Good Game_A Gamer Romance Page 7

  Two old-fashioneds, four beers, and one enthusiastic but immeasurably long lecture on her experiments later, Chris was walking her back to her car. His hand was warm and rough in hers. Didn’t seem like the hand of a psychologist. Maybe those cats left a lot of calluses. Or he played the guitar. Volunteered for Habitat for Humanity. Another ridiculously cool hobby wouldn’t surprise her; he seemed to have coolness in spades, extra cool stuffed up his sleeves ready to deal at a moment’s notice.

  The night air and two glasses of water were starting to kick in, and her slight buzz on sugar and alcohol was fading but not quite gone.

  “Thanks for asking about my work,” she said. “Most people don’t want to listen.”

  He squeezed her hand. “No problem. I’m sure you’ll make a big difference of your own some day.”

  Were her cheeks flushed again, or was it just the cold? “So you ever play computer games?” she blurted. Huh. Why had she brought that up?

  He shook his head. “Oh, God, no. I hate computers.”

  What. She actually tripped, catching herself with her hand in his.

  How could he hate computers? Every other damn thing about him was perfect. She strode on in a daze, not even sure how to respond to that.

  He walked her all the way to the car on the second floor of the garage. She opened the door and turned back to thank him just as he stepped closer.

  She caught her breath. The smell of him caught her senses even in the brisk winter air—cotton and musk. She finally looked up to meet his eyes, blazing and intense as he leaned closer.

  “So, I’ll see you around sometime?” she blurted, turning slightly away to throw her purse onto the far seat. Her shoulder bumped against the leather of his jacket with a slight squeak.

  He cocked his head, looking a little mystified, but he backed away ever so slightly. “Definitely. I’d love to hear how this week’s experiments turn out.”

  She snorted inadvertently. “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious,” he said, frowning.

  She hung her head, staring at the car door as she mustered a small, grateful smile. “Well, maybe we can do this again sometime.”

  Something in her voice must have encouraged him, because he shifted nearer again. In unconscious response, her arm closest to him rose and gripped the top of the car door, forming a clear block between them. His weight shifted back to its original place.

  She stared at the offending arm. Why had she done that?

  “Yeah, I’d definitely love to see you again.” He smiled and put his hands in his pockets, taking a full step back.

  “Text me?” She smiled, tilting her head. They’d exchanged numbers around the time she was giving him a basic understanding of different types of laser-gain mediums. She knew he’d caught the number; she wasn’t sure about the rest of it.

  He nodded. “Will do.”

  She slipped into the car seat. He kept one hand in his pocket and waved with the other. “Have a good night,” she called. She shut the door and locked it. Still smiling, he put the other hand back in his pocket too—it was cold, after all—and headed back down the garage stairs.

  She stared blankly at the steering wheel as she started the car and waited for it to heat up.

  What the hell had just happened?

  She could have offered him a ride home. To do something later. It was only nine o’clock, and the night was far from over. She was even hungry again from dinner. But had she asked him to join her at Sam’s Diner? Oh no, instead she’d all but shouldered him away from her car.

  What the hell was wrong with her? He wasn’t an asshole. He was cute as hell. He was a baby kitty savior, by God.

  And she was driving home alone.

  Chapter 4

  To Jack’s chagrin, the cold-shower-sleep-work combo didn’t work as well the second time. The next morning, thoughts of Violet came back with a vengeance.

  After lunch, he tried a workout, assaulting the punching bag in his basement for twice the usual time, then a second shower. Cold water dripped through his hair, down his temples. He shut his eyes and let it run.

  She had every right to date whoever she wanted.

  But he kept seeing her walking out of that beer hall on Osbourne Street. Right in front of him, the two of them had popped out, holding hands. She’d been smiling at some dude in a leather jacket with a goatee that just screamed douche canoe.

  No matter what he did, Jack couldn’t shake the image, the memory, the sense of wrongness about it. She deserved better.

  What, someone like him? No. He sighed and scrubbed off the sweat.

  Toweling off, he sat down to check his client email one more time. Then he’d go run some errands. His eyes flicked to his friends list.

  She wasn’t online.

  Of course she isn’t, you idiot. She has real work to do. Not just fucking around on YouTube for a couple more views.

  He hit Riola’s, ordered a cappuccino, and found himself wondering about maple half syrup extra shot lattes and if they were any good. God, maybe he should just cut off his balls and hand them to her on a plate. Disgusted with himself, he headed to the grocery store.

  That proved no better. The dark chocolate bars made him think of her. So did the condoms.

  He bought both, not entirely clear on why he was doing so and utterly refusing to figure it out.

  Back home, he tossed the condoms in his end-table drawer and dropped the chocolate on his desk beside the new gaming headphones he needed to work on reviewing.

  The chocolate looked out of place. Just like these errant thoughts of his, it didn’t belong in his life. He kept this desk neat and empty because it was in his bedroom—he had two other desks that were more sloppy elsewhere in the house—but in here, he loved the broad, clean expanse. Needed it for his huge mouse pad, anyway.

  The headphones glowed cherry red, beckoning him, but who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to concentrate on the quality of the seven-point surround very well at the moment.

  He glanced at his friends list again. Still offline.

  Maybe a walk would help. Tire himself to exhaustion. He grabbed his coat and set out down the sidewalk.

  The air hung cold and bitter around him and threatened to rain or snow or split the difference and sleet. A terrible evening for walking, really. He turned the corner of Nightingale onto Lincoln Avenue, where he could duck inside a shop if rain started.

  He shook his head as he passed a flower shop already prepped for Valentine’s Day, roses and pink paper hearts forming a not-very-creative window display. This thing with Violet was just going to get him hurt. What would hurt less? Shoving this obsession back into the box it kept oozing out of? Or just falling in and letting shit explode like a car going off a cliff in a Michael Bay movie?

  He didn’t want either. He didn’t want this pain. Even if he let himself fall, it wouldn’t last.

  The rot and failure of his parents’ marriage had driven that point home. Dedication to Lawrence had slowly torn his mother apart. Every move that had set back her already dimming career, every lonely business trip, every vicious verbal assault—every time, she’d died more inside. He hadn’t understood it at ten, but he did now. That was what had finally driven her to prescriptions. He wasn’t clear on if they had started out as doctor prescribed, but they hadn’t ended that way.

  And it wasn’t just his parents. Love fucked over everybody. The time Mouse’s mom had found out his dad was cheating on her… Jack had seen her face as she found the tube of lipstick in the couch cushions while they’d been playing video games on the floor. He and Mouse had been only thirteen, and the scars of Jack’s mother’s departure had been too fresh to easily cope with witnessing all that again. But Mouse had needed him. They had been friends since they were nine.

  Getting entangled was clearly a shitty idea. Why did people even bother?

  Presumably it was the sex. Most people seemed to imply the sex was better. But how could the resulting carnage be worth a slig
htly better roll in the sheets?

  He crossed the street to the other side of Lincoln, where more shops were still open. Wind buffeted him until the next wall of buildings blocked it out again.

  She wasn’t interested in him anyway. She wanted to hold hands with shifty-leather-jacket guy.

  Six blocks later, he finally thought he’d completely lost it when he imagined seeing her across the street, talking to an older man. Jack stopped when the passing flutter of his imagination didn’t fade.

  He stared. It wasn’t his imagination, she was really there. A gray-haired man in a straw-colored cowboy hat accepted an envelope from her, hugged her, and walked away. What was that all about?

  She sensed him staring. He should look natural—too late. She caught his eye and smiled.

  He managed a sheepish, awkward wave. He should keep walking. The other direction.

  She beckoned him over, and he found himself walking to the crosswalk to join her. Damn you, he told himself. Just… damn you.

  He glanced at the vividly red building behind her. Golden letters entwined in sculptural green vines read EDEN. He pulled out his phone, realizing it was a little after 9:30. Wednesday. Her tarot reading.

  Had he walked himself here without even realizing it? Oh, how ridiculous. He was supposed to be talking himself out of this helpless addiction.

  “Hey, Sin, how’s it going?” she said as he strode up. “Hear any more from the fam or your intended?”

  He snorted, stifling a dash of disappointment at the return of his handle. Maybe she only used “Jack” to tell off his family. “Uh, actually yes. There was a happy hour last night.”

  She frowned. “And you didn’t call me?”

  “It was last minute.” He shrugged, then realized as her frown deepened that that hadn’t been the best way to share that bit of news.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she said slowly.

  “Not at all. I just didn’t feel like subjecting you to them again. I’m sure you had more important things to do.” She was still frowning. “But thanks for everything on Saturday.”

  “Just doin’ my job, sir,” she said with a mock salute. The frown subsided somewhat.

  A smile crept onto his face at that. He wished she hadn’t had to say that, though. Stupid contract. “I was just out for a walk. Needed some fresh air.” He paused, searching for something to say. “Who was that?” he asked, nodding in the direction the white-haired man had gone. But he immediately regretted it.

  She laughed. “Now who’s prying?”

  He held up open palms and took a step back. “You’re right. Sorry. I was just curious. Don’t see many cowboy types in this neighborhood. None of my business, you’re absolutely right.”

  “I don’t mind prying. He’s not from this neighborhood. But he is kind of a cowboy.” She smiled fondly after him.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He’s my—”

  “Jack, Violet, hi!” a woman’s voice called out. To his surprise, none other than Olivia bounded up from behind them. God, she was everywhere. “Hey, are you guys going to Eden?” No sign yet of any awkwardness from his abandoning her last night.

  “You’re not traumatized away from vegan food forever?” Violet said, smiling.

  “You mean after the barbecue?” Olivia grinned at Violet and rolled her eyes. “Your family’s… something else, Jack.”

  “Right on that account,” he muttered.

  “And that thing with your dad last night—” Olivia started.

  Violet frowned, glancing back and forth between them.

  Jack laughed. It sounded nervous and shady as hell. “Heh, yeah, he’s a piece of work, isn’t he? Hey, did you know Violet does tarot-card readings?” It was a thin and pathetic attempt to change the subject, but they were both kind women and humored him.

  “I’m actually doing readings here tonight,” Vi said.

  “You’re a fortune teller?” Olivia said. Was there some subtle sarcasm or insult in there, or was Olivia actually what she appeared to be—equal parts lonely, intense, and eager?

  Vi faltered. “I just do them for fun. Grad school, remember?”

  “Oh, right, sorry. You know, I’ve always been into astrology. But hey—if Violet is working, Jack, do you need some company?” She tilted her head and smiled at him.

  He had to admit that had been well played. It almost seemed friendly and unromantic, but he wasn’t buying it. He scrambled for something, anything to avoid “company.” If he kept walking as he’d planned, she’d probably invite herself along. “Uh, sorry, Olivia, but I actually came to visit Vi. Have a few questions for the cards myself. And for my girlfriend.” That last bit didn’t sound or feel as awkward as it should have.

  “Understandable! And you had to work last night, didn’t you? Okay, well, talk later then!” Olivia said, more chipper than ever. Maybe it was a ruse. She waved enthusiastically and vanished into Eden.

  “Well, I guess you’re stuck with me now,” he said, hanging his head. “Sorry, it was all that I could think of to get her off my back.”

  “It was better than the zero ideas I had.” But she raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest. “So I hear I had to work last night?”

  “Didn’t you?” He shifted his weight.

  “Not for you apparently.”

  “Look, it was this awful happy hour at Lawrence’s office. He wanted me to schmooze with Olivia’s father.” Why did he feel so guilty about this?

  “And Olivia, no doubt.” She smiled, but her eyes lacked their usual twinkle. He liked them better before.

  “Oh, he had even better plans than that. He forced reservations to Centurion and a credit card into our hands and shoved us out the door.”

  “Wow, fancy.”

  He immediately regretted naming the restaurant. He jammed his hands in his pockets and stared at his shoes.

  “So how was it?”

  “How was what?” he said, looking up.

  “Centurion.”

  “Oh, I didn’t actually go. I told her to take the card, take a friend, and go without me.”

  “Brutal.” But she was smiling differently now.

  “Yeah, it was especially brutal when she blurted she didn’t have any friends and I ran off anyway.” He shrugged and kicked at the sidewalk. He wasn’t proud of that moment. But feeling sorry for someone was not a good reason to date them. If he wanted to date anyone, which he didn’t.

  “C’mon. If you’re not going to continue your lonesome walk, we might as well get out of the rain.”

  “Lonesome?” He kicked at the sidewalk again. “It’s not raining.”

  “It’s going to. C’mon. Come and warm up inside with me.” The warmth had returned to her voice, and the quivering tension in him unclenched.

  “I wasn’t lonesome,” he grumbled. “I like being alone.”

  “Sure you do. I do too. But you were slinking along like a kicked puppy. Let’s read some cards.” She swung the door open for him.

  “A kicked puppy?” he muttered. But he sidled inside.

  Behind a lacquered white counter, a cheerful black woman in a flame-red dress greeted them with a smile. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. You go outside for five minutes…”

  “Tamira, this is Jack.” He suppressed a ridiculous surge of relief that she’d returned to using his real name. “Jack, Tamira owns this restaurant.”

  “And what do you do, Jack?”

  He shrugged. “A little of this, a little of that. I keep busy.”

  Vi gave him the side-eye. “In case anyone asks, Jack and I are dating. And have been for… how long?” She looked at him.

  “Let’s say a month,” he said, smiling.

  “A month,” she said back.

  Tamira had both eyebrows raised. “Got it. But… I am going to get the full story on this later, right, Vi?”

  “Fill you in next Tuesday. I promise.”

  Tamira nodded, and Vi gripped his elbow and
led him inside. Not the way he’d imagine a girlfriend would hold onto him, but for her, it made sense.

  “What’s Tuesday?”

  “Fortune-telling club meeting.”

  The interior of the restaurant was studded with all manner of interesting and unique objects. Shelves everywhere sparkled with glasses, jars, and pitchers in dark jewel tones. The scent of the food made his stomach growl. Some kind of hippy music fluttered through the air, asserting an extremely chill vibe with actual force. Was that a sitar? Both in the music, and he thought he saw one on a high shelf.

  Dim light cascaded through the glass and crystal on the shelves, and fairy lights twinkled around the ceiling, but most of the place was lit with small groups of candles on each table. Most tables were low to the ground, and patrons curled together on pillows instead of chairs, although there were a few tables and a sushi-style bar to the right. Wasn’t this a vegan place?

  He let her drag him to a table way in the back, where a table and pillows were nestled against a corner wall that had been painted black. On the small teak table sat a deck of cards with a pale-purple design on the back.

  She glided gracefully onto a pillow, and he slowly sank down beside her. In a place like this, it seemed ridiculously formal to sit across from her. Right? If he tried to think about what he’d really do… The dimness, the warmth, the music all combined to feel like the kind of place to make out in the shadows. One couple was doing just that.

  She kicked off her boots and knelt, tucking her small feet and their gray socks under curves he reminded himself not to admire. A vibrant berry-colored dress clung to her, black leggings beneath, and he leaned on one hand a little closer to her. To see the cards, obviously. But perhaps also to pick up a little of that intoxicating scent of hers, over the competing smells of the kitchen.

  She waved a hand at a waitress. “You want a drink?”

  “Do vegans drink coffee?”

  “At this hour?”

  “C’mon, it’s freezing. The caffeine is just preparation for your psychic insights.”

  She giggled—actually giggled—at that. It was nice. “Coffee it is. And yes, they do. Shade-grown, organic, fair-trade beans. As long as you’re okay with almond milk.”