Friction. Samantha Hunter
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her move without explaining her job. Depending on what was happening here, maybe it was best he believed she lived back up north.
“They’re musicians?”
“Some.”
“Techno, huh? Do you ever rave?” he asked with a smile and she smiled back.
“I’ve been once or twice. It’s a little too crazy for me, and I prefer to keep my mind and body clean. Drugs aren’t a requirement, of course, but they’re pretty prevalent in the clubs. Not my scene, really.”
“Me, either. But it sounds like an exciting life.”
“Not especially.” She smiled, thinking of the movie portrayals of hackers, all dressed in black with slick haircuts and shiny earrings, attending raves every night and talking the talk.
Some of that was true—there was a distinct “look” among her old set of friends—but the lifestyle wasn’t really all that glamorous or exciting. Sitting in front of a computer for hours—or days—on end wasn’t the stuff excitement was made of. Not unless you were into it.
“It’s just a life.” She took a swig of beer, looking at him over the top of the bottle. “So what about you?”
He shrugged. “I like most music, nothing in particular though. I go to outdoor concerts back home, but I have never really been to clubs or anything like that.” Except on raids, he thought quietly with a smile.
“Do you dance?”
“Sure, is that a hint?” His eyes sparkled and she almost retracted her question, but decided to let it stand. Why not?
“Well, this music is better than I thought—not the old ‘my-truck-broke-down-and-my-girlfriend-left-me-for-my-best-friend’ kind of thing. It has a beat.”
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