I smile hesitantly. “Thanks.”
He turns to Tyler and asks him something about the game. I bite back my desire to say something at his dismissive attitude.
“Oh! Hey. Sorry, forgot to introduce you. This is Seb.”
Seb nods and cranes his head behind him. “I’m bloody starving. Where the hell is Aaron?”
“You seen the queue?” asks Cole, as he points at the snaking line of people waiting to order.
I continue to study Seb, whose interest remains away from me. Is he shy? Or ignorant? So much for wanting to meet me.
“How was the trip from Sydney?” I ask.
“Huh?” His thick brows pull down.
“Nah, Evie, this is my cousin,” says Tyler with a grin. “How else would I know who waved at me?”
“Oh. Did Thor not come with you?” I ask Seb.
“Aaron? As I said, he’s fetching pizza.” Seb points at the queue. “Ah ha!”
I turn to look behind me and size up the people around. A few people dodge the weapons sticking into the space between the tables as they approach friends and family with trays of pizza, chips, and assorted junk food.
The Con atmosphere holds an acceptance and friendliness I’ve never come across elsewhere—apart from in game. This is one of the reasons I love these rare days. The time and skill put into costumes; the fact people have risen to the challenge or joined in with the fun means more. The Con is filled with people all shapes and sizes, emulating their favourite characters or heroes, with no judgement how much or how little they meet the size and looks criteria. Nobody cares.
And then there are people like the guy negotiating his way through the crowd. He’s the type who attracts attention, and are most likely to be photographed and shared as an image of a good cosplayer. The guy has no problem cutting a path due to his size and appearance; people automatically sidestep him. He’s dressed as a Paladin, armour covering the majority of his tall, broad frame and creating a more imposing image.
And the path he’s cutting leads straight to this table.
Holy crap.
Is this Thorsday?
9
I mean—he is freaking Thor. My heart rate picks up as his blue eyes meet mine and he stares back, recognition dawning in his face too. No freaking way. We’re talking well over six feet tall, muscled and attention-grabbing, and that’s not because his beautifully detailed silver armour covers his larger-than-life frame. I struggle with my attempt not to focus how the black pants hug his legs beneath the shiny metal.
His hair. Omigod. Not as long, but long enough, and the scruff.
“Oh wow, you look like that guy from the film!” pipes up Erin. “The one Cole dragged me to watch at the movies. Had never-ending fight scenes.”
“The Avengers?” asks Cole.
Tyler’s loud laughter draws attention to the group. “Dude, I thought you were joking about the Chris Hemsworth thing.”
Aaron smiles to himself as he places the black tray on the table, close to where I stand. My mouth dries, stunned by the heat surging through me due to his proximity.
“Thanks, but out of costume, not really. Just the hair and height.” He rubs his chin. “And this. I spent months getting ready for this cosplay day. Took a while to grow my hair.”
And the freaking body? So many muscles… I’m ready to slap myself for not talking, but if I open my mouth my tongue will hang out.
“A haircut and a shave and I’ll be me again.” Oh, good Lord. And the voice.
Ever eager to show his knowledge, Tyler nods. “Well, in the next movie Thor has short hair so…”
I shake my head at him.
Aaron remains close to me, which isn’t helping my attempt at keeping my cool. Why couldn’t he have been Seb and saved me the stunned mullet look?
Tyler reaches down to pick up a slice of pizza and Seb does the same. My stomach growls audibly. “You want some, Sin?” asks Aaron, turning those eyes back to mine again. “I’m presuming you’re Sin by your costume.”
“No, thanks. And yes, I am.” I say. Our look holds, the mutual surprise over our appearance matched by identical curiosity. The heat surges into my belly. And down. Don’t look at me like that.
“Nice to finally meet you.” He holds a hand out and I stare, dumbfounded. Gentleman? I don’t shake hands with people, unless I’m at a job interview. Before I catch up with my thoughts enough to shake, he drops his hand. “I’m impressed.”
My skin heats. By me? I grip my staff tightly.
“How long did it take you to make the costume?” he continues.
“Etsy. Custom design. I made a few finishing touches.” I clear my throat. “You?”
“Something similar.” He smiles, cheeks dimpling and eyes crinkling at the sides, a genuine warm smile.
Dimples. Critical hit. This is over. Sinestre defeated. In my imagination, I’m a cartoon character bug-eyed, tongue hanging out. I put my hand over my mouth. Just in case.
The group chatters around me but all I can focus on is hiding the stunned shock surrounding the fact this guy looks better offline than the fantasy man online. Aaron steps back and studies my costume. He may be appraising the detail and accuracy, but my skin tingles as if he’s touching me.
Get a freaking grip, Evie.
What I wouldn’t give to read his mind right now.
Speak to him.
Uh.
I drop my eyes from our continued focus on each other. Mistake. Jesus, those forearms. And he smells bloody amazing—not the cheap and convenient deodorant the other guys cover themselves with but deeper, sexier scents. Expensive.
This guy is not a slacker outside of the game—to look like this he must spend a bloody long time in the gym as well. Unwarranted images appear of Aaron working out, his t-shirt soaked in sweat which he pulls off revealing…uh no. Stop. My heart rate currently matches an aerobic workout of my own. Not that I can remember last time I attempted vigorous exercise.
Focus, you shallow woman.
“So, the raid went well this week,” I manage to stammer out.
He tips his head and frowns for a second. “You think? I’m not so sure. They changed the Paladins’ Hero ability and my rotation is screwed.”
And so we return to normal. If I close my eyes, I could reacquaint my imagination with the picture I had of Aaron in my mind. Instead, I listen to his run-down on recent game changes, relieved we’re avoiding any personal talk. Tyler catches wind of the conversation and interjects. A few minutes later I back out of the conversation—literally stepping backwards, wanting out of Thor’s magnetic, god-like aura. Aaron’s.
“Ouch!” Erin drags her foot from beneath my boot. “Those heels hurt. I’m only wearing sneakers.”
“Sorry.” I turn away from the guys to chat to her. “Do you want to take a look around? Did Cole head to his panel yet?”
Oblivious to my discomfort, she perks up. “Sure! The stalls, please. People are wearing fluffy cat ears. How cute! I could find blue ones to match my dress.”
Plunging back into the crowds, I’m dizzied by the noise and people pushed together almost to capacity as we squeeze through to the stall Erin spotted. She enthuses over the bowl of felt ears designed to clip into hair, amongst the imported Japanese toys and jewellery. I absentmindedly sort through a selection of food-shaped earrings as she pushes around in the bowl.
My body remains a shaking mess from the shock of seeing Aaron, and every conversation we’ve had tumbles into my head. I spoke to him about deeper thoughts than I do others, especially guys, and never realised I was talking to somebody who looked like him.
There is absolutely no way I’ll be able to play the game without picturing those eyes, imagining what he’s wearing… I’ve heard the guys joke they sit around in nothing but their briefs when they play, and that really isn’t an image of Aaron my poor, neglected hormones could deal with.
“Just plain blue is boring, right?” She holds up an ear against her brown hair.
&nbs
p; “I think the zebra-striped ones are cool.”
The guy behind the stall nods at me. “Fringe Realms Elf costume, huh? You entering the cosplay?”
I pick at an imaginary lint on my robe. “Don’t think so.”
“You look freaking awesome, though.” His appraisal amuses me, focusing more on the costume’s detail than what’s beneath.
“I’m not keen on standing on stage.” People staring… centre of attention.
“Hey, this whole venue is a stage right now.” He tips his chin at a group huddled together in a precious space carved out amongst the crowd. Non-costumed girls take selfies of themselves with two Star Wars Storm Troopers.
“You can’t see their faces though.” I say.
“People are gonna want your picture,” he says with a grin. “Start with me.”
He drags his phone from his pocket and hands it to Erin who stares back, holding purple and yellow striped ears in her hand. “Oh. Okay.”
And then I pose for my day’s first photograph, unpleasant memories from last year sneaking in. Yes, he’s right, I stand out in the crowds due to my costume’s intricacy, but the numbers cosplaying grows each year and dilutes the focus. I hope.
The official cosplay competitions gain the most attention, and entering that is out for me. Public scrutiny? No thanks.
“What does the cosplay winner get?” asks Erin as she hands back the phone.
“Trip to the Australian finals over East. The Aussie champion heads to the US for the big finals. Then, money for the overall winners, I think.”
“Oh, wow! You should totally enter, Evie!” Erin nudges me.
“I haven’t signed up. I’m not a professional. Have you seen some of these people?” I indicated a Troll Warrior, complete with lifelike latex face and even more realistic-looking sword. He’s wearing more than a costume—he has the self-assured attitude and he’s in character, loving every moment and reaction. A few smaller children stand and stare, one brave enough to challenge him to a duel with his own, wooden sword, which the troll rises to with gentle role play.
“There’re a lot of competitive people here,” says Erin, clipping her ears onto her head as we wander on. People sit at tables in a nearby stall and I crane my look to see what their competition is. Cards.
“Are you surprised when we’re all playing competitive games?” I grab her arm. “Hang on.” A booth on the edge of the vast hall is festooned with a banner for the game, and inside tables are lined with items normally only available to the US. Even our store can’t stock these.
The replica of my Staff of Malourn is displayed high on the booth wall. The exquisite detail carved into the staff, the gem set into the top is impressive, unlike my poor re-creation in my hand.
But nothing compares to the gleaming, intricately carved metal hilt and curve of the replica sword beneath. Felborne. Forget Mythic level, this a Fabled item is the most sought after in game, and so far only three from tens of thousands of players have acquired the item. Even Thorsday doesn’t possess this one.
A girl with a lanyard watches us, game t-shirt stretching across her chest and cyan hair pulled away from her face in a ponytail.
“Pretty amazing, huh?”
“And expensive, I’ll bet,” I reply.
She nods. “Someone already bought the sword.”
“Wow. Really?”
“Yeah. A cool five hundred bucks. Nice to have that kind of cash.”
My spirits sink—the coveted staff won’t be much cheaper; no addition to my memorabilia collection today. Well, apart from the small figurine version, lookalike, of my character. I pick the Elf up and hold it next to my face. “Hey, Erin. Can you see now?”
“It’s you!” She takes the figure from me.
“Pretty awesome costume, mate,” says the girl and nods her head. “Jeans and shirt for me this year,” she says with a sigh.
Another customer in the booth interrupts our conversation, asking about nearby books and I set the figure back down. “I’ll be back for this later,” I say.
Erin hooks her arm through mine. “I want to show Cole my ears! Come on.”
Trepidation grows at subjecting myself to Thor’s presence again. My almost telepathic friend purses her lips at me. “What do you think of your guild person from Sydney?”
“Don’t know, not spoken to him really.”
“He’s bloody hot! I thought all gamers looked like Tyler and Cole.”
I’m about to respond that Cole could be added into the ‘hot’ category, and Tyler has a certain something he could play up with girls if he bothered, but on both counts decide against saying. “Aaron’s a surprise, that’s for sure.”
“He’s the one who annoys you, isn’t he?”
“Mmm. We’re starting to get along better.”
She nudges me. “Ooh! Well enough to get along in person?”
I screw my face up at her less-than-subtle emphasis on ‘get along’. “Sure, Erin. But not like that.”
“Uh huh. I spotted how you looked at each other.”
“We didn’t look at each other in any way apart from checking out what we really look like.”
“Exactly! Checking each other out.” Erin shakes her head. “And I think you’re both interested in what you look like.”
“Leave it,” I say in a low voice. “Yes, he’s bloody hot, as you put it, but Aaron’s here for one weekend and then we’re back to normal, in the game. I don’t know the guy, and I don’t think he wants to step outside who he is in the game.”
“We shall see.” The smug, knowing look accompanies her words. “He’s already ten levels above Marshall.”
“You’re trying gaming speak now, Erin?” I ask with a laugh. “Going to create an account and ‘own some noobs’?”
“Huh?”
I respond with the smug smile she gave me.
“Well, all I’m saying is you could always just try the demo version.” Erin pokes her tongue into her cheek. “Because I reckon he’ll be happy to oblige.”
The walk back to where we left the guys is interrupted by people wanting to pose for photos with me, and after a few shots I relax further into my role, allowing the confident Sinestre to take over the self-conscious Evie. I stride taller, owning my height and throwing challenging looks at anybody whose interest goes beyond my costume to what’s beneath.
Tyler, Aaron, and Seb remain in the same spot, empty pizza box next to them on the table, and I catch the conversation as I approach. Still talking about raiding.
“Where’s Cole?” asks Erin.
“He went to the manga lounge because he was too late for the Doctor Who panel.”
She pouts. “He came here for the day and is reading comics?”
“I’m sure if you tell him to stop, he will,” says Tyler with a smirk.
“What does that mean?” she says.
“Nothing. The Doctor always finds his TARDIS. Can’t live without her.”
Her mouth purses at his term. Has she seen enough Doctor Who to see her costume as more than a pretty dress?
As soon as the conversation veers away from the game, Aaron pulls out his phone and switches his attention to the screen. Trying not to, and doomed to failure, I check him out just in case I was mistaken the first time and he isn’t as god-like as his name.
He is.
The shining understanding in his eyes when he catches me in the act doesn’t help. I gesture at his phone. “I was just uh…” The familiar blue and yellow shines back from the screen. “That’s the game app. Are you trading?”
He clicks the phone off and grins. “I have a business to maintain.”
“I hope you’re not elbowing your way into my market.”
He cocks a brow. “Small fry. I have a character I use to buy up most of the ore and linen you sell and I know what to make with the materials that sells better.”
“Oh? What? You cheeky…”
He taps his nose. “Trade secrets, Sin.”
“Evie,”
I say.
He slowly pushes his phone into a pocket, eyes on mine the whole time. I can’t hold the intensity, or the weirdness of looking at a man I know well but not at all. In them I see what I don’t want to. Mutual attraction.
No alcohol at this party tonight, Evie.
Not one drop.
“You’re not Evie to me, though.” He points at my ears and wig. “Not dressed like that. I don’t even know what your natural hair colour is.”
“If you see me without my clothes on, will I be Evie then…” I halt, the awareness flooding red in my cheeks. “I mean without my costume. Shit. I don’t mean I’m going to get naked for you. Oh crap.” And with that, confident Sinestre disintegrates back to a mortified Evie.
Aaron’s mouth tugs up at one corner, and please God don’t let him be picturing me naked. “Clothed or naked, you’re still Sin.”
My name. When I created my character, I wanted to call her Sinister because the word matches my dark-hearted character’s class. The name was taken so I went with Sinestre instead, as the closest I could get. It’s customary to abbreviate our names in the guild, so the real world connotation isn’t behind my character’s shortened name.
But hearing the word from Aaron’s mouth, only one sin comes to mind.
10
“Next year, organise yourself and sign up,” says Tyler, pointing at the latest cosplayer striking poses on stage. The troll we saw earlier throws himself further into his role and I smile at the dedication of those we’ve seen. Seated near the back, midway along a row, I’m squashed between Aaron and Erin. Unfortunately, his large frame spills across to my seat and I spend ten distracted minutes debating whether I should allow our legs to touch, or if that’s inappropriate, or if it would send the wrong signal, or if… shut the hell up, Evie. Crossing my legs away from him isn’t an option in this costume, the split in the robe would reveal way too much leg and he might think it’s deliberate.
Will you stop bloody overthinking everything?
Five minutes of my knee touching his and the accompanying arousal, and I give in, crossing my legs. Even then, the hyperawareness and strange energy lingering between us doesn’t stop. Aaron has to change for the party, we all will, and with that he’ll leave his embodiment of my girlish fantasy—and my not so-girlish reaction—behind. Then I’ll calm down. Surely.
End Game: A Gamer Romance Page 6
