Hot guys in the underground lab are few and far between—Who am I kidding? Hot guys in my life are few and far between—so most of my wardrobe choices involve comfort and whether I mind if the garment gets ruined by acid, dye, or any of a million other compounds we work with every day.
If my best friend, Rebel, were here, she’d be doing an I-told-you-so dance because she’s been wanting to give me a makeover forever. That, and she’d already have his number and email address, and they’d be making plans for their date this weekend. Me, I can’t even manage a simple “hello.”
The fact that he’s scowling at me, those dark brows slashing low over those bright eyes, isn’t helping anything.
“The lab is supposed to be empty,” he says.
His voice is flat, but his comment almost feels like an accusation.
“I’m working late,” I answer, trying not to sound defensive. “What are you doing here?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You’re working in the hall?”
“I needed a break to come get chocolate,” I say, gesturing at the vending machine behind me.
He nods down at my empty hands. “You don’t have any chocolate.”
“That thing hates me. Took my money and kept the candy bar.”
In a graceful movement that looks almost choreographed, Dark-and-Scowly steps around me and up to the greedy machine. He presses his palms to the glass, just like I did. Hey, maybe he has the power to reach through glass. After all, around here pretty much everyone but me has some kind of super ability.
When his hands don’t immediately sink through the surface, I say, “I tried smacking it already. Didn’t work.”
Moving his hands closer to the edge, he curls his fingers around the frame. Then, with his boots braced on the floor, he gives the whole machine a solid shove. The heavy hunk of metal rocks back once, then comes forward, its front legs hitting the tile floor with a sharp thud. On impact, the chocolate bar sails against the glass before falling into the trough below.
He turns to face me, a cocky smile twisting one side of his mouth. “Takes a special touch.”
I duck down and reach through the hinged door to grab the candy bar.
“You’re my hero,” I joke.
He snorts. “Right.”
I stand up, chocolate clutched safely in my hand. There’s an awkward silence that stretches into uncomfortable territory. When I can’t take it anymore, I wag the candy and say, “Well, thanks.”
I start to walk around him, to head back to the lab, when he steps into my path.
“So, what boring work do you have to take breaks from?”
I try to sound casual, like I’m not eager to keep talking to him. “I’m transcribing notes in the manipulation lab.”
As I point down the same hall he came from, he turns his head to follow the direction of my gesture. I automatically check for the mark of the League beneath his right ear. If it’s there, I can’t see it behind his hair. He could be a hero. Or he could be an ordinary, just like me.
Suddenly self-conscious, I tug a piece of hair forward to cover my unmarked skin.
When he looks at me again, his scowl is back in place and even deeper.
He asks, “You’re working in Dr. Swift’s lab?”
“She’s my mom. I’m helping her out.” I shrug. “There are worse summer jobs.”
He gaze skims over me. “You’re Kenna Swift?”
And that’s the end of that.
My mom is famous in hero circles. She’s developed more than a dozen different formulas for the superhero world, from sprays that thaw victims of freeze rays to supplements that keep thought-readers out of someone’s mind. She’s earned the League Medal of Valor three times. And those were just for the inventions they know about. She’s their very own Einstein, Edison, and Jobs rolled into one.
The only thing I’m famous for is being the powerless daughter of a superhero. My dad was one of the best of the best. And I’m…nothing.
I shift my weight, wanting to redirect the conversation away from me. “You never answered my question. What are you doing down here so late?”
Those bright blue eyes sear into me as he takes a step back. “I have to go.”
His sudden evasiveness makes me suspicious, so when he starts to move past me, I sidestep into his path. “Excuse me,” I say, “but this is a secure level. Are you even authorized to be down here?”
“My dad,” he says, scowling at me. “He’s a security guard.”
A security guard? The facility might be so big that I can’t keep track of everyone who works in every lab, but I know all the guards by name. Especially the night guards, since I’m usually the last one here.
Travis and Luther are on duty tonight. Travis and his wife just had their first baby, a girl named Tia. Luther is old enough to be my great-grandfather and he never married.
I take half a step back as my suspicions turn to concern. “Who’s your dad?” I demand.
This guy definitely has the look of a villain.
What if he really is one?
He glances nervously over his shoulder. “He’s—”
I shake my head and start to walk away before he can finish the lie.