Good Game_A Gamer Romance Read online

  Now, like it or not, she’d have to come back.

  And he had no words at all to convince her to stay.

  She’d barely made it a block before collapsing on a freezing bench. The tears made it hard to see. Even if stopping was colder, she didn’t need to walk out in front of a car. God, where was she going anyway? She should get a ride, call Mouse or Anka or something, or—

  She stared at the contents of her purse. The compact was there. His words and his face from last night flashed through her mind. That stupid scruff. Those adorable glasses.

  Ruger or Glock in the end, my love? Oh, you puppy bastard, damn you for making me want you.

  However, the one thing that was not in her purse was her phone.

  “Fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” No, she couldn’t go back. She could make it to that main street two blocks ahead. She’d find a bus stop.

  No, fuck—she didn’t have her bus pass. That was in the back of her phone case.

  “Vi?”

  A distant voice, a familiar voice written forever on her heart. What the hell was he doing? He must have realized she’d left.

  “Vi?”

  It wasn’t close, but it sounded wracked with pain.

  Well, what about her pain? Her betrayal at all this? She’d had enough of assholes that used and abused her. No matter how good the sex was, she couldn’t do this to herself anymore.

  “Violet!”

  But what was she going to do? She needed her phone. Maybe she could walk the whole way back to her apartment, but in this cold that seemed mildly dangerous. She was a big girl. She could give him the cold shoulder and demand her phone and a ride home, if not the destruction of that recording. She would leave that for later. He would do it too; he’d at least give her her phone back. And maybe she could call him on his plan. If she saw that smug gleam in his eye when she revealed his abuse, maybe it’d be easier to never talk to him ever again.

  She could erase the Jack that had seemed like he actually cared about her with an awe-inspiring reverence, the one that had seemed to savor her every touch, who didn’t want her to stop wearing bullets if she liked them. And she could bring back the old Sin she had known in the first place, the misogynistic jerk that she should have never entertained hanging out with.

  This was all her own fault, really. If she were worth it, she just wouldn’t attract all these jerks. If she were better, they wouldn’t think they could get away with things. They must sense her worthlessness from a mile away, or perhaps her desperation.

  A fresh burst of tears delayed her from rising from the bench. God, she was getting seriously cold, shivering violently now.

  Some part of her brain protested. The old Sin had seemed like the illusion, the mistake. Jack had seemed so real. How could she be so stupid?

  The way he’d grinned at her on his childhood bed flashed through her mind, unbidden. The way his hand had pulsed in hers with what she now understood was joy as she eviscerated his rude family members in their attempts at a game of wits and words. The way he’d dutifully brought her drinks, the vulnerable fear on his face when he’d offered to take her home. The hope in his eyes. How could that be an act?

  Give the man a fucking Oscar.

  He hadn’t acted like he thought she was worthless. Or desperate. His every touch had made her feel quite the opposite, in fact, and suddenly she craved him again. Oh, here she went again. Perhaps the king of the assholes had even deeper hooks than the rest. She was doomed.

  No. She didn’t have to go back. She could figure something out if she really wanted to. It would just be easier if she had the phone. She would go back, get her phone, and leave. That was it.

  Maybe a coat. Maybe an explanation. But she’d settle for her phone.

  Chapter 8

  When she reached his backyard and opened the gate, she was surprised to see him sitting on the back porch, waiting for her. He was holding his gray parka, wearing only a fluffy robe, and cradling their two phones. He didn’t immediately spot her, so she waited for a moment, watching him and shivering.

  He looked… confused. If she’d thought his face had been forlorn last night, she’d had no idea. He looked…

  Heartbroken.

  A manipulation? Sin had always been more abusive than manipulative. He had said shit that hurt her feelings, true, mostly in-game. In the heat of competitive battle, and God, was he competitive. But he didn’t try to manipulate her, which made sense, given how his family reveled in doing it to him. He seemed quite determined to be their polar opposite. Of course, maybe he didn’t realize it. Or maybe that was somehow all an act.

  She let the gate slam closed behind her, deliberately catching his attention, and took a deep breath. Here we go.

  He jumped to his feet and ran toward her and she tried to stride confidently through his back garden, although it was fucking cold and her boots weren’t exactly made for snow.

  He met her halfway and threw his coat around her shoulders, and he looked like he wanted to pull her close, to warm her up, but he didn’t.

  Oh, but she wished he would. No, dammit.

  He held out her phone. “You, uh, you forgot this.”

  His voice. His face held sadness, but no tears, nothing extreme. But his voice. It cracked and stumbled over the words, faltering as if barely operable.

  She took the phone from his hand. This was it? No requests, no demands, no insistence on anything? Didn’t he want to know why she’d left?

  She looked down at the phone. He’d sent three texts on the heels of when she’d left.

  Violet, what happened? Why’d you leave?

  Please, Violet. Please answer. That was one of the best nights of my life.

  Please at least give me a chance to know what I did.

  Tears welled up hot in her eyes again, tears she didn’t understand.

  “Sorry,” he whispered, dismissing the texts. “I didn’t realize you’d forgotten it right away. I’m—I don’t understand what happened, but I’m sure you didn’t want to come back. I’d like to understand what I did. Later. Sometime. Go ahead, take the coat. You can give it back to Mouse.” He took a step back, giving her distance, and the chasm between them felt like a gash across her heart.

  She blinked as a tear broke free and trickled down one cheek.

  It had been one of the best nights of her life too. That was what had stung so much. God, she didn’t know which way was up or down at this point.

  What if she took a chance? She was already injured; what was the risk of one more bruise?

  “I’ll take that tea now,” she said softly. Another tear escaped, this time on the other side. “If you’re still offering.”

  His eyes widened. “Of course. Come on in.”

  Something he never said to anyone really. Anyone but her. Was that even the truth?

  He pulled up a stool in front of the breakfast bar and flicked on a stove burner. She tried and somewhat failed to close the back door.

  He stood in front of the stove, as if he intended to boil the water in the kettle with the power of his gaze.

  Should she at least ask for a ride home? No, not yet.

  “You frightened them away? Your family?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  He looked at her warily. “Yes. You did, actually. I told them to get off my property, or you’d shoot them with your Smith & Wesson. Frank vouched for your ferocity and armed status.”

  She let out a soft laugh-sniffle. “And no doubt my lack of sanity as well.”

  “Well, you know, anyone who’d hang out with me must be crazy, I guess. Do you need a tissue?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Unfrozen now, he grabbed a box of tissues from a side counter and handed them to her, now facing her. Now closer. God, she just wanted to leap back into his arms and kiss him again, in spite of his betrayal. So, so ridiculous.

  “Do you… want to talk? Or I can give you a ride home? I have no idea—”

  “Please,
I’m not an idiot.”

  The stunned expression on his face sowed yet more doubt, but she barreled on.

  “Was I just another fucking conquest?” she whispered. “I should have listened—you were telling me right then I was going to get hurt.”

  “No,” he said, his voice tight. “I wasn’t. I told you, you’re not—that. I don’t want that. At one time, maybe… but not now.”

  “You know you’re a pretty good actor, that look on your face right now. I really hope I’m not about to discover everything else was an act too.”

  “Violet! I’ve been nothing but truthful with you. And that doesn’t happen very often.”

  “You didn’t neglect to mention anything?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

  His face was a mask of confusion, anger, pain.

  “I found your camera, Sin.” His frown deepened when she called him by his screen name. “You recorded everything. All of it. I saw. I thought what we had was special, Jack. I thought I meant something to you—”

  “You do!” He rushed toward her now and grabbed her arms, pulling her closer. “You do. I don’t understand. Recorded what? Violet, there are dozens of cameras in this house.”

  “Why?” she cried, looking around frantically. By God, maybe he wasn’t manipulative, maybe he was just insane. Worse than Damon by far.

  “Because it’s what I do, Vi. I make videos. They require cameras. I’m the only one who lives here. I work here, where else would they be? I don’t understand.”

  “I know. I’m gathering just what kind of videos.”

  His eyes widened, but the massive confusion remained. “What are you—” Then some light bulb must have finally gone off. “Oh, fuck, that one? It was on? Oh my God, Vi, I’m so sorry.”

  The horror on his face combined with the crushing hug he gave her—which she really desperately needed because the coat was not warming her up nearly enough—was almost enough to convince her. But then the malevolent red light flashed again in her mind’s eye.

  This could all be a trick.

  She pushed away from him, still wary. “Delete the footage. No, show me it. Show me the footage.”

  “Of course, come on. Whatever you want. Come up stairs. I’ll set it up, then get the tea. I was recording here last night. Before I left to come see you. I was in a rush because I didn’t want to be late. I must have forgotten to turn it off. I never thought we would come back here. I never bring anyone here. I didn’t think— That never even occurred to me.”

  The way his voice faltered twisted her gut, but she forced the emotion down. Fuck him. No. She would not be kicked around again. She would watch the footage first, then decide for herself. And delete it for herself.

  He sat her down and logged into the computer, quickly stopping the recording and opening the file. “This let’s you go faster, 2x, 4x, 8x. Scrub. Assuming you don’t want to sit here for twenty hours. Fuck, I’m sorry, Vi.” He also dragged the bedspread over and wrapped it around her before she could protest.

  She glanced around the desk as he dashed out back down the stairs, the kettle boiling. Bits of his life were scattered before her, utterly exposed: opened mail, his keys, two dark chocolate bars. Most of the desk was bare, where she’d lain last night. Heat flushed through her at the memory.

  Raising her chin, she slid the slider to the beginning of the video, and the computer paused, loading the footage. Behind the window, she could see the YouTube uploading screen, his DropBox, his folders. His whole business lay here, didn’t it?

  Yesterday, this had been a house no woman or friend had been invited to. Today, he logged her into his business computer, his livelihood, and walked away.

  The video loaded, showing a close-up shot of a pair of expensive headphones in his hands. Those capable, talented, sexy hands. She skipped ahead. Eventually the camera panned wildly to one side, as though he’d rotated the tripod out of the way, not realizing it was recording or maybe not caring. It pointed above the bed, at the closet and the adjoining bath, but not at the bed specifically.

  The audio.

  Said beautiful headphones lay on the table, and she put them on, switching the video to 4x. She watched as he got ready. Through the bathroom doorway, she watched him shave—proof he actually sometimes did—and brush his teeth. Then he left, and the room slowly went dark as the sun set.

  And then it flickered to life. She slowed it. She did not need to hear herself sounding like a chipmunk and having sex at the same time.

  The two of them were silhouetted in the light of the hallway before it winked out; then they were bathed only in blue LEDs.

  “Oh, sexy shit.”

  “Thank you.”

  Their voices were soft, but audible. She was on camera for a moment. What had been happening?

  “Can we leave these on?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh. Yes. That had been when those divine fingers had slipped into her, and when he’d lain her down and—

  After that, pretty much all their activity had been out of sight. But she listened, oh, she listened, until she found she was no longer cold, the memories flooding back to her closed eyes.

  When they finally fell asleep the first time, she skipped through to the morning. There he was, waking up, groaning, heading downstairs. There she was, looking into the camera lens in horror, sneaking out.

  This next part she most wanted to see, strangely enough. Not even five minutes later, much less than that, she saw him come running into the room. Confusion on his face devolved into outright panic. Not the look of someone who’d been up to something. He didn’t look at the camera at all. He rushed around the house in confusion, discovered her phone, and finally collapsed on the bed out of view.

  “What the hell. Why?” came his whisper, tone anguished and nearly inaudible.

  He grabbed her phone and his coat from the hallway and headed back downstairs.

  She stopped the video.

  Fuck.

  This didn’t seem like a man who was trying to manipulate her. There had been so many, so many—was it possible she couldn’t tell them apart anymore? Now that she finally had found a good man, was she so conditioned by the bad ones that she just couldn’t believe he was anything but?

  She could believe whatever she wanted, but she wanted to believe that look of heartbreak. She wanted to believe this was all an accident. She wanted to believe, but—

  And then it hit her. What should have hit her first thing in the morning. He was on the video too. Jack, who hid the fact that he owned his own business. Jack, who’d rather let his fucking family believe he was homeless than tell them he’d bought a house. Super-fucking-ridiculously-mega-private Jack was going to post videos of himself having sex online, to make money? And not even good videos, but shitty ones only with some rough audio?

  Of course, the audio did have her a bit hot and bothered again. But that was because she’d been there. She felt too much like an idiot to pay that much mind.

  She took off the headphones and jumped when he said, “Do you want to delete it, or should I?” She hadn’t realized he’d returned. A steaming cup of tea sat beside her, but she hadn’t noticed it, with her eyes closed and the headphones on.

  He reached forward for the mouse, over her. She put her hand over his, stopping him.

  “I owe you an apology,” she said.

  “I don’t see how that’s true. I’m the one who fucked this up—”

  “No. I had this ex who claimed to have naked pictures of me and threatened to post them online. He never has, but—my brain just jumped there. I should have known you wouldn’t do this intentionally. You wouldn’t even tell your own family about your house, why would you post your sex life online? That was stupid of me. I was just…”

  “Lashing out cause you thought I’d recorded you having sex to post online for money?”

  “Yeah. Look, I’ve been hurt by a lot of guys, and I jumped to conclusions. Ones that I should have known weren’t true. I’m just so used t
o…”

  “Shitheads?”

  She snorted, but nodded, smiling. “Yes.”

  “Yeah, me too. I know how it is. It’s… hard to trust people sometimes. If others have kicked you in the metaphorical nuts for it.”

  “I’m still sorry.” She took a sip of the tea.

  “Well, I am too. So let me delete it, and we can take this damn camera out of the room entirely. I’ll chuck it out the window if it makes you feel better. I can move all this out if you want. It was just for convenience. It was before I ever—” He grabbed the mouse, closed the video window, moved toward the file.

  “Wait,” she said quietly.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s… it’s kind of hot.”

  He raised both eyebrows.

  “I mean, if we don’t share it with anyone.”

  He laughed out loud.

  “Can you put it somewhere—not with the other videos that go online?”

  He smiled, laughter crinkling his eyes. “Here.” He rapidly copied the file onto a flash drive, then dumped the original in the trash and emptied it for good measure. He held out the small black plastic stick. “For your later viewing—”

  “Listening, mostly,” she amended.

  “—listening enjoyment.”

  She bent closer to him, bringing her face inches from his. “Still, I’m sorry I reacted that way. I should have at least asked you first. Given you a chance to explain. I must now make you breakfast. Or buy it. Forever.”

  He laughed at the last bit. “No, no, it’s okay. I’m sorry I hid so much from you. You couldn’t be sure what I did, what I was hiding.”

  “No, I’m the most sorry.”

  “No, I am.”

  “No, Jack, I—”

  “Have I told you I love hearing you say that?”

  “Say what?”

  “My name. My real name.”

  “I say it quite a bit on that video.”

  “Sure to be a classic track, then.”

  She leaned the rest of the way forward, pressing her lips against his in a closed-mouth kiss, the longest moment passing in tension, as if they were both thinking, are we past this?