Bad Game: A Geeky New Adult Romance (Leveling Up In Love Book 2)

by Kat Alex Crystal

  Bad Game

  A Leveling Up in Love Romance: Book 2

  Kat Alex Crystal

  Copyright © 2018 by Kat Alex Crystal

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Seedlings Design

  Version 1.0

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Chapter 1

  The snow had taken its sadistic time wreaking its havoc on Nick’s plans, falling mercilessly all morning and most of the afternoon. Frosty mounds blanketed his small yard, his used Volvo, and the narrow driveway, leaving a shape reminiscent of a woman asleep under an impossibly smooth sheet. A sight Nick was never going to see again at this rate, especially if his car remained trapped in its current icy predicament.

  Alabaster hills and valleys obscured the proud landscaping of the suburban street, new worlds brought to life by the storm. In days or weeks, the sun would smite this brash boldness, this hostile, frigid takeover, like a vengeful dungeon master unleashing an overpowered monster on that annoying player in your tabletop gaming party. You know, the one who always ruins everything and tries to keep all the loot.

  This was why Nick preferred to run games, rather than be a player. Players got screwed. Players got smothered in a blizzard at the whims of cruel dice and died alone still living in their mom’s basement.

  He snorted. One obstacle at a time.

  Nick shifted his weight in his ratty old snow boots, pondering where to start shoveling. Only the wind’s whistling and branches rustling reached his ears, as if he were alone in the world, the only one fool enough to consider this fool’s errand. The neighbors’ yards remained pristine and smooth, free of signs of human meddling.

  They were probably all inside sipping hot chocolate by their fireplaces, if the woodsmoke on the wind was any indication. That did sound like an appealing alternative to squaring off with the storm. The maple tree’s ice-covered branches shrugged at him as the wind whipped, as if to say, sorry, kid, but what can you do? Give it up.

  But no. Not Nick.

  He brandished the shovel and considered again where to start. The neighbors snuggling with their hot chocolates by the fire probably had someone to snuggle with. He had a frozen wasteland between him and his someone. Or at least, he hoped she’d be his someone, someday.

  Time to roll initiative and get things started.

  He chose a spot at random and heaved a mound of snow out of the driveway and into the yard. If he was going to pretend to be good at this adulting thing, he needed to stop losing his gloves. Or letting his mother buy him new ones when he did lose them. With the speed this snow was falling, he would probably lose a finger before he made it into his car.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He yanked it out and glanced at it. A text from Ashley. Whatcha doin tonight, stranger?

  Ashley was definitely not his someone. Oh, once he’d thought that might be the case. He’d hoped. But they’d been broken up for ages. And while she had taught Nick a few kinky tricks no one would expect a geek like him to know, she’d told him time and again. She wasn’t the cuddling type.

  At least not with him, he suspected.

  She also seemed shockingly incapable of remembering that every Wednesday was game night. Or did she remember and simply not care, hoping to charm him into bailing? Not that that had ever worked.

  He also had more fun at game night, much as some might laugh at the idea. Had this been a normal campaign with his friends, maybe he would have been less into it, but this one was special.

  His players were not his friends from Campar College or South Peak High School. They were six brave residents of the Truman Stanley Retirement Community. Which incidentally was the part-time workplace of a certain Penny Collins.

  He slid the phone back into his pocket and resumed shoveling without answering Ashley, his thoughts drifting to Penny. Was she snuggled up to some lucky bastard, enjoying a hot beverage at the moment? Probably a guy with a nicer car than a Volvo. And an apartment. Did handsome, wealthy beaus cuddle beside fireplaces in suits? Or was there some other James Bond-like outfit for that? Cashmere turtleneck sweater, maybe. Nick glanced down at the flannel he was sporting. Maybe he should change.

  She was smarter than him; maybe she’d stay home with this man he could never compete with and not risk the snowstorm.

  Maybe he wouldn’t even see her tonight.

  That slowed his shoveling for a moment. You don’t know if she’s dating anyone, he reminded himself. This is purely speculation. If you don’t investigate the encounter—as in, actually talk to her—you can’t know for sure.

  Tonight. If she bothered to come out in this mess. And if he succeeded in liberating his car from the snow demons. Tonight he would most certainly talk to her.

  But he steeled himself for disappointment. Ashley might be looking for company, but Penny probably had someone to tell her that going to work in a blizzard was a stupid idea. God, what if she had a smart boyfriend, like a neuroscientist or a surgeon or something? Nick would have no chance then.

  The dice would likely not roll in his favor this time.

  Penny carefully slid the tray of double chocolate raspberry brownies into the oven with both of her pink Hello Kitty oven mitts. She’d hate to put in all that work and drop them on the floor, and Lord knew that was possible. She tried not to think about the mess that had ensued the first time she’d used her apartment’s sad little oven. She shut the black enamel door and set the timer.

  Her empty, dreary apartment would gradually fill with the heavenly smell, and that would be a start. She’d only moved in a couple months ago and hadn’t gotten much more than her kitchen and baking cabinet unpacked. She’d hung her favorite art, though. That had only required a few Velcro strips and hooks. Monet’s Water Lilies first in the dining room, then Van Gogh’s star-filled night by the door, then a more modern and hardly famous scene of a fantasy street in riotous color.

  She hadn’t hung anything yet in what should have been the guest bedroom, or a spot for a roommate. After Ashley, she’d had enough of that for a while. She hadn’t spoken a word of it to anyone yet, but she didn’t think there’d be much harm in setting up a studio in there for a little while. Just a little place to paint, away from where the world could see. Away from where her family would see. No harm in that, right?

  As long as she didn’t tell her mother. Or Cassie. And kept the door shut.

  Hanging the paintings was a first step in making the rooms a home, but they didn’t stave off the quiet. Silence encroached like a tidal wave, the soft clicking of the stove practically echoing. Or perhaps it was just that there was no one else to hear the faint sounds, no one to worry about disturbing. Maybe she did miss having a roommate just a little.

  No, no. Overwhelming silent loneliness was still better than constant pounding heavy metal.

  Who was she kidding—it hadn’t been the music. It had been the endless parade of guys. Ashley’s bed was a freaking revolving door, Toys R Us on Black F
riday morning.

  And, well, Penny’s bed was not. In fact, her store had yet to have its, er, grand-opening celebration just yet.

  Hopefully there would not be balloons.

  Penny forming a crush on one of those gentleman callers hadn’t helped matters one bit. A lot of the guys were a little scary. But not Nick.

  She took a deep breath and forced a smile. The silence, the apartment, it was all right. She’d be on her way to work soon, and there would be friendly faces there—Ed, Dorothea, Bob, Betty.

  And also Nick.

  And double chocolate raspberry brownies to lure them into stopping by her reception desk, if only for a little while.

  Her phone buzzed on the counter. Cassie. Sighing, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Penny. Please tell me you are not going out into this storm.”

  Penny rolled her eyes. “For the millionth time, you’re not my mother, Cass.”

  “Well, Mom is busy with work. Someone’s got to look out for you.”

  “If the storm is so debilitating, I’m sure Mom is trapped at home like everyone else.”

  “Yeah, right.” Cassie snorted. “She’s trapped in her office. Working.”

  Penny giggled. “Well, like she always says, ‘Someone’s gotta provide for us.’ ”

  “ ‘Money doesn’t grow on trees,’ ” Cass finished, the lecture familiar to them both. “It’s true. Lyle says he’s stuck at work too.”

  Something was off in her older sister’s voice. “Everything okay?”

  “Oh! Yes, of course. Everything is perfect. Happy as clams over here!”

  “Yes, of course,” Penny repeated weakly. “But you don’t sound happy.” If anything, the cheer sounded painfully forced. Sort of like Penny trying to learn to love accounting. If only she could love it half as much as Anka did.

  “Oh, Lyle’s just been working late a lot. And I’m worried about you. That’s all.”

  “Look, I live a few blocks from work. It’s an easy walk. Nothing to worry about.” That was a huge reason why she’d taken this boring part-time job, aside from the extra cash. No need to mess with the bus, which would invariably be late or fail to show up on a day like this.

  “Didn’t you hear about that kid on the news who—” Thankfully, a squeal of laughter cut her sister’s story short. “Sweetie, no!”

  “How is Lyle Jr.?”

  “Oh, a handful as usual,” Cassie muttered. A burble of baby talk erupted in Penny’s ear as Cass presumably scooped up her one-year-old and brought him closer to the phone.

  “Well, listen. I wouldn’t want to keep you from his—”

  “Not at all. I’m going crazy with boredom over here.”

  Hence this call, probably. Penny repressed a sigh. Cass had always tried to play the mom in the family, and after she’d gotten hitched and had her little one, she’d kicked the mothering thing into high gear. Big time. Except full-time mothering one child didn’t seem to be enough to occupy her.

  “I’ve got good boots, Cass. And remember, money doesn’t grow on trees.”

  “Like mother, like daughter.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t forget gloves, and a hat, and—”

  “I know, I know. Talk to you later, Cass.” Penny hung up. You’d think her sister thought she was still a ten-year-old and not currently finishing her fifth year of college in UDW’s accelerated accounting masters program. And of course, listening politely would have just earned her some snowpocalypse horror stories. If there was one thing Penny didn’t need, it was to feel more nervous.

  She swept her colored pencils, pad, and coloring books off her tiny dining room table and into her bag. All right. Enough was enough. Tonight she would talk to Nick. Just one question.

  That made her nervous enough.

  The Volvo did make it out. And Nick had even managed to get his ridiculous amount of gear into the trunk before his mother found him. He was nearly ready to go, the engine running to fight off incoming layers of frost, when he discovered her at the bottom of the basement stairs, arms folded and tapping a finger against the fluffy green bathrobe encasing her upper arm.

  Damn. A trap. How was he going to get out of this one?

  “Where do you think you’re going, young man?”

  “God, does no one remember? I run these games every Wednesday, Mom.”

  “I figured you wouldn’t be going in this weather.” She gestured vaguely toward the front of the house. “Only nutcases drive in this shit. They even closed the store.”

  “I shoveled the driveway and the sidewalk too.” He grinned, but she only shook her head. Technically, at his age, he didn’t need her permission. She hadn’t ordered him around for years. But still. Hopefully his olive branch would suffice.

  She glared at him. Hmm. That hadn’t been a critical failure, but he wasn’t out of trouble yet. “Maybe you should get a part-time job as one of those truck operators. I hear the pay is real good.”

  “One part-time is enough for me right now, Mom.”

  “We can’t live on Bob’s kindness forever, you know.”

  “We won’t.” He sighed. Not like she was taking on more than one part-time job, let alone a full-time one. Whatever. Her business, not his, and he was fairly sure Bob was determined to provide his “kindness” well into old age. “Look. It’s fine, I hear it’s even going to warm up a bit later,” he bluffed. C’mon, c’mon—let the persuasion skill work for me one time.

  She pursed her lips. “That’s not what they said on channel nine. They said it’s going to storm its ass off all night.”

  It wasn’t his night.

  A rumbling sound cut through his despair, loud even through the basement door. He trotted over and looked out. “See, a plow! And I wouldn’t want to let Bob down. I’m sure the whole neighborhood is clear. Don’t worry, okay?”

  “Nicky, wait—at least take my lucky rabbit’s foot with you, or—”

  “You already gave me three, Mom. I got ’em. See ya!” He grabbed his keys—latest purple rabbit’s foot and all—and darted away.

  If you can’t beat ’em… you can always run away and hope they don’t follow, right? God, he really needed to get his own place.

  One problem at a time.

  Chapter 2

  Penny’s phone buzzed again on the table even as she was pulling on her boots to leave. Thankfully—not Cass this time.

  “Hey, Anka.” She smiled into the phone.

  “Look, I know you need to go, but I just wanted to wish you luck with Sir Dreamy tonight.” Anka was smiling too, Penny could hear it in her voice.

  “I’m just going to work.”

  “And Sir Dreamy will be there, right?”

  She nodded grudgingly, even though no one was there in her empty apartment to see. “Yes. But I doubt he’ll talk to me.”

  “C’mon. Did you practice any of the pickup lines I left you? You can’t ignore a printout.”

  She snorted. “I saw them. I think I’d have an easier time pretending to be a damsel in distress.”

  “Does he like that sort of thing? Maybe you should stay away from him then. Guys who want needy girls are usually douches.”

  “I just meant the whole medieval thing. Corsets. Do you think a corset would get his attention? I have no idea if he wants damsels.”

  “That’s because you never talk to him. And hell yes, a corset sounds brilliant. Who doesn’t love a corset? Let’s get you one this weekend.”

  “That’s probably not appropriate business attire.”

  “Who cares? C’mon. You can try a pickup line on me. It’ll warm you up to talk to him.”

  Penny sighed. She had indeed studied them and even highlighted a few. They lay nearby, abandoned and ridiculous. “No, Ank. I’ll never get a word out that way.”

  “Try one. Guys love getting hit on, they don’t care!”

  “What if he has a girlfriend?”

  “The worst he can say is no
.” And crush her heart and soul. “Just try one. Just one. Your favorite.”

  She sighed and picked up the paper. “Can I borrow a kiss? I’ll give it right back.” Her cheeks burned. Had her apartment gotten excessively warm because of the brownies, or was she just that embarrassed?

  “You would pick the tamest one.” Anka paused, almost certainly rolling her eyes. “That was pretty good, though.”

  “I’ll never get that out.”

  “You could just try, ‘Hey, Sir Dreamy, how was your day?’ or ‘How about you Markov chain me to your bed?”

  Penny burst out laughing, fanning herself. She’d thought her face couldn’t feel any hotter, but apparently no, it could.

  “Just promise me you’ll try. Try it on me one time.”

  “I am not asking him to chain me to his bed!” Much as she might want to.

  Anka pretended an exasperated sigh. “This is such a missed opportunity. A man with that name, a woman with your understanding of statistics—”

  “No way, Anka.”

  “Just try the simple version then.”

  She cleared her throat and glanced at her doorway, the empty living room suddenly cavernous. “Hey, Sir Dreamy, how was your day?”

  For a moment, she imagined him walking through the door, running a hand through that tousled brown hair, setting down a bag or a key on a nonexistent table she hadn’t set up yet. Stepping closer, gathering her in his arms and telling her—

  “Wow, that sounded almost natural,” Ank’s voice cut in, snapping her out of her daydream. “You sounded excited, interested even. You can do this. So you promise you’ll try?”

  Penny sighed again. “Okay. I’ll try. I promise.”

  “Good luck, Pen. Go for it. You deserve it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Trudging through the snow down the street, her brownies clenched in both hands and her satchel of art supplies over her shoulder, Penny pondered exactly that. What was the worst that could happen? He could tell her he’d had a shitty day and storm off. He could laugh at her and not even answer. She could mess up midword—as she was wont to do—and not even get the sentence out. She could say hey, look into those dreamy brown eyes, and forget what she had planned to say. Even something as simple as “how was your day” had failed in the past. And then she would die of awkwardness.