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Max didn't understand.
He was a genius coder. He could write complex AI algorithms that simulated human emotion. He could design game mechanics that addicted millions.
But when it came to women? He was denser than a black hole.
He was currently immersed in the joy of reuniting with an old friend. He saw Jasmine as a buddy. A "bro" who just happened to be a six-foot-six Amazonian goddess. He didn't notice the way she looked at him—like a starving wolf eyeing a particularly juicy steak.
But his instincts were sharper now. The Count of Monte Cristo template gave him heightened awareness.
Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Danger.
It felt like being targeted by a predator. A pair of eyes, full of raw, unfiltered desire, were burning a hole in him.
Max whipped his head around, scanning the street. Assassin? Sniper? Vanguard Games corporate spy?
He saw nothing. Just the bustling street and the barbecue vendor flipping skewers.
"Weird," Max muttered, rubbing his neck. "Must be the lack of sleep."
Across the table, Jasmine smiled innocently, taking a sip of her stolen cola.
"Boss!" Max called out, shaking off the paranoia. "Another serving of rice! And two more colas!"
"Coming right up!" the vendor shouted.
Jasmine reached for her wallet—a worn, camouflage-patterned thing that looked like it had survived a war zone.
"Wait, Max," she said. "Let me get this. You look like you haven't made a paycheck in months."
Max frowned. He reached out and gently pushed her hand down.
"No way," he said firmly. "I invited you. It's on me. Consider it a celebration of our reunion."
"But—"
"No buts. I might look like a broke artist, but I can afford dinner."
Jasmine looked at his hand on hers. She hesitated, then a small, soft smile touched her lips.
"Fine," she conceded. "But next time? I'm taking you to a real restaurant. Steak. Wine. The works."
"Deal," Max agreed, oblivious to the fact that she had just secured a second date.
Max was a bit of a traditionalist when it came to these things. Maybe it was a touch of chauvinism, or maybe just how he was raised, but he felt that the host should always pay. The fact that Jasmine—who clearly had more muscle mass than him—wanted to pay was sweet, but unnecessary.
One could only say that nerds were adorable creatures.
After demolishing a mountain of food that would have fed a family of four, they left the stall.
"So," Jasmine asked, falling into step beside him. "Where are you staying?"
"Rented apartment a few blocks from here," Max said. "It's nothing special. Why?"
"Well," Jasmine said casually, kicking a pebble with her heavy combat boot. "I just got to the city. I'm technically homeless right now. Staying in a motel."
She looked at him sideways.
"I need to find a place. Since I'm working for you now—bodyguard and all—it makes sense to be close, right? Maybe there's a unit in your building?"
Max thought about it. "Actually, yeah. There are a few vacancies. It's a quiet neighborhood. Good internet."
"Great," Jasmine grinned. "Let's go check it out. I want to see your setup anyway. Make sure it's secure."
They walked to Max's apartment. It was a modest, mid-range complex.
Max unlocked the door and pushed it open.
"Welcome to the Batcave," he joked.
Jasmine stepped inside. She stopped. Her nose wrinkled.
It wasn't filthy, exactly. There were no roaches or rotting garbage. But it was... dusty.
A month of neglect hung in the air. A fine layer of grey dust covered every surface—the TV stand, the bookshelves, the unplugged gaming console. The air was stale and heavy, smelling faintly of stale pizza boxes and old coffee.
"Oh wow," Jasmine muttered.
Before Max could apologize, she was already moving.
She marched to the window and threw it open, letting in a gust of fresh air. She picked up a stray sock from the floor and tossed it into the hamper with perfect aim.
"You men," Jasmine sighed, shaking her head like a disappointed mother. "You live like bears in a cave. Do you even own a vacuum?"
"Hey!" Max protested weakly. "It's not that bad! I've been busy coding! I haven't had time to clean!"
"And look at this dust," she scolded, running a finger along the TV stand and showing him the grey smudge. "If you don't use the living room, why rent a two-bedroom place? It's a waste."
"I like having space," Max defended himself. "It feels... cozy."
Jasmine raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. "Cozy? Or maybe you're hiding a secret girlfriend in the spare room?"
"What?" Max snorted. "Please. I've been single since birth. My longest relationship is with my text editor."
"Nearly 21 and single?" Jasmine tsked. "That's tragic. Why don't you get a pet? A dog? A cat? It gets lonely, doesn't it?"
"I tried," Max admitted. "I had a succulent once. A cactus."
"And?"
"It died."
"You killed a cactus?"
"I forgot to water it. Or maybe I watered it too much. I don't know. Plants are complicated."
SLAP.
Jasmine facepalmed. The sound echoed in the quiet room.
She looked at him with a mix of pity and affection.
He's hopeless, she thought. He can build a world-changing AI, but he can't keep a cactus alive. He needs someone to take care of him. Badly.
There was a disappointment that her "pig" (Max) hadn't gone after any "cabbage" (girls). But mostly, there was relief. He was pure. Untouched.
And ripe for the taking.
"Show me the spare room," Jasmine commanded.
Max led her to the second bedroom. He opened the door.
It was empty. Completely empty. No furniture, no boxes. Just a bare mattress frame leaning against the wall and a layer of dust on the floor.
"See?" Max said. "Empty. No secret girlfriend."
Jasmine walked into the room. She spun around, gauging the size. It was small, but big enough for a bed and a desk.
She nodded to herself.
"It's a waste to leave this empty," Jasmine said, turning to face him.
She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. Her imposing figure filled the space.
"Tell you what," she said casually. "Why don't I move in?"
Max blinked. "Huh?"
"Think about it," Jasmine pressed. "I need a place. You need a bodyguard. And clearly, you need a maid because you're living in squalor."
She gestured to the dusty living room.
"I'll pay half the rent. I'll clean. I'll cook real food so you don't die of scurvy. And I'll make sure nobody from Vanguard Games breaks your kneecaps."
She grinned, revealing pearly white teeth.
"Roommates. With benefits. The benefit being that I don't let you die of stupidity. What do you say?"
Max stood there, processing.
Half rent? Great. Home-cooked meals? Amazing. A live-in bodyguard who looked like she could wrestle a bear? Essential.
It was a logical, pragmatic solution.
"Okay," Max said, nodding slowly. "That... actually makes a lot of sense. Sure. Welcome home, roomie."
Jasmine's grin widened. It was predatory. It was triumphant.
Hook, line, and sinker.
"Great," she said, slapping him on the back. "I'll go get my bags from the motel. Don't touch anything. I'm doing a deep clean when I get back."
She turned and marched out of the apartment, humming a happy tune.
Max watched her go, rubbing his sore shoulder.
"She's really nice," Max thought to himself. "Helpful. A true friend."
He had absolutely no idea he had just let the wolf into the henhouse.
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