Dewey Belong Together

by Smartypants Romance

  "That's enough for now," I answered, a bit shaken by his revelations. I never knew Wrath to be vulnerable, and tonight he'd shown me vulnerability, consideration, and chivalry. In the past Wrath had called me—Maximus, that is—a dickbag, stolen my kills, and told the rest of the guild when I had the flu that I'd contracted gonorrhea from a prostitute.

  I felt like I had Wrath whiplash. Online, he'd been awful, but face-to-face … not bad. It made me want to reevaluate my opinion of him overall. Maybe he wasn't as awful as I thought? Perhaps I was hanging onto baggage from when he was a teenager, baggage I could forgive because teenagers and common sense didn't go hand in hand often enough.

  When we got home, Wrath told me to take the first crack at the bathroom, which was another kindness considering he was the guest here. I showered the beer off me and sponged at my dress, hoping it wasn't ruined. I changed into my favorite flannel penguin-printed pj's and stuck my hair up in a messy bun. I was ready for the dash from the bathroom to my room, during which I hoped to evade Wrath's gaze.

  I unlocked the bathroom door and bolted across the hall, slamming the door shut behind me. Score! Wrath hadn’t seen me in my pajamas. Unfortunately (or fortunately for me), standing right at the foot of the bed, naked except for a pair of black boxer briefs, stood Wrath. And holy hell, his hair was down, flowing over his shoulders and looking as silky as ever. My jaw practically unhinged when I realized I had made a dash for the gaming room, not my bedroom. I mean, it made sense when you considered all the time I spent in the gaming room, and how many times I fell asleep in there. But this—this was an epic screwup.

  We stared at each other, my mouth opening and closing, all capacity for verbal communication having fled. I was now as mute as the guild rumors purported me to be.

  “Stopping in to give me tomorrow’s itinerary, I presume?” he asked dryly, eyeing me up and down. “Nice set of penguins you’ve got there.”

  That got the vocal cords moving. “How can you make something so innocent sound so … so … ugh!” I made a noise of frustration that sounded like a velociraptor. “And because you mentioned it, why yes, tomorrow’s itinerary is why I’m here. Without knocking because that’s how I roll in my house.” I could hear my mom gasp from across town. “Set an alarm and be up by seven thirty. Dress code is casual outdoors, something that you can move comfortably in but don’t mind getting a bit dirty. As described in the welcome email, I might add, so I hope you’ve brought clothing like that.” I crossed my arms over my … penguins and held his stare.

  “Work jeans, boots, and a flannel for under my jacket. Does that suit you? Or do you prefer what I’m wearing now?” Wrath put a hand on his hip and cocked it outward, making a parody of a modeling pose. All of his ink was on display, and I saw that the tattoos went across his upper chest, linking up the design on each arm. I was fascinated with the subtle touches of blue and orange mingled with the black and gray design. I wondered what it would be like to touch that skin, feel those muscles under my hands, and trail my fingers down his chest to those V-cut abs.

  I shook my head and clumsily backed out of the room, harnessing every bit of willpower I possessed and putting it into not blushing. “Be up at seven thirty,” I mumbled, closing the door behind me.

  “And then, I just stood there, gaping and staring like an idiot while he was in his skivvies!” I moaned to Lois over Skype. I had started out by texting her, but by the time I got to the beer bath and the weirdly almost-romantic dance scene, she insisted we take this shit to video chat. So I hauled out my laptop, sat cross-legged on my bed, and spilled out the depths of my embarrassment to the one person who I knew wouldn’t judge me for being so stupid as to run into the wrong room in her own house.

  "Oh my god, Maxine, you are either dumber than a sack of hair or luckier than a Powerball winner. And I know you're not dumb. So, what did tall, dark, and handsome look like in those skivvies?" she teased.

  "I don't know!" I cried. "Hot? I was so cringed up over the whole thing, I didn't know where to look. And then he made a comment about my penguins and I—"

  "Penguins? You mean your rack?" She cackled.

  "Yes!"

  "Well, it is a great one. So he copped an eyeful of your flannel, you saw him almost naked, then probably blushed and stammered your way through something stupid, and then ran and hid." God, this woman knew me too well. I buried my face in the nearest pillow.

  "Pretty much," I said, the sound muffled by the cushion.

  “Girl, this calls for wine. I know you’ve got a box lurking somewhere in that place. Get yourself a glass and chill,” came Lois’s sage advice.

  I decided Lois was right. I needed wine, stat. I signed off with her, blowing kisses at the screen and promising to give her updates as often as I could and to stealthily take a picture of Wrath to send her. Hell, I’d probably ask him for one. He was arrogant enough that he would probably think it his duty to share his good looks with the world. I rolled off my bed and crept to the kitchen, where I poured myself a glass of Tania white from the box, and then set about the task of preparing a picnic lunch for tomorrow’s activities.

  I woke promptly at 7:00 a.m., cranky and still tired. I was one of those people who tended to remember their dreams, and mine had left me feeling deeply unsettled. Because there it was, in IMAX 3D—Wrath, in my bed, in nothing but those little boxer briefs. Wrath taking his hair out of the ponytail and it spreading all over my pillow. Wrath holding me with those strong arms and gazing down at me with those piercing brown eyes. The feel of his beard on my thighs. One glass of wine and a beer dousing and my subconscious was all over that man. I shuddered as I rose out of bed, and not from the cold, but from distaste. Or so I told myself.

  I had made sure to get up a half hour before Wrath so I could get ready first, in relative peace. I headed into my bathroom and got my second shock of the morning. There, innocuous on the vanity, were the little telltale signs of male occupation. A razor, shaving cream, a toothbrush, and a jar of … Noxzema? What in hell was Wrath keeping in a Noxzema jar? Unable to contain my curiosity, and slightly concerned it might hold drugs of some kind, I lifted the jar and unscrewed the lid. Inside was the odorous white face cream advertised on the jar. I stood still for a moment, dumbly looking into the cream, feeling as though the cream were looking back at me.

  "Yo, Max, you better not be ninja-ing my Noxzema. That shit isn’t cheap, and you’ve got some Pond’s right over there." Wrath stood leaning in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest, amusement in his eyes. At least he was dressed, thank the gods.

  I clapped the lid back on the jar immediately, mortified at being caught. As I scrambled to explain my behavior and apologize, what popped out of my mouth was "I'm not a ninja, Wrath. I don't grief others."

  Now, don’t get me wrong, to be called a ninja is usually awesomeness. However, to be called a ninja in-game is an insult of the highest order. Ninjas are thieves who profit off the work of others, stealing valuables for various motives, sometimes just because they can. I looked down at the jar still in my hand and considered that maybe he wasn't too far off the mark. I put it down and said, "I was wondering why you have it. You don't seem like the type of guy who bothers with a skincare regimen."

  "And that's where you'd be wrong, oh mighty one. You think my skin is this kissable naturally?” He ran a hand down one smooth-looking cheek above his beard. “Besides, I'm playing the long game."

  "The long … what on earth are you talking about?" I asked, genuinely confused.

  "Noxzema. My great-grandmother lived to a hundred and five. She used Noxzema face cream every single damn day. For decades. Probably since the stuff was invented. Seriously, when she was a hundred, she didn't look a day over seventy. That stuff has like some kind of elixir of life in it, and I intend to harness it for a long and youthful existence."

  "So, hold up. You're telling me that the fountain of youth is in a jar of Noxzema,” I managed to say with a straight face.

&nbs
p; "Exactly. So, what's for breakfast?”

  Chapter 6

  Maxine

  “Who in the bloody hell TP’d the guild hall?”

  ― Maximus_Damage

  I blamed the shock of freezing nipples and my brain taking a vacation for allowing Wrath to drive Stiles last night. Today, I was staying in the driver's seat, despite his whining about wanting to try his hand at navigating the switchbacks and seeing how fast he could take one. This morning we were headed to Cades Cove, a gorgeous spot in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It was popular with tourists, especially when the leaves were turning, so I focused on my driving and let Wrath fiddle with the stereo. He hooked up his phone and before I knew it, Jimi Hendrix's “All Along the Watchtower” was blasting as we weaved our way toward what I hoped would be a relaxing and fun day, not the exercise in torture I had feared all my plans with Wrath would turn out to be.

  I was feeling renewed this morning, which I attributed to the gorgeous weather. I decided to grab the bull by the horns and ask Wrath head-on what I had been avoiding since he arrived. I raised my voice over Jimi’s singing and said, "Wrath, how are we going to get through this visit? We keep stepping on each other's toes, and with our history … Look, I want to be able to fully relax and uncoil this spring of tension in me."

  He turned the stereo down a little and twisted in his seat to face me. "I think we need to try to put some of the past behind us,” he said. “Or, if that's too difficult, we can use the time-tested and true advice—fake it till you make it. We act like friends, and maybe we will be. At the very least, I won’t be driving you up the wall."

  "That sounds like a good idea," I murmured. But Wrath did have a point. Things would go a lot easier if we made up our minds to play nice. At least offline, he couldn't piss off half a dozen goblins and then lead them directly to my character, leaving me to fight them all or die. (See: griefing.)

  I pulled up to the Cades Cove Chariot Company—a name which made little sense due to a distinct lack of chariots—and parked near the stables. I turned to Wrath with a smile and a little jazz hands wave. "Ta-da!'

  "What the hell is this?" he asked, his voice oddly high-pitched and almost squeaky.

  "It's horseback riding! We're going to do the two-hour guided loop through the woods Surprise!"

  I was so proud of myself and my event planning skills that I didn't notice Wrath's distinct lack of enthusiasm until I saw that he had that pale look again. "Horses. Why'd it have to be horses?" I heard him mutter.

  "Hey, slow your roll there, Indy. A horse isn't going to hurt you as long as you follow the guide’s directions, take charge of the horse, and don't act like a dick to it. I've done this before, and trust me, it's always a good time. You won't regret giving it a try." I passed him a bottle of water, and he chugged down half of it at once. He looked damn nervous. Who knew horses were Wrath's Achilles heel? “Are you okay?” I asked cautiously, not wanting to wound his pride.

  “I’m peachy,” he replied dryly. Good enough for me. I jumped out of Stiles and made my way toward the stables to meet Rick, our guide and all-around horse guru. Wrath caught up with me, and I made introductions, calling Wrath “Jonathan” for the first time. It was his name, after all, and I felt weird introducing him to random people using his character name because, honestly, who names their kid Wrath? It felt almost stranger saying Jonathan as it suddenly made Wrath more than a random guildie. He was sort of my friend, and I was introducing him as such.

  Rick inspected our clothing for suitability and handed us each a helmet. I had gone back and forth on what to wear today but decided to go with an older, comfy pair of jeans, hiking boots, and a Jar Jar Binks T-shirt I’d bought in college on a dare but secretly liked wearing for the reactions it elicited from others. Since it was cool outside, I’d covered it with a loose, light sweater that bore the motto Je suis prest. I snapped my helmet in place and thought that we couldn’t have asked for a better day to spend outside. It was cool but not cold, the sun was shining, and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. We might see all kinds of wildlife, and I only regretted that I wasn’t confident enough of a rider to take pictures while seated.

  The idyllic nature of the day was broken when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wrath take something from his pocket and pop it in his mouth. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked at the ground. What in the world … Did I just see Wrath take drugs? No way, not happening. Not on my watch. I marched over to him and said quietly, “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me that was a breath mint.”

  “No, but it’s definitely none of your business,” he clapped back.

  “We’re about to go into the woods on horseback for almost two hours. If you’re doing something to endanger yourself, the horses, or me and the guide, it is most definitely my business. I’m going to ask you once, and I hope out of respect for me you’ll tell me the truth: What did you take?”

  Wrath kneaded at his forehead with his left hand, then shot me a glare that could double as a death ray. “When I said it was none of your business, I meant it. But you’re not going to let this drop, plus, you are determined to think the worst of me. You think I’m out here dropping acid or something before getting on a freaking horse, of all things. How stupid do you think I am?”

  “That depends on what it was you took,” I replied.

  “Lorazepam, okay? It was lorazepam. It’s for anxiety.”

  “I know. My mother takes it now and then, ever since my father died.” I subconsciously stuck my tongue out of the corner of my mouth and bit it. “Well, I feel like an asshole now. You were right, Wrath, it was none of my business. Other than that, you’re going to be a bit groggy, but you wouldn’t have taken it without knowing your own body and what it can handle. I’m sorry I cornered you into revealing something you didn’t want to. Is this because of the horses? We don’t have to do this. You know, there’s no shame in—”

  “It doesn’t feel good being the jerk, does it,” he cut me off, and then, without any superiority in his tone, eviscerated me. “Or having someone resent you for something you thought was the right thing to do at the time. Chew on that for a bit, Max. Maybe you’ll view me a little differently.”

  I knew he was right. I knew it, but I couldn’t stand to lose the moral high ground to Wrath, of all people. “How was it doing the right thing at the time when you opposed me becoming a guild officer? I know you talked to all the other officers behind my back, telling them I was a second-rate player with too much hype and few of the skills to back it up. We’d been playing together for years at that point, and you tried to sabotage me. Why? Why, Wrath?” My voice had steadily risen in volume, and Rick backed off and headed toward the stables.

  I could see the tension in his jaw and in the set of his shoulders. “I wasn’t myself when I did it, okay.”

  “No, not okay!” I countered. “You can’t set the world on fire and say, ‘Oops, I wasn’t myself when I lit the match’!”

  “Yes, it was a dick move. I was scared that you wouldn’t have any time for me anymore, or that you’d get me kicked out of the guild. I didn’t want things to change. And I was going through some shit that year that I would rather not talk about right now, but it influenced my behavior, especially toward you.”

  I advanced on him slowly. “At some point before this weekend is over, I am going to crack your code. No more talking in riddles about why you’ve been a jerk, and no blaming your behavior on mysterious things. We’re going to have it out, you and me, I swear. Because I won’t go back to how things were in the game between us.” With that, I stalked off to the stable, leaving Wrath to eat my dust.

  Finding Rick inside with Prancer, my favorite of the horses, I felt the tension drain from my body. Being around animals was grounding for me and soothed something in me. I only wished Wrath felt the same way. I was confident that if he gave it a try, he’d be as enamored with horseback riding as I was.

  “Now, son,” Rick began. “You saw h
ow Miss Maxine got up on Prancer there? Slick as shit. That’s what you’re going to do with Buttercup. You put that foot in this here stirrup, hang onto the horn, and swing your other leg over. And bingo, you’re on top of the horse. Should be simple for a tall guy like you.”

  Wrath stood looking at Buttercup, a beautiful, jaunty mare with a coat the color of honey, like he was Atreyu staring at the Southern Oracle and with one misstep, she’d blast him to smithereens.

  "You've got this!" I called out, watching as Wrath lifted his foot. The moment Wrath's weight was in the stirrup, the saddle slipped off Buttercup, and Wrath went sailing to the ground, flat on his back, in the dirt.

  “Oh my god, Wrath!” I shouted from the back of Prancer. Buttercup whinnied, like she thought we were all idiots, and made off for the stable, leaving Wrath where he fell.

  Chapter 7

  Jonathan

  “Did everyone check out my boomstick?”

  ― Wrath

  I coughed after I got my wind back, and slowly sat up with Rick’s help. Of all the activities, why had Max chosen horses? I was man enough to admit when I was afraid. There was something about their beady eyes and swishy tails that made me never want to get on one’s back, ever. And now, after my little trip into the dirt, I knew I was right.