"Unless you're used to drinking raw egg and protein powder?" It would explain the muscles.

"No," he said, laughing. "I drink protein shakes before I run in the morning, but I'm not Rocky."

A runner? How did she get stuck crushing on a health nut, clean freak musician? "Running and morning are two words that should never go together."

He set that charming smile on her and she felt like melting onto the floor. Maybe she needed something cold to drink.

"An espresso, huh? Okay, I'll trust you on this." He rose from his seat then stopped and looked down at her. "If I buy you a refill, will you give me an update? Something, anything. I'm dying here."

Refill on her hot coffee? No. Cold drink. His waist was at eye level, bringing her attention to the manliness of his build. He had a runner's physique fit but not veiny. Just enough to have his way with her when he wanted to. A warm feeling rose up from her stomach, making her blush.

Definitely cold drink.

She cleared her throat. "Um. Get me the a caramel frappe and I'll tell you everything I know."

He grinned. "Excellent. Be right back."

What had gotten into her? She needed to end this crush now. They had nothing in common they'd be terrible together, even if he was interested. Besides, guys like him went for girls like Hope the original version. Beautiful, sweet-faced, perky. Not cynical, anti-social, and nerdy.

Her male counterparts in the geek world l.u.s.ted after Barbie dolls too. Emerson was always a last resort. It sucked, but such was her lot in life. It was easy to be confident about her intellect but when it came to what she had to offer past that, she'd never gotten beyond the insecure teenager stage. When it came to numbers and computers, she was Emerson, Supervillain Hacker Queen. But her gla.s.ses, flat chest, and scrawny frame ensured she'd never be anyone's first choice when it came to a relationship.

With Jonah, she'd figured out just how important s.e.x was to her. Not that she knew exactly what she wanted, only that what he offered ended up anti-climactic. Literally. There were no guarantees Levi would be any better, but d.a.m.n, at least he was good to look at.

Levi returned to the table, carrying two cups one topped with whipped cream and caramel drizzle. This was one of her favorite treats during the summer. He handed her one and sat down across the table.

After popping the lid, he said, "Here goes." He took a sip then made an exaggerated thinking face. "Hmm."

"Yes?"

"It's good!"

She smiled. "You're such a dork."

"What?" He looked genuinely perplexed. "Starbucks is a greedy b.i.t.c.h. Four ninety-five for this thing."

"I'll take it off your bill."

"No, that's okay. I don't mind spending money on you. It's corporate America robbing me blind that I don't like."

"It doesn't bother me as long as they keep me awake. One of these days, I'll find my prime number and it'll all be worth it."

After a big gulp of his drink, he asked, "What is this prime number thing anyway? You seem a bit..."

"Obsessed?"

"I was going to say pa.s.sionate."

She chuckled. "You're kinder than most. Jess makes fun of me."

"I'm a composer. I know what obsession is."

Did he? Musicians were artists. Her work was concrete. It wasn't something that could be judged based on personal taste. It was so very different from music composition. But obsession, pa.s.sion, whatever you called it, was something that spanned many fields. Many famous cla.s.sical composers were known for their eccentricities, just like some mathematicians she knew.

There was a fine line that separated intelligence and madness. Anti-social, OCD, personality disorder...these were words that had been thrown around behind her back. Maybe there was some validity there, but it was even worse for artists. The creative genius straddled that line closer than mathematicians.

She eyed Levi carefully. Just how good was he?

"So prime numbers," he said, urging her on. "That's like eleven and thirteen, right? What do those have to do with hacking?"

"Yes, prime numbers can only be divided by one and themselves, so they make good answers to puzzles. They're the basis for security encryption. Companies will use the product of two large prime numbers as a public key to encrypt a message, but the numbers themselves are kept a secret. When the product number is large enough, it takes too long to factor the private keys and hack into the system. So to test a system's security, companies will challenge cryptologists, also known as hackers, to factor the public number and find the two prime numbers that secure it. If the hacker can do it, the system isn't secure. An even better way to ensure security is to find even greater prime numbers. So far, the largest non-prime number a computer has been able to factor is four billion, two hundred ninety four million nine hundred sixty seven thousand two hundred and ninety six."

His eyes widened. "That a big number."

"Yes, but imagine if we could find an even bigger prime number. Every product of two prime numbers can only be factored one way. It has its own unique formula of prime numbers. That part is important because there can be only one solution for the secret encryption code. So the larger the prime number used, the harder it would be to break the code."

Slowly, he nodded, staring through her.

She waited for his expression to go vacant, or for him to say he had a headache. That was usually what happened when she tried to explain cryptology.

"Hmm," he finally said. "So, you basically solve really really big math problems?"

"Well, my computer does and I write the code. But yeah, that's the idea."

"Okay. I think I get it." He leaned forward and rested on his elbows. "You know, it's not that different from composition. I solve puzzles too. But instead of solving them as numbers, I solve them as tones. You put numbers together to fit evenly into other numbers. I put tones together to sound good. Actually, there's something called Algorithmic Composition. It's using math to write songs." His eyes narrowed. "Hey, I bet we'd make a good team."

"No way. Your work is subjective. There's no right or wrong answer."

"Not technically, but there are pairings of notes that sound universally good together and ones that don't. Finding those pairs is a lot like adding numbers. Think of a song as one big math equation. The more correctly matched groups of notes, the better the song." He smiled at her. "What you and I do is not so different. Except I suck at math so I rely on my ear. But art can be created either way." Before she could protest, he added, "Yes, math can be art, Emerson. Don't be so narrow-minded."

He winked and all she could do was stare at him, somewhat awe-struck. Thoughts flew by like paper airplanes in the wind, but she couldn't latch onto a single one. And for a hyper focused math genius, that was disturbing.

A small smile settled on Emerson's face as she gazed at him. What was this mysterious girl thinking? Though she'd come off as an anti-social slightly c.o.c.ky b.i.t.c.h in the beginning, now she was showing a different side of her. She could make eye contact, when she cared enough. She did have meaningful conversations, when she was interested in the topic. Emerson wasn't a head case, or a mean girl, she was misunderstood. Levi had been unraveling the puzzle that was her mind, and actually enjoying it.

"You said you'd tell me everything if I got you a coffee smoothie thing." He gestured to the cup.

"Frappuccino."

"Whatever. I got it for you so now I demand answers." With mock sternness, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Tell me everything you know."

"Pushy. No spotlight and one-way mirror, Mr. Interrogator?" Leaning down, she reached for something by her feet then sat up and placed her laptop on the table.

"Do you bring that thing everywhere with you?"

"Yep."

"Even on a date?"

Scowling, she opened it then answered, "It wasn't a date. But yes, even on dates. If I ever had one."

She didn't date? That shouldn't surprise him. But even the most hardcore shut-ins needed companionship. Emerson had a lot to offer, if only she'd open up more. So focused on this prime number thing, she probably didn't bother to try. The intense feelings that had scared him a few days ago, and made him run from her apartment guilty and ashamed resurfaced. She didn't just need love she needed someone to watch out for her, definitely someone to cook and clean, maybe even someone to listen to her. Deep proprietary feelings rose up inside of him. She wasn't right for him, but that didn't mean he couldn't care about her. He wanted to protect her, but like an older brother. Nothing more. Yeah. Caring wasn't so bad when he put it that way.

She probably wouldn't admit it, but she seemed lonely. Numbers didn't make good company. Neither did computers. He would know.

"I hacked into the Ohio DMV and found out all sorts of information about Heidi. Where she works, her home address, legal history, driving infractions..." She paused, studying the screen. "Two tickets for cell phone use while driving." Smirking, she glanced at him. "That was probably your fault. At least there's no DUI's."

She was like the f.u.c.king CIA. He swallowed hard as she rambled on but a ringing started in his ears.

"Stop looking at that," he finally snapped.

This felt like a huge invasion of privacy. Ten times worse than looking for her real name or what state she lived in. Curiosity piqued but guilt overrode it. He only needed the basics. Was she in real life, the way she was online? But how would Emerson know that? It wasn't as if she could hack into her personality, or her feelings for him. The only way he would truly know was by spending time with her, in person the one thing she was putting off. And that made him more suspicious than anything on her driving record.

Emerson gave him a puzzled look. "Don't you want to know if she's on probation or something?"

"This is wrong."

She shook her head and sighed. "You and your morals. Fine. I won't check her SAT scores either then."

"Jesus," he muttered, rubbing his hand over his face.

"No," she replied. "She's not affiliated with any church."

He ignored the remark, deciding it was easier to a.s.sume she was joking. Despite his misgivings about spying, he was relieved to have an address. Finally, he could go to her, see her face to face. She couldn't hide anymore. "Is she in Ohio?"

"Yup. Just outside Toledo. And she works at an elementary school, so she didn't lie about that." She shrugged. "This really isn't that bad. She used a fake name and picture, and hid where she lived, but... She's never been arrested. I couldn't find any signs that she's in therapy or takes prescription medication. Even her credit score is decent."

If the news was so good, why didn't he feel comforted by it? And that Emerson knew so much about her felt weird. Like two worlds colliding. Not to mention the guilt. Not only that he was spying, seriously spying, but he was also having these wacky, unpredictable feelings for Em. This projection s.h.i.t was out of control. Was there a pill for this? His mother would know. She took enough vitamins and prescription medication to fill a pharmacy. She swore it relaxed her but if she were any more uptight, she'd pop like an overfilled water balloon.

"Have you asked her about any of this?" Em questioned.

"No. I was waiting until I had more evidence to confront her so I would know if she was lying again. Now that I have an address, I think I'm going to drive out to see her. I want to do it in person, so I can look in her eyes."

She nodded. "Well, she's not a registered gun owner so I think you're safe."

He flicked his gaze to hers, looking for signs she was joking. Her expression stayed neutral. Typical Emerson always pragmatic. He burst out laughing.

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

"Nothing." His laughter died down to just a chuckle. "I just like you."

Pink painted her cheeks as she stared down at the table. He cringed. Stupid move. What the h.e.l.l was wrong with him?

"Um. I mean, you're doing a good job."

He watched her nod then look anywhere but at him. A wave of affection swept over him. Though she didn't put out warm fuzzy vibes, there was a certain sweetness about her, different from other girls. It was subtle but still there in the way she blushed, her smiles that were reserved for real moments of happiness, and the fact that she seemed to care about him, even if it was only a little.

With a small smile, and a soft gaze he said, "Thank you, Emerson."

"For what?"

"Not judging me."

After heaving a breath, she lifted her head. The pink had gone from her cheeks, sadly. He'd liked the slightly embarra.s.sed look on her face. It reminded him of that after-glow women got after a good f.u.c.k. He hid a grin. If she knew what he was thinking, she'd probably turn bright red.

"I judge you," she said, smirking. "I just don't do it out loud."

He chuckled. "Well, thanks for that then." The mischievous twinkle in her eye said she was teasing, but he'd learned Emerson didn't hold back her opinions often. "I know you must think I'm stupid for falling for this girl."

She shrugged, but looked away. Was she planning to lie? "It's not my business. I'm just doing my job."

"You've never fallen in love?"

"No," she said with a sardonic laugh. "I'm too driven with my work. I don't know. It's probably impossible." She almost looked sad about it. "It'd be like having to split myself in two. I can't focus on work and a person at the same time. There's just not enough time or energy."

"That's silly. Love isn't quantifiable."

Her brows shot up. "Everything is quantifiable."

"That doesn't even make sense." He scowled, feeling irritated though he didn't understand why. "Feelings can't be counted up and divided."

"Sure they can. Relationships require attention. I'd have to spend x amount of time on the emotional stuff, then y on pragmatic stuff. A huge amount of time is spent on communication, let's say that's x squared, plus there's bound to be fights over misunderstandings, so x squared plus y for that. All these hours added up are time away from my research. So love equals, modestly, three x squared plus y."

He stared for a moment, trying to wrap his head around all of that. Mathematician. Figured. "Wow. I had no idea love could sound so boring."

"It isn't all flowers and poetry, you know. At least not for long."

"Oh, I know how you feel. Anyone can betray the ones they love. Such an optimist."

She shrugged, looked totally unapologetic. "It's true. I've seen it a dozen times."

"You're jaded."

"You're idealistic."

They had a brief staring contest then Emerson looked away. "Anyway, I'll send you everything I uncovered. Unless you need anything else, I guess we're done." Her face fell. "Um, I'll email an invoice with the final report."

What? Already? He was reluctant to part. If he read her right, she didn't seem too eager to get rid of him either. Maybe they could stay friends. Did she even like him like that?

Sometimes he caught her staring at him in a mysterious way. Not creepy, like Mrs. Miller, but as if she were confused by him. He wasn't exactly hard to figure out not too smart, not too dumb. Though compared to her, his intelligence was lacking so maybe that was why she gave him strange looks. He squirmed a bit, somewhat self-conscious now.

Last time they'd been at Starbucks together, she'd barely looked at him. Now she not only made eye contact, but showed him a variety of expressions. Sly when she was being funny. Confused when he laughed at her bluntness. Adorable when she... She was always adorable.

"So what are you gonna do now?" she asked.

It took him a moment to switch gears, away from Emerson and back to Heidi. This wasn't good. Forcing himself to focus, he pictured what he'd been dreaming of doing for months.

"I'm going to drive to her house." Pull her into his arms Heidi, with the brown hair and crooked teeth then kiss her hard. After that...a happily ever after, he supposed. That was the best case scenario. But Emerson didn't need to know all that.