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Cover Design: Barrie Abalard
Virtually Yours
By Barrie Abalard
Sticky Fingers Publishing
Smashwords Edition
Copyright February 2012 by Barrie Abalard
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition
Copyright March 2011 by Barrie Abalard
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Virtually Yours
By Barrie Abalard
Chapter One
Drew Slater was in love with the man in the next cubicle, and all he wanted was for the guy to go away.
He removed his ear buds, frowning. How could he listen to his tunes while he coded the guts of web sites if his neighboring cube-prisoner used the phone’s speaker?
“Yeah, that’s right. Give me the specs,” Owen McManus told his caller while Drew did a slow burn. The two of them had to work together on the same project, so Drew did need to know about the specs. But he didn’t want to hear about them at this particular point in time. Deadlines loomed on a different project.
Stepping out of his gray-upholstered cubicle, he stuck his head inside Owen’s identical one. McManus wore a black T-shirt, worn jeans, and Nikes. The mathematical symbol for Pi, wreathed with equations, decorated his solid-muscle left forearm. But Drew couldn’t let himself grow distracted by thoughts of Owen’s muscles. “Hey.”
The tattooed web designer extended his index finger in the “wait a minute” position. Drew, someone who took things literally the way a lot of software geeks did, waited exactly one minute, counting the seconds in his head, before he spoke again. “Hey. Stop using the speaker. Some of us are working.”
Saying nothing, Owen frowned at him before picking up the receiver. “Yeah, go on,” he said into the mouthpiece, the speaker now silenced.
In a bad mood over having to confront Owen on a matter that should be ruled by common cubicle courtesy, Drew returned to his chair. But after ten minutes of steaming without accomplishing anything, he headed for the men’s room, where he tore off his glasses to splash cold water on his face. He stared into the mirror, watching the drops slide down his apple cheeks to drip off his undistinguished jaw line.
Owen was so fucking hot, and he, Drew, was so fucking not. He wasn’t bad-looking, just not hot. A few extra pounds hung from his frame, despite a lifestyle that included running miles and pushing iron at the gym, along with the occasional weekend devoted to mountain biking. If that weren't bad enough, his round, fresh face and choir-boy appearance finished off any chance of his looking sexy. Like Owen, Drew sported a tattoo, a manga character, but on him it looked kind of silly.
Face it—his Germanic-farmer genes would never allow him to look edgy and bold, and that fact meant that Owen was permanently out of his league.
He blew air through pursed lips. Not being good enough to woo the stud in the next cube was sticking a permanent burr up his butt. It was damned hard to find attractive gay dudes in high tech, so having Owen so near and yet unavailable made Drew want to throw his thirty-inch monitor against a wall.
It had been so much easier when Owen worked on the other side of the building, as he had until three weeks earlier. Management was always shuffling around cube occupants. If he were lucky, maybe they'd shuffle him away from Owen some day soon.
Wait a minute. Being moved killed productivity for days. Better they should move Owen again, who'd worked here less than a year. Drew had logged three years at FuguFish and survived two layoffs, a miracle in this fucking economy.
He dried his face, replaced his titanium frames so he wouldn’t walk into a doorjamb, and headed down a hall filled with windows for the weekly status meeting. On his way, he watched the May sunlight dance among the just-leafing-out trees. May in the Boston area was a crapshoot weather-wise, but so far it was shaping up to be an early summer. Drew thought about warm summer nights, the kind you needed a lover to fully appreciate, and wished he were anywhere but at work. With Owen.
* * * *
The smell of coffee beckoned Owen to the goodie room, with its high-end espresso maker and two Braun drip machines, its free soda and water, and its two large refrigerators where the frugal stored their lunches. He decided on an espresso, finished it with a lemon twist, and carried it to the Denali conference room.
Only in a high-tech company five thousand miles from Alaska could you have conference rooms named after natural wonders and parks located in the Frontier State. Quirks such as these were among the things Owen appreciated about high tech.
That, and the nerds. He loved nerds. Lusted for them, actually. Something about a big brain and glasses made his dick grow big. Especially the nerd in the cubicle next to his. He’d considered pursuing Drew, until he realized the man had a major stick up his ass. Owen preferred his guys so cool they were chilly.
Still, he found the clueless way Drew dressed endearing. His eyes, the color of brown ale, were soft behind his glasses, and his sandy hair, never cut the right length, shone even under the fluorescent lighting they had to put up with. He had a nicely-muscled body, one with a little heft to it, not a trendy-skinny one. And Owen definitely liked that about him.
Maybe cool wasn't really that cool.
Drew was sitting in the chair farthest from the door, so Owen picked the one nearest the door. Just because the guy was a cubicle neighbor didn’t mean he had to pretend to be his buddy. Besides, if he got too close to the guy, he'd grow a woodie, and that might be embarrassing. He lazed in his chosen chair and sipped his espresso, keeping his gaze off Drew.
Other programmers and web designers filed in, leaving the seat at the head of the table empty for Darlene McCullough, Vice President of Development. Within a couple of minutes, she strode into the room. Owen sat up, intrigued by the purpose and excitement radiating from her demeanor. He knew Darlene better than most in the department did.
“Those of you who know me have probably figured out that I have some good news,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “First, though, we need status reports. Drew, why don’t you start?”
Owen forced himself to listen to they guy's monologue because they were a team, with him as the designer and Drew as the programmer. The only way he’d ever get away from the guy was either to get promoted, or work somewhere else. Sighing more loudly than he meant to, Darlene cut him a look that said, At least pretend to listen.
Within fifteen minutes, everyone had reported on projects and problems. After an administrative announcement or two, their boss finally broke the news.
“The New England Museum of Modern Art—NEMMA to most art-lovers—has asked us, little old FuguFish, to revamp their web site. Apparently they’re not happy with the team they currently employ, so this is our big chance, people, to get our foot in the door. Normally we’d ask who wanted to be on the project team and go from there. But I’ve gotten the go-ahead to award the job to whoever wins a design contest. Each web designer-and-programmer team will collaborate to create the best site they can imagine. The winning entry’s prize, along with glory and fame—” Darlene smiled “—is an extra week of pay or an extra week’s vacation, your choice. You’ve got until a week from tomorrow, everyone. Questions?”