure I’d heard him correctly.

Alex didn’t respond, but he did reach for me; he pushed his hands into my back pockets and pulled me toward him. I allowed him to press my body against his. Truthfully, I was a bit too lost in my thoughts to object.

“I see.” I said again. Although, I didn’t see. I mostly saw, but still truly didn’t see. “What exactly did you do?”

“Something big.”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“No. It’s best that you don’t know.” He said the words with such concerned sincerity that I felt their truth.

“Okay. I believe you. So, why did you do it?”

“Because I could.”

“And so…why aren’t you in prison now? Why did they let you out on parole?”

His arms tightened. “Because they know I’ll never give them what they want if they put me back there.”

“They need your help?”

He didn’t respond immediately; at first, I didn’t think he would. Then he said, “They want my help.”

The difference in our phrasing—need verses want—was not lost on me.

“Does that answer all your questions?” He gazed down at me and his eyes lowered to my mouth.

“How did you even get a job after being in prison?”

Alex paused, considered this question for two seconds. He appeared to be vetting it, ensuring it was a safe topic for discussion. Having decided, he continued. “My mother worked for the Patels when I was little, at a different restaurant in North Chicago. When I was released, I looked them up, and they remembered me.”

“What about your mother? Where is she now?”

He pulled away with such suddenness that I almost lost my balance.

“Why do you want to know?”

“What do your parents think about…?”

“We’re not doing this.” Alex set me away from him. “You don’t need to probe into my childhood frustrations in order to make a decision about being with me.”

“It’s part of who you are. I’d like to get to know you.”

“And everything has to be discussed, right now, in this closet?”

“It’s a storage room.”

Alex cursed, stepped toward me in a way that wasn’t precisely threatening; it was more like pissed and impatient. He growled. “Be serious; why did you come tonight? Am I just another stray? Because I’m not interested in being fixed.”

“Because you….” I stopped, glanced at the ceiling then back at him. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because I had such a great time on our date. Because you’re truly the best kisser I’ve ever had the pleasure of kissing. Because you’re very weird and I like it. Because you’re sexy, and I like that too. Because now I know you aren’t seeing another woman. Because maybe I can help you.”

His expression changed with each of my declarations—surprised, pleased, very pleased, concerned—and he didn’t respond for a long while. Instead, he stared at me; his gaze felt lovely and hot.

At last, he said, “When I told you that I’ve been watching you for two years and I think you are the most exquisitely beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, I meant it.”

I pulled my top lip between my teeth and felt his words in the center of my chest. “I know that now.” I nodded. “I believe you.”

“But I don’t think you understand me.” His eyes narrowed, as though to impart some wisdom without being forced to say the words.