Page 40 of Even Robots Die

I know it’s been a while since the last time I had someone in my life, but why do I have to have wet dreams about the man who is keeping me from my life?

I also know that I should find a way to stop doing this to myself—starving my own body and mind of any kind ofattention—but I don’t usually do well with one-night stands, and I don’t really have time for a relationship. The latter shouldn’t be surprising, knowing that I’m rarely the master of my own agenda. But the former is more about the fact I need some kind of connection with someone before doing anything naughty … and here, same, I don’t have much time to get to know anyone.

Which makes me wonder why on earth my mind dug its claws into thinking that I had a connection with the handsome asshole.

There is literally no reason that would warrant this kind of dream in normal conditions.

Is it Stockholm syndrome kicking in already?

I shake my head at my own question. I know it’s not a silly question, but I also know that the main reason behind that dream is probably my—very—long dry spell.

I get out of bed and look out the window.

Outside, the sun hasn’t risen yet and the city of Blois is bathed in darkness. I can barely see anything out, even with the streetlights.

I rub my eyes with my hands again.

I should go back to sleep. I don’t think I slept more than three or four hours.

But I also feel the sweat pooling at the small of my back because I stayed too long wrapped in that damn blanket and, well, because my body reacted to what my mind conjured.

I release my hold on the blanket and look longingly at the bathtub at the side of my room.

If I take a quick bath, I know I won’t be able to fall asleep again.

But maybe it’s the right thing to do, though.

I need to go back to coding if I want it to be over soon. It’s not just that I want to be back home to take care of my sisters, but I can’t forget that I left them at the most dangerous time possible. There is a war in Paris. It might not be an all-out war yet, but people are on lockdown and attacks happen at every street corner and I don't like knowing my sisters aren’t protected the same way while I’m here.

So I might as well go back to the lab now.

I slip out of my pajamas and get in the bath. I turn on the shower head and let the water cool my body.

Maybe it would be the right time to take care of myself so that I stop having dreams about Brice, I think to myself.

But as soon as I slide my hand between my legs, the only thing that shows in my mind is a pair of green eyes and a wicked, wicked smirk.

Of fucking-course!

I turn the water temperature to freezing cold and douse myself with it.

That might calm me for a bit.

I put on some leggings and a long shirt that’s probably a size too small for me and threatens to let my breasts out if I breathe too hard.

As I put my holo back on my wrist, I double check the family’s bank accounts.

It still looks like dad hasn’t seen the money.

We’re all good.

I peek at Brice’s account—yes, I added it to my accounts since he said I could take whatever I needed—and look down at my shirt again.

Whatever I need indeed.

I guess Brice is ordering me shirts today.

I go to my favorite online shop and add a couple overalls too because I have no idea how long I’m going to stay in Blois, and by the time I’m done taming my curly hair, the package containing my clothes is at the window.