The NeuroSync office was a pressure cooker by midday, the air thick with the hum of fans and the clatter of keyboards. Dee sprawled at his desk, braids swaying as he tapped out a rhythm on the edge of his laptop, his latest code tweak running in the background. Three days in Tokyo, and he was already stirring the pot. The team buzzed about his “Grenadian twist”, a syncopated logic loop he’d pitched to juice the AI’s pattern recognition. Tanaka ate it up, tapping Dee on the shoulder like he’d invented fire. Most of the crew nodded along, impressed... Not Hinata. She sat across the room, her petite frame rigid, her scowl a permanent fixture.
Dee caught her eye as he leaned back, stretching his arms wide, the gold chain glinting against his chest. She didn’t flinch, just kept typing, but he swore her fingers hit the keys harder. “Something to say, Hinata?” he called, voice loud enough to cut through the chatter, that Caribbean lilt curling around her name like a taunt.
She didn’t look up. “Only that your little stunt’s gonna tank the system. Syncopation? What is this, a dance party?”, A few heads turned, smirking. Dee grinned, unbothered. “Worked when I ran it. Maybe you’re just too stiff to feel the beat.
”Her head snapped up then, eyes locking on his, dark, sharp, like she could slice him open and enjoy it. “I’d rather be stiff than sloppy. Keep your island tricks out of my code. “Tricks?” He stood, sauntering over, towering over her desk. “That’s experience talking, love. You might like it if you tried.”
She shoved her chair back, standing to meet him, barely clearing his chest but radiating heat. “Call me that again, LongStack, and I’ll rewrite your whole damn profile to crash on boot.”... “Dee,” he corrected, stepping closer, voice dropping low. “And I’d like to see you try.” The room held its breath, the tension snapping tight. She didn’t back down, her chin tilting up, lips parting like she had more to spit. He could smell her now, something floral, edged with the bite of too-long hours. Her glare flickered, just for a second, dipping to his mouth, and Dee’s pulse kicked. There it was, cracks in her armor, thin but real.Tanaka coughed, breaking the spell. “Alright, back to it. Dee, Hinata... focus.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
She huffed, dropping into her seat, fingers flying over the keys again. Dee lingered a beat, then strolled back to his desk, smirking. Round one: draw. But he’d rattled her, and that was enough for now.The day crawled on, Dee tweaking his code, Hinata ignoring him or pretending to. He caught her glancing his way once, twice, quick and guarded, like she was sizing him up. By late afternoon, the office thinned out, leaving a skeleton crew and a quiet that felt heavy. Dee stayed, digging into a glitch, when he heard it, a sharp curse from Hinata’s corner.
He looked over. She was hunched, glaring at her screen, a lock of hair slipping from her bun to brush her cheek. “Problem?” he asked, casual but edged. “None of your business,” she snapped, but her voice wavered, frustration bleeding through. He got up, ambling over, and leaned against her desk, peering at the code. “Loop’s choking itself,” he said, nodding at the screen. “You’re overcomplicating it.” She swatted his hand away when he reached for the keyboard. “I don’t need your help.” “Yeah, you do.” He didn’t move, his arm brushing hers, deliberate. She froze, breath catching, and he felt it, the spark, the pull. “Lemme show you.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t stop him this time. He typed, quick and sure, stripping the mess down to something lean. The program ran clean, and he pulled back, smirking. “See? Not so hard.” She stared at the screen, then him, her eyes a storm. “Don’t get smug,” she muttered, but there was no venom in it... just heat, simmering under the surface. “Too late,” he said, voice a low rumble, and walked away, leaving her stewing. Back home, the city glittered beyond his window, a restless sprawl. He poured a rum, sipping slow, when that silhouette caught his eye again, the neighbor’s wife. She was there, in her window, watering that damn plant, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder. This time, she didn’t turn away. Her eyes met his, bold for a heartbeat, then flicked down, taking him in.
Dee raised his glass, a slow salute, and she disappeared behind the curtain but not before he saw her lips curve, just a little. Hinata’s fire burned in his mind, a slow tease he’d stoke for days. The neighbor, though? She was ripe, like mango, ready. And Dee never say no to a taste.