I eventually took a glass of champagne, mostly to humor Molly. It tasted expensive but had never really been my thing. Still, I raised a glass with the non-profit’s CFO, and celebrated the sudden expansion of her pet project, while I wondered how much of the operational fund she spent on expensive, carbonated wine. There was a second, already empty bottle in the limo’s small trashcan.

Eventually the hover-limo dropped us off at the train platform and we switched to a first class sleeper room on a direct line to Los Angeles. The trip would only be a few hours, but Molly had insisted on the cabin.

Once on board I quickly found out why. In her inebriated state, she started kissing me as soon as the cabin’s door slid shut. Her oversized smile and boozy breath wasn’t exactly a turn on, and my mind twisted into knots while time slowed down for me.

Her position within the non-profit could be extremely harmful if she felt scorned. Molls was only a couple of weeks in my rear-view mirror, and I felt nothing for the human woman in my arms. I was still in mourning. The kind of mourning where you mind really doesn’t grasp what it's mourning, because the person is just gone. Vanished in the blink of an eye.

But, there was my public image to consider. I could be isolated, mysterious to my opponents, and serious all the time. Depressing, really, if I put my mind to it. Or I could present a public image that humanized me. Something that made people want to be me, to live vicariously through me as they ground out their lives against whichever wheel they were strapped to. A high-profile relationship could dramatically benefit that public image.

So after a half-second of hesitation, I started kissing her back. The woman’s long, black hair fell loose as she pulled her decorative comb out, and she stepped out of her heels before standing on her tip-toes to tongue kiss me again. I responded by lifting her bodily and moving toward the bedroom, much to her delight.

After, she fell asleep and lightly snored on the tousled bed, one shapely leg sticking out from beneath the sheets.

I moved naked into the sitting portion of the cabin and spiraled into my own thoughts. Molly was nice enough, if a bit annoying, but I still loved Molls. It felt like a betrayal, no matter how often I reminded myself that she had long ago died of old age. The sex with Molly, while physically pleasurable when I allowed myself to enjoy it, had been empty. Meaningless. If I wasn’t careful, and Molly wanted to pursue anything further with me, I could seriously harm her emotional state, or even psyche. If I didn’t share any of her feelings, that was.

Ideally I could fall for Molly, given enough time and enthusiastic physical coupling, but I struggled to imagine what we would have in common beyond Save the Cubes.

With a titanic mental effort, I pushed the thoughts away and brought my focus back to living in the moment. Another lesson from Molls, in the early days. If I could just have fun with Molly Ackles, CFO, it just might work out between us after all.

Instead I spent the rest of the train ride in reading, familiarizing myself further with the non-profit and its actions so far. Mostly a lot of public awareness campaigns. There had been an expedition attempt with a rented ship before, but they came back empty-handed when their limited morties ran dry. Otherwise nothing of real note. People knew about them, but rarely paid attention to them.

I was about to change all of that.

Molly snorted and jerked awake after I shook her hard enough to cut through the booze. Arrival in Los Angeles was in mere moments, and she was still very naked. And still more than a little drunk.

I helped her find her clothing, smiling as she drunkenly giggled when I held her black lace panties up after a particularly grueling search of the cabin. When I turned down my hearing a bit, her laugh was actually quite endearing. Very natural, and unrestrained. When she was happy, she actually showed it genuinely. After realizing that about her, I allowed myself to join in, leaning down to kiss her again before I turned to gather our limited luggage while she struggled back into her clothes.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Fuuuuuck, remind me to pack my yoga pants next time,” she slurred, trying to zip up her own cocktail dress, and spinning in a circle at the attempt.

“Woah, hold on, let me help,” I said, still smiling. “I don’t think you want to spin in too many circles right now.”

Molly giggled and collapsed into my arms as I approached to help her. With a patient smile, I leaned her back upright and zipped the dress for her. I had to be careful not to rip the zipper, as the garment was not on properly, and the zipper ran tightly over one curvaceous buttock.

Once she was dressed, Molly turned to the nearby mirror and started adjusting her clothing. She pulled out a small wand from her handbag and used it to first erase her disturbed makeup, and then to reapply it, all within sixty seconds. As a final touch, she pulled her hair back into a messy bun and clamped it in place with her decorative comb.

“Get me to bed,” she said, the slur leaving her voice. Molly grinned up at me. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I am sure you will, Molly. But I think you need a tall glass of water. Maybe some aspirin,” I told her.

“Mmm, you’re a tall glass of water,” she giggled. “And maybe some aspirin. What is aspirin?”

I chuckled and offered her my arm before opening our cabin door. “Nothing important.”

Molly happily took my arm, and I led her from the train station. One lonely paparazzo was waiting, and he took plenty of pictures as Molly and I had our public walk of shame from the train to another hired hover-limo.

Again I wondered at the price of such extravagances, and if they were coming out of the non-profit’s funds. But I was glad to be off the streets, LA was just as crowded as it had ever been, and muggy with the oncoming fall weather, even in the dark of early morning.

Molly draped her legs over my lap in the car. She dug in the minifridge at her side until she found a hangover cure bottle, and squealed happily as she twisted it open. After a single swallow, she sat back and took a deep breath as the miracle elixir did its work.

“Much better,” she said, smiling at me.

I smiled back. “I agree.”

“Oh you’re still funny,” she said, grinning at me. “Wanna sleep over?”

I looked at her and shrugged, then laughed when she reached out and socked me on the shoulder. “Of course, Molly,” I said as she scoffed indignantly at me.

I had spent the night in pleasurable company, and slept in a comfortable bed, with a beautiful woman wrapped around me. Really I had nothing to complain about, which made the empty feeling in my chest that much worse.

She awoke desirous, and we had sex twice more. Once in bed and once in the shower, both at her initiative. While she took her time in the shower afterwards, I ordered breakfast. It was on the hotel room’s small table before she stepped from the steamed-up bathroom in a fluffy terry cloth robe.

“Oh food!” she yelped, hustling over and grabbing a piece of yarsp bacon from the platter. “Thank you Tyson! You’re a real gentleman.”

I smiled softly and bowed my head. Then I sat and ate, while Molly wandered around the hotel room getting dressed. She had ordered a new outfit before finally going to sleep for the night, and adjusted it in the room’s various mirrors as she walked by them.

It was a blood-red blouse over a black, pinstripe miniskirt, with another pair of heels. Once her hair was dried and up, and her round spectacles were back in place, I realized I did find her attractive. She represented a sexual relationship I had never thought to engage in before BuyMort. A beautiful, wealthy socialite. Raised around old money, and almost completely fulfilled by shallow pursuits.

Save the Cubes was her one laudable enterprise, I’d read her file while she slept. Everything else she was engaged in was either mildly evil, or full out evil. Her portfolio was filled with for-profit prisons, strip mining affiliates, and even a healthy share of McYarspies.

Blind investment, likely. According to her social media profiles, and what limited celebrity news she had been involved in before, she spent most of her time at music festivals and cocktail parties.

While I hadn’t intended to get involved with anyone, she seemed as good a candidate as any, for what my public image required.

And sure enough, the tabloids and celebrity gossip affiliates were running wild with the story. Minor celebrity CFO and former Warlord of BuyMort seen ‘sex-tussled’ in Los Angeles. One headline stuck out to me.

“Dawes no longer exclusively dating Nah’gh women?”

I scowled at it and closed the phone. I’d invited it, so I didn’t complain. But it was still distasteful.