New Game, Start

by C. S. Poe

  Oh my God. Wait. Their translation was due December 18. I clicked the home button again. My phone proudly announced that it was just after seven in the morning on December 19.

  I swiped and opened my email, skimming the message. Yada, yada, just checking in with that translation, yada, yada, we’re on a tight deadline…. Fuck!

  Deep breath.

  It was okay. I finished it the other day. I hadn’t done a final pass on it yet, but it was no problem. I could do it right here. Right now. Done before Walter even woke to get ready for GamerOn.

  I sat at the computer and opened my work documents—but it wasn’t on my laptop. The romance novel was on my laptop. The stupid medical stuff I had been doing on my tablet. The tablet was at home. A window popped up to tell me the file had successfully been uploaded and was waiting on my recipient. I slammed the computer shut, stuffed it into my bag, and grabbed my coat.

  I considered waking Walter and telling him I had to run home, but we’d been up late, and I didn’t want him hungover and bleary-eyed in front of nearly two hundred thousand people today. I’d text him once I was home and emailed that translation to Germany. He’d be awake by then, and I’d meet him outside of the Javits Convention Center in the afternoon, since I didn’t have a ticket to attend.

  But did you ever notice, especially when there is a plan in place, that’s when it all backfires?

  It started with riding the subway home. What should have taken maybe twenty minutes, accounting for morning rush hour, took two hours. My D train—that blessed, ancient piece of garbage—broke down inside the tunnel between stations. No getting off. No cell service. No nada. I didn’t reach my apartment until after nine. By then I was so upset about presenting my work late, and potentially losing the German client, I forgot to text Walter a good-morning message. I spent over an hour polishing the work, writing a very apologetic email, and offering my services free of charge for their next project as a way of making peace and keeping their business.

  So it was… what… about eleven before I even checked my phone.

  One missed call.

  Three texts.

  All from Walter.

  Where’d you run off to?

  Ed, is everything okay? You left your roses here.

  I think I overstepped my bounds last night with what I said. I’m so sorry if it upset you. Please don’t ignore me. Call me back so I can make this right.

  My heart stopped beating. Walter thought I… was angry he dropped an “I love you”?

  Oh my God.

  What a mess of a day, and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

  I chose his number and let it ring, but he never picked up. I tried him no less than half a dozen times, but I’m sure GamerOn was such a madhouse that he didn’t even realize his phone was going off.

  “Fuck. Fuck!” I shouted. The sudden and overwhelming sense of dread I had was making me sick to my stomach. I sent him a text message.

  I’m so sorry! I’m not mad! I had to run home because of work and everything got screwed up. I didn’t mean for you to think I was upset. I tried calling. I’m on my way to the convention.

  A WAIT line.

  A motherfucking wait line wrapped around the Javits Center in Hell’s Kitchen. It was freezing cold, windy, snowy, and yet hundreds of fans were still willing to face the elements for the slim chance of GamerOn opening ticket sales again. I mean, I liked games and Walter too, but holy shit.

  I tried Walter’s phone again, but it went right to voicemail. Had he turned his phone off on me? No way. I’d sent him a text explaining everything. He would have seen his missed calls. I was clearly reaching out when he asked me to…. Maybe he was… sitting in on one of his guest panels or something. That had to be it. He was somewhere he couldn’t be interrupted.

  I trudged to the front of the line and stopped before convention staff watching the doors. “I, uh… have to get inside.”

  “Sorry, man,” one said. “The halls are at maximum capacity. Any more people and the fire marshals shut the place down.”

  “But I have to see Walter.”

  “Walter—you mean Waldere? Yeah, you and everyone else in line.”

  “No, no, you don’t understand. I’m his maybe-boyfriend. I can’t reach him on his cell, and it’s important that I talk to him right now.”

  “Maybe-boyfriend?” the second man echoed.

  “Do you get a lot of people pretending to be dating him?” I countered.

  “Obviously you didn’t go to MagicFest in Chicago last year,” the first man replied. “Waldere had security detail because some ‘boyfriend’ was stalking him.”

  “What do I have to do to prove—?” I paused when the second staffer began shuffling his gloved fingers over the papers on his clipboard. “If you plan on putting me on some sort of threat list, I’ll see myself off the property,” I said quickly.

  He gave me a weird look. “What’s your name?”

  “Edgar. Edgar Royal.”

  He sifted for another moment, then showed the clipboard to his coworker.

  “What?” I ventured to ask.

  “You’re on his guest list,” the man answered. “Go in through this door here,” he continued, opening it for me. “But you’ve got to head to the front desk and pick up your badge, and you still won’t be allowed on the showroom floor until some attendees leave.”

  “Really?” I asked. It was as if heaven had opened up and a choir of angels began singing.

  “Unless there’s two Edgar Royals,” the man answered.

  “No, just me. Thank you so much!” I rushed inside, much to the lamentation of cold, cranky fans behind me.

  The front area was full of people from every walk of life imaginable. Groups sat on the floor resting while others in costumes were posing for photos. Some were busily going through their bags of swag and purchases, and more were eating quick meals before likely heading back to the main floor. Finding Walter in this place was going to be a nightmare. I pulled my phone out to try to call him one last time, but a Facebook notification popped up before I had the chance.

  Waldere is live!

  I quickly opened the social media app and clicked on his video. Maybe if I had some kind of landmark in the background, I could figure out where the hell he was in this place.

  “Hey, guys,” Walter said. He looked like he was sitting somewhere, talking via his phone. I could see the tall ceilings and glass behind him. “I know I don’t do many of these livestreams, but….” He sighed and smiled a little awkwardly. “I met this really cool guy… about a week ago. He’s so sweet and cute and… the kind of person I feel like I’ve been not-so-patiently waiting to meet my entire life.”

  I froze midstep and turned up the volume. Was he talking about me?

  “I may have pissed him off,” Walter continued. “Not sure yet. And if he’s watching, I hope he knows how sorry I am.” He took another breath. “He made me a Christmas present. A dating simulator. It’s called The Big Question. I didn’t even know he could code, let alone program an entire mini game. I downloaded it this morning, and I want to share it with all of you.”

  Walter turned his phone around, and a view of his computer screen came up with my game loaded. “Isn’t this the sweetest?” his voice said from behind, a bit muffled. “New game, start. Enter name. Walter….” The sim loaded up one of the characters I had drawn myself. It wasn’t… good… but it was supposed to be Walter in that Japanese anime style. “This is me,” he said, sounding absurdly happy. “I mean, it’s literally me. I told him about the lack of gay dating sims and how I wanted to play more. I think this game is going to be that. Let’s see now….”

  Walter’s hand came into view as he used the touch mouse to answer questions from the cast of characters and make choices as he met each of the potential boyfriends I designed. There was the big, buff jock, the super-smart tech, an elegant artist, and the awkward bookworm. Stereotypical, yes, but it was a dating sim.

  Walter tapped the computer sc
reen. “This is him. Edgar. See? And he’s that cute in real life, guys. So I’m of course going to try and woo Edgar. I bet he’s the hardest to win over too.”

  I laughed and started walking again. True. The bookworm representing me had the most difficult statistics in the game. I watched Walter play for another moment. Fans left dozens and dozens of live messages, telling him what choice to pick, asking who I was, some random troll inquiring about Walter’s dick size….

  Too big for you, a-hole.

  Walter turned his phone around to look at the front camera again and address his viewers. “I think he’s only been working on this game for a week. It’s pretty short and simple, but all things considered, it’s crazy well done.”

  I caught sight of the banners in the distance behind Walter and looked up and around. Shit. Shit! He was here in the main mezzanine. Somewhere. I lowered my phone and started running, dodging around cosplayers and making awkward eye contact with every guy that had a head of hair vaguely resembling Walter’s. After a few minutes, I’d checked the entire south side of the hall. I circled back and went to the opposite end.

  I heard Walter’s voice rise on the video and paused to look down at the screen.

  “Ah! Holy shit, this is so cool!”

  Animated Edgar was blushing and holding a copy of Beowulf in his arms. He asked Walter, “Which spoon do you prefer?”

  Walter started laughing. “This is literally the greatest game I’ve ever played. Okay, Edgar definitely wants me to be big spoon, so there we go.” He clicked on the option, and he began reading the text from Edgar out loud. “‘I have a very serious question to ask you, Walter.’ Yikes. I’m going with, ‘Sure, ask me anything.’ And Edgar says… ‘Will you—’” Walter paused. “‘Will you date me?’”

  I heard his voice catch a bit.

  I started running toward the other side of the room again. Fuck it. I knew one way to find him. “Walter!” I shouted.

  That’s when I saw a guy sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back to me, perk up and turn around. He set his phone against the laptop and got to his feet. “Ed!”

  “I got stuck underground!” I exclaimed.

  A security officer moved to intercept me, but Walter stopped him.

  “There was a problem with my work, I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I thought I’d taken last night too far,” Walter answered.

  “I tried calling!” I said, leaping forward and wrapping my arms around his neck.

  “This convention center has awful service,” Walter said, holding me tight. “This one corner is the only place I have mediocre signal. I never got your calls.”

  “I’m so sorry!”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “I hate the misunderstanding trope!”

  He laughed, squeezed me tight, and then pulled back enough to kiss me. “Does The Big Question apply to real life?” He cupped my face and leaned down to press his forehead against mine.

  “It… does.”

  “Then yes,” Walter whispered, kissing me again. “Yes, a million times over.” He peppered my mouth with tons of sweet kisses.

  “W-Walter,” I murmured.

  “Hmm?”

  “Your phone is pointing at us.”

  Walter glanced sideways at the camera. He waved at it. “This is Edgar!” he shouted to it. “Wave to the nice people, Ed.”

  I cracked a smile and gave a little princess wave.

  “Oh. Before I forget,” Walter said as he let go. He walked to his bag sitting beside the computer. “I got you a gift too.”

  “I really think you gave me one already.”

  He smirked. “I owed you.” He reached out, offering a can of Coke. “What do you say we get out of here?”

  I took the soda with what felt like a dreamy smile plastered to my face. “Okay.”

  “Maybe we can share an Old Fashioned together this time.”

  “Will you… ah, do you want to walk through the Christmas market at Bryant Park with me? Or is that lame?”

  “It’s not lame. Sounds like a perfect start to a new game.”

  C.S. POE is an author of gay mystery, romance, and paranormal books.

  She is a reluctant mover and has called many places home in her lifetime. C.S. has lived in New York City, Key West, and Ibaraki, Japan, to name a few. She misses the cleanliness, convenience, and limited-edition gachapon of Japan, but she was never very good at riding bikes to get around.

  She has an affinity for all things cute and colorful and a major weakness for toys. C.S. is an avid fan of coffee, reading, and cats. She’s rescued three cats, including one found in a drain pipe in Japan who flew back to the States with her. Zak, Milo, and Kasper do their best on a daily basis to sidetrack her from work.

  C.S. Poe can be followed on her website, which also has links to her Goodreads and social media pages. She can also be followed via her email newsletter on the website.

  Website: www.cspoe.com

  By C.S. Poe

  Joy

  Love Has No Expiration

  Love, Marriage, and a Baby Carriage

  New Game, Start

  Once Upon a Time in the Weird West (Multiple Author Anthology)

  Simmer (Dreamspinner Anthology)

  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Published by

  DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  New Game, Start

  © 2017 C.S. Poe.

  Cover Art

  © 2017 Paul Richmond.

  http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-64080-314-5

  Published December 2017

  v. 1.0

  Printed in the United States of America