The Thousandth Floor (The Thousandth Floor #1)(15)
“I totally agree,” she whispered, though he hadn’t really stated an opinion at all. “It’s like you read my mind.”
This was the side effect of having Nadia in his brain that Watt hadn’t anticipated—that she’d become his secret weapon for getting girls. Before the procedure, Watt’s batting average had been exactly that: average. He wasn’t unattractive, with his olive-gold skin and dark eyes, but he wasn’t particularly tall, or confident. Having Nadia changed all that.
Of course, up here in midTower—almost a mile higher than where he and Derrick actually lived—everyone could afford pretty decent contacts. You could look things up on your contacts while talking to someone, if you wanted, but you’d have to speak the question aloud. Aside from a few preprogrammed commands like nodding to accept an incoming call or blinking repeatedly to take a snap, contacts were still voice-operated. And while it was normal to mumble while you were on the Ifty or at home, it was definitely uncool to give contact commands mid-conversation.
Nadia was different. Because she was in Watt’s head, they could communicate through what Watt had dubbed “transcranial telepathy mode,” meaning that he could think questions and Nadia would answer him. And when he talked to girls, she could follow the conversation, instantly feeding him any relevant information.
In the case of Squid Ink Martini Girl, for instance, Nadia had made a complete study of the girl in under ten milliseconds. She’d hacked the girl’s flickers, found every place she’d checked into and who her friends were; she even read all twelve thousand pages of the girl’s feeds history, and calculated what Watt should do in order to keep the conversation going. Now Watt was self-assured, even smooth, because he always knew the exact right thing to say.
Martini Girl studied him as she idly twirled the stem of her glass. Watt stayed silent, knowing that she didn’t like overly aggressive guys, that she wanted to feel like she was making the first move. Sure enough—
“Wanna get out of here?”
She was gorgeous. Yet Watt didn’t even feel excited as he automatically said, “Sure. Let’s go.”
He slid a hand low around the girl’s waist, walking with her toward the entrance, noticing the envious stares of all the other guys. He usually felt a thrill of victory at times like this, his stubbornly competitive streak coming out. Now he couldn’t bring himself to care. It all felt too easy, and predictable. He’d already forgotten this girl’s name and she’d told him twice.
“Winner’s curse,” Nadia whispered into his eartennas, and he could swear he heard amusement in her tone. “Where the victor gets exactly what he wants, only to find that it isn’t quite as he expected.”
AVERY
“ZAY’S TALKING TO Daniela Leon.” Leda’s eyes narrowed at the other girl, who stood below them wearing some kind of black flouncy dress. Daniela tipped her head back and rested a hand lightly on Zay’s forearm, laughing uproariously at whatever he’d just said.
Avery followed Leda’s gaze, though she didn’t particularly care who Zay talked to. “It’s fine.”
“What’s she supposed to be, anyway, in that weird dress? A matador?” Leda snapped, turning to Avery.
“I think it’s a French maid costume?” Avery volunteered, trying to keep from laughing as she reached for her drink, which floated on a hovercoaster near her elbow.
But Leda wasn’t listening. She’d turned her attention inward and was muttering to herself, probably planning revenge on Daniela. That was typical Leda, though; when she thought Avery had been slighted, her reaction was swift and uncompromising. It was just her brand of friendship, and Avery accepted it, because she knew what love and fierce loyalty were behind it. I hope I never piss you off, she always joked, and Leda would just laugh and roll her eyes as if the very idea was ludicrous.
The two friends were standing on Cord’s second-floor landing, right at the top of the stairs. Avery’s eyes scanned the crowded room below. It had been overwhelming down there earlier, with guy after guy telling her how amazing she looked tonight. She leaned forward on the railing and the halo above her head followed, its tiny microhovers programmed to track her movements.
Everyone was here. There was Kemball Brown, wearing intricate Viking armor that looked fantastic against his dark, muscled shoulders. Laura Saunders, the light catching all the sequins of her low-cut pirate bodice. And in a liftie uniform was Leda’s older brother, Jamie, covered in a tangle of facial hair.
“What’s up with Jamie’s beard?” Avery asked Leda, amused.
“I know,” Leda agreed as her eyes returned to regular focus. “When I first saw it the other day, I was grossed out too.”
“The other day?” Avery repeated, confused. “Wasn’t Jamie with you all summer?”
Leda wavered for a moment, so quick that Avery might have imagined it. “He was, of course. I meant when I saw the whole thing together, with the uniform. You know it’s a real one—he bought it off an actual liftie.”
Leda’s words were normal enough. Avery had to be imagining the weirdness in her voice, right? “I need a refill,” she decided, sending her drink back toward the bar. “Want one?”
“I’m okay,” Leda protested. Her glass was still mostly full. Come to think of it, Avery realized, Leda hadn’t been drinking much at all tonight. “Looks like you need to catch up,” she teased.