End Game: A Gamer Romance
Lisa Swallow
Copyright © 2017 by Lisa Swallow
Cover Design by Cover Me Darling
Photography by Linda Robinson
Editing by VC Edits
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.
http://lisaswallow.net
Subscribe to my newsletter claim you FREE romance novella.
Newsletter: Click to Sign Up
Created with Vellum
Dedication
For those who healed me when I stood in the fire.
Contents
End Game: A Gamer Romance
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Unscripted: A Hollywood Romance Sample
Other Books by Lisa Swallow
About the Author
END GAME: A Gamer Romance
He’s my knight in shining armour, but not the romantic kind a girl dreams about. This one invaded my online world and threw everything into chaos.
My sorcerer can kick his ass in the game, but real life kicks mine. Gaining experience points online is easier than in reality, and when I play, I know where my quests lead. In the real world, the storylines confuse me, and I don’t know which direction I’m heading in.
In the game, I’m in control.
Or I was until he arrived.
This guy never shares anything about himself, and I only know him as ‘Thorsday’. My Aussie gaming nemesis can’t be a blond haired, blue-eyed god in reality. Can he?
The problem is, if I allow my game world to merge with reality, I could die standing in the fire.
Romance meets LitRPG in this romantic comedy from USA Today bestselling author, Lisa Swallow. If you think geek heroes can’t be hot… think again!
1
Epic Fail
Monumental screw-up.
This situation is exactly why I spend the majority of my free time gaming and staying far, far away from parties.
If I drink too much when playing with my friends online, the worst that happens is I fall asleep, face on my keyboard, and wake to find my character trampled by a passing monster.
But, if I indulge in too much alcohol socialising in real life, the consequences are far greater than waking up in the game’s graveyard.
Such as, waking up naked in Marshall Fraser’s bed.
I pull the sheet over my head and close my eyes, swearing under my breath before taking another tentative look at the man beside me.
He sleeps, back turned to me, brown hair mussed, his powerful arms wrapped around the sheets only half-covering his tall frame.
Marshall. Tall, self-assured, and that sneaky skill that charms girls into thinking they’re the one. Even girls like me who’ve spent the last few months watching said guy with a new girl every few weeks. He broke from a long-term relationship six months ago, and I waited for him to overcome his heartbreak. I fooled myself the attention sent my way when we spend evenings out as a group meant this gorgeous, funny guy wanted me.
The gorgeous, funny, naked guy.
Naked too. Need clothes. No choice but to move. Hoping the snoring emanating from Marshall means he’s comatose from our heavy night, I creep out of the bed to retrieve my dress from the floor.
The sensation an elephant trampled my head while I was asleep doesn’t help and I stumble, landing on my ass on the floor with a thud. Omigod he can’t see me naked. Again. Snatching the short, red, retro heart-printed dress from nearby, I hold it against myself—and hold my breath. Marshall grumbles in his sleep but doesn’t move.
As I dress in record time, recollections of our time together tumble into my mind. At this point, I refuse to wander along that particular memory lane. Yes, I wanted this, but the sex was bloody awful and will not be repeated. But what did I expect from a guy who struts around like he’s a gift from the gods to mere mortal women?
A man whose moves are lifted straight from internet porn.
Ugh. Not thinking. Dressing. Leaving.
After a struggle with my clothes, I sit on the floor at the edge of the bed and stare around the room. The Australian sunshine pushes through the curtains illuminating his bedroom and the organised perfection I never noticed in the lights-out events last night.
I’ve never met a guy who lives in an environment where nothing’s out of place, where the bed sheets match the cushions, and clothes are neatly hung in the nearby walk-in robe. In comparison, my bedroom in the house I share with my best friend, Erin, could be described as eclectic or—as she calls it—a huge mess.
I shake myself out of marvelling at his domesticity and crawl across the floor towards my shoes. My phone rests on the rug next to them and, with relief, I grab it.
Time to beat a hasty retreat before Marshall wakes and we engage in awkward conversation.
But the inner Evie, who’s lusted after Marshall for months, wants to know his morning-after reaction. Hypocritically, I want him to wake and ask why I’m leaving, to beg me to arrange a date because he wants us to spend more time together.
The other Evie doesn’t want anybody to know this happened.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror. God, I look as awful as I feel. I blow away a tendril of long, tangled, auburn hair; beneath, dull green eyes peer back, my smudged eye make-up adding extra horror to my pale face.
“You leaving?” The sleepy voice comes from a hungover, looking-like-crap Marshall, who’s rolled onto his back to watch me. Sure, bedhead hair looks sexy on this guy, but the bleary eyes and pale face to match mine? Not so much.
“Um. yes. Work. Like, this afternoon. Need to get home organised and…” My stammering trails off as he turns away again.
“Cool. I’ll call you,” he tells the wall he’s facing.
“Right. Okay.”
An awkward pause joins the mortifying situation.
“So. Um. Bye,” I say, attempting to hide my annoyance.
He rolls to face me again, the sheet slipping from his chest, him smirking as he notices the gym-honed magnificence catching my eye. “Fetch me a coffee before you go, sweetheart.”
And that is my cue to leave.
Evie Taylor, you’re a bloody idiot.
2
“Why are you dancing naked in front of the bank, Tyler?” I cast an eye over his character’s ensemble. “Semi-naked.”
Laughter peals through my headphones over the chat server, and I’m unable to tell if Tyler’s the one laughing or another guild member listening in.
�
��I am not naked, I am wearing my Sage armour set,” he retorts.
“You mean the one that looks like you have no pants on?”
Tyler’s female Elf character on my computer screen continues her sexy movements, and a human male avatar joins in. “Don’t judge! Do you know how much gold this armour cost me? I’m trying to make some money back.”
“And do you know you’re a twenty-two-year-old guy flirting with someone who’s probably also a guy? Did you ever consider that?”
“And he could be a hot girl who likes playing a guy. Aha!” His triumphant voice pushes through the mutterings from the other guild members. “He just gave me ten gold.”
“Definitely a guy, then. You’re so sad…”
“But richer!” The elven version of Tyler stops dancing and words appear on the screen.
Deleet blows you a kiss.
You sigh at Deleet.
His character approaches and stops in front of me. The best part about playing an online game? All physical contact with other people is virtual, and that’s how I like life. Most of the time. My head twinges again at the encroaching reminder of my passion-filled night.
After yesterday evening and the day I’ve had, I need to escape. At work, more customers than usual decided ‘awkward’ was the word of the day, closely followed by ‘rude’. My years working in the Perth pop culture store filled with clothes and varied fandom accessories taught me to plaster on a smile and handball to my manager anytime I can’t cope. All I’ve wanted since around 11 a.m. is to come home and get stabby with monsters online.
Unlike customers, Orcs can’t call me a bitch, or talk to me like I’m five years old. Plus, I can kill them without facing a lengthy jail sentence.
Better still, this is a raid night: Several hours with my online friends locked in an imaginary scenario—often a dungeon—where everything wants to kill us. But if we kill the monsters first the rewards are plentiful. Some of the best loot in the game is found on the hardest enemies—the bosses. The team play and co-ordination needed to kill these most difficult foes takes practice and skill. The process can take weeks of frustrated nights behind keyboards, with drinks and food to help us through the constant onscreen death and destruction, but as a team the sense of achievement at the end is amazing.
Then we progress on to the next, bigger challenge, until we reach end game, and the biggest boss of all.
Life would be perfect, too, if killing a boss was the easiest way to level up, because that, I’m good at. Skill, co-ordination, and success? Not a feature of life in my real world.
Today more than ever, I’m desperate to lose myself in the raid, hopefully ending the night with an achievement. Or some shiny new armour.
“Nice. You finally crafted your Deathbringer robe,” says Tyler.
I click to open my portrait on screen and admire my latest creation. I spend more time dressing the imaginary me than the one I see in the mirror at home. My hidden, childish desire for dress-ups in flowing robes and shiny weapons is realised in this fake world. In game, I stand out from those around. In life, not so much.
My real-life, declining wardrobe is the direct opposite. The only detail on my grey game t-shirt is the coffee I spilt down it earlier, and my sweatpants don’t share the same allure as the shining red and black robe on screen.
Last night, I was Evie, press-ganged into attending a party with Erin, and attempting to function as a normal human being. Tonight, I’m a Sorcerer, Sinestre, and entertainment consists of a large bowl of nachos, dip, and several energy drinks.
Socialising behind a keyboard, voice only, means no chance I’ll end up in bed with any guy I’m with tonight. Not that any I play with are candidates. I know half the people I game with, including old school friends I’ve played with for years. Now in our early twenties, we’re heading separate ways in real life, but relationships never change in the game.
“Yep. I also bought a new necklace earlier so my Wisdom is higher. Should be a good boost to my damage.”
Silence.
Telling silence.
“What’s up guys?” I ask. “Did someone not show? We are raiding, right?”
“Uh. Sin. Can you heal tonight?” asks Tyler.
Excuse me? “Heal? I’m a damage dealer.”
“Yeah, we kinda promised Thor he could raid with us again,” says real-life friend, Cole, in a cautious tone.
“Who the hell is Thor?”
“Thorsday. Paladin. Huge-ass damage. He stepped in last minute when you dumped the raid,” replies somebody I only know as the character Lorlien.
I bite down on my lip to prevent myself snapping back. “I did not dump the raid. I missed one evening because I promised Erin I’d go to the bloody stupid party, and now I’m relegated to healing?”
“What the hell’s wrong with being a healer? You don’t care when I’m saving your ass!” puts in Spencer.
“Sorry. Just don’t like the role. My healing is crap.”
“Naw, you rock whatever role you play, Sin. C’mon. We promised Thor a permanent spot if we beat Logmar with him in the raid.”
“Permanent as in taking my place?” I snap. “Seriously?”
“No, Sin. You just switch spec and heal. He’s bloody awesome,” Tyler says.
“And I’m not?” Anger builds in the pit of my stomach. Yes, I can heal, I did early on in our group questing, but I don’t anymore.
“That’s not what we’re saying. He has better gear, maybe once you catch up—”
“Who exactly is he?” I demand.
“My cousin’s, mate’s mate.”
“And he’s called Thorsday? How original. Let me guess: blond, human male character? Am I right?”
“Yeah. And?” asks Tyler.
“As in Thor? Is he fantasising he’s a Chris Hemsworth lookalike?”
“Maybe I am.” An Australian accent, soft spoken, hints of amusement, joins the conversation. “Good evening.”
I flick to look at the chat server and see Thorsday in the list of users. Hmm. “Sure,” I say with a laugh. “And I look like an elven queen.”
“Actually, you kinda do, Sin,” says Cole.
“Because my hair is a matching colour sometimes?”
“Nah. You’re tall and a bit skinny.”
“The term is slender, Cole. And my ears aren’t pointy.”
“What kind of Elf are you?” asks Thorsday with a small laugh.
“A Storm Sorcerer who throws freaking lightning bolts at people,” I snap. “I don’t practice my healing spells. Paladins have a healing option too. You heal.”
“Yeah, nah.” The sound of a can cracking open crosses the line. “I saw the numbers from the last raid you were in. My damage output is higher than yours. You heal.”
I blink, heart rate rising. “Is that a subtle way of saying you’re better than me?”
“Sure. Okay. I’m better than you.”
I click my mic closed and mutter expletives, then flick the Game of Thrones POP!s lined up on the desk in front of me one by one. Arrogant. Bloody. Dick. I came here to throw myself into fun and relaxation with my mates, to feel a sense of importance after being belittled all day.
And this is what I get.
“How long’s Mr. Hemsworth with us for?” I ask, switching my mic back on. “If he’s so elite, he should be with a proper guild.”
“We are a proper guild, Sin!” protests Tyler.
Blue words flash onto my chat bar in game: whispers from Tyler.
Deleet: be nice he’s okay my cousin says he’s a good guy and knows his shit.
Sinestre: he can’t have my place.
Deleet: we have room for one more.
Sinestre: he’s not part of the team and he sounds like he’ll cause trouble.
In the background, Thorsday talks in gaming jargon the casual players would have no idea about. He knows his character class inside out, quoting percentages, scaling, armour upgrades, and more. I bet he spends his whole life calculating to a millisec
ond his damage output.
“Disagree,” I reply to one comment over how Sorcerers can’t match Paladins.
He ignores me.
Completely blanks me.
“Guess I’m doing something else tonight,” I say. “Enjoy the raid.”
“Don’t go!” calls Cole.
“I’m not going anywhere, I have some quests to finish in Aleria.”
Silence. So much bloody silence tonight.
Thorsday breaks it. “Are you always this childish?”
“Excuse me?” I cough back.
“They’re not kicking you out, they just need you to take a different role.”
“C’mon Sin,” pleads Tyler. “We need you.” He elongates the word ‘need’ and I clench my teeth.
Nobody calls me childish. “Fine. This time. But I damage deal next time.”
“Evie!” interrupts a voice from the real world.
I pull away the noise-cancelling earphones, which always fail when my housemate Erin bursts into my room and yells. This girl’s respect for privacy ranks zero, as does her filter.
“You look like crap, Evie, and why aren’t you ready?” My diminutive best friend stands with a scowl on her face, wearing a cute floral dress covered by a green cardigan; an outfit I recognise as ‘time for a night out, Evie’. Her glossy black hair clipped from her face and make-up applied confirms my suspicion.
“I can’t go out again. I’m still recovering from that bloody party.”
“You swore you’d come to the movies with me when I asked you last night.”
“I don’t remember, and I was very drunk. I have a raid, I already missed one this week and can’t miss any more.” I gesture at the bright computer screen.
End Game: A Gamer Romance Page 1
