“It’s four o’clock,” he said. “When do you have to be back in the lab?”
“By seven. I have time.”
“Well, considering we keep getting interrupted, I think it’s plausible we might go searching for more privacy elsewhere.”
“Couch surfing, perhaps?” She had no idea why Frank had mentioned that—surely Sin had this room, and there was no way he could play as often as he did if he just lived on people’s couches. It wasn’t like he could play with a damn laptop. Or pathetic Wi-Fi. This seemed like a good chance to twist those words into something more positive.
It didn’t work. His face darkened, a wall came up, and he didn’t respond to the comment. “Good enough excuse to escape from these assholes early. But that means we have to go looking for Janet, my dreaded soon-to-be stepmother.”
“Soon to be? When is the wedding?”
“Uh, that’s the wedding at the end of the month. The other date.”
Oh. That made a certain sense. Had to be a painful occasion, and having a companion for the evening chosen for him by these people would probably make it even more miserable. But holy shit. “I can see why you want to get away from them.”
“Get away?”
“In the game.”
“Oh. Yeah. I guess that is what I’m doing.”
“They’re pretty awful.”
He nodded, his eyes distant.
“I can only assume you take after your mom.” Was she flirting now? What the actual fuck, Violet, get yourself together.
He shrugged. “I try not to.” His face was blank, but his voice was dark with hidden emotion.
How had he ended up with his dad? That might have something to do with his mother’s brand of awfulness. She should not drill further. He’d said he was a private person. If that was the case, all this exposure of family stupidity probably hurt. A lot.
“We can go or stay. I’m up for whatever you want.”
He brightened at her supportive tone, then snickered and glanced down at the bed below them. “The things you wish girls would say in your bed, and when they do…”
Thankfully, he was just joking. She hoped. “Your dad would probably barge in. I don’t think we need to take our show quite that far.”
He sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“The show?”
“The Janet. Unless you want more Mortal Kombat. I will not resist you.”
“Better to rip off the Band-Aid than pull it slowly, don’t you think?”
He nodded. They pulled on their shoes, straightened themselves, retrieved their now-lukewarm teas, and headed downstairs again, hand in hand. Strange, that was starting to feel… natural. Get it together, girl.
He pulled her toward a small group standing in a family room that had been decorated with cutouts of pineapples, pigs, and hibiscus flowers. Apparently this barbecue was Hawaiian themed. Who made January barbecues Hawaiian? Shouldn’t it be a luau then? But clearly there was fucking coleslaw, cornbread, and ribs on that buffet table. No distinction between Maui and Mississippi apparently.
One woman’s elegant green eyes pierced her through the crowd. Violet stared back at a model of feminine perfection, at least in some people’s estimation—blond bob, pearl necklace, slim figure except for, of course, an unbelievable pair of breasts framed by the deep unbuttoning of her white blouse. But the image was imperfect, flawed somehow in a way her brain could detect but not identify, like a hologram that twitched and revealed its falseness every moment or two. Was it a fake expression? Too much plastic surgery? Everything about this woman was carefully controlled and exquisite, but it only screamed monster to Violet.
“Who’s… this, Jack?” said a sweet, calm voice. Huh. She had forgotten his real name was Jack.
“Janet, this is my girlfriend, Violet. She’s a PhD candidate at—”
“I’m Janet, Jack’s stepmother,” she cooed, holding out a hand for Violet to shake.
Did they always cut him off? Did he ever get a word out? She hesitated too long but saw no way to resist. She shook the woman’s hand. The violence of the squeeze, almost threatening, didn’t surprise her.
“Nice to meet you,” Violet said as calmly as she could.
“What do you do, sweetheart?”
Vi failed to suppress a frown. Sweetheart? Such obvious manipulation, using the feminine to condescend and infantilize, to push her into a subservient role. Please. She wasn’t falling for that shit. She probably had less than ten words before they cut her off. Better make them count. “I’m researching lasers for applications in advanced weapons systems and defense.” Eh, eleven words.
Sin’s hand pulsed slightly in hers. He hadn’t known that, had he? Was that squeeze surprise or a warning?
“Weapons? Really?” Janet had gone still, like an android malfunctioning.
“Yes, I’m testing new material configurations to make more efficient, higher-quality beams that require less power. And what do you do, ma’am?” She winced inwardly at the sarcasm that dripped off the word. She was supposed to be winning them over as a girlfriend and a potential addition to the family, not flaying them alive. Sin’s hand had further tightened around hers.
But how could she resist? It wasn’t every day you had a chance to insult a robot.
“I’m a professor of Greek literature and philosophy at Ragsford.” Ah. The exclusive private liberal arts school up the street. Wait, hadn’t his dad just been insulting the “academic track”? “Are you also attending our fine—”
“Violet attends UDW, as I tried to tell you a few moments ago.”
“Oh, that’s a nice school too.” Her voice was drenched in pity.
Vi hid her scowl this time. She could never have afforded Ragsford as an undergrad. But fuck, it didn’t even have a physics program, much less a PhD program. Why the flying fuck would she even care about it? Damn, the robot-stepmother was getting under her skin.
“It is a nice school. I met Jack there years ago. I’m sure Ragsford is a wonderful place to have tenure,” Violet purred. Please let her not be tenured yet, please let her—
“I’m sure it will be,” Janet said with the slightest frown.
Jackpot! Sin’s hand pulsed again. What did those squeezes mean? Was he even doing them intentionally?
She followed Sin’s gaze to see his father approaching with a woman about their age. Dad’s intended match?
“Olivia, I want you to meet my fiancée, Janet. And you already met Jack. And this is Jack’s friend Violet.” Vi frowned. Figures he’d be good enough with names to control the introductions. Lucky she was only a pretend girlfriend or that comment would have really stung. The frowning was realistic, she supposed.
Olivia was in many ways everything Vi was not—petite, soft, wholesome, corn-fed. Blond, flat, freckled. At least her eyes didn’t scream “bitch” the way Janet’s did.
“Olivia is a sous chef at Le Mondeien, downtown,” Lawrence continued.
They all shook hands, and an awkward silence enveloped the group. Olivia’s eyes flicked to Jack’s hand in hers, and it didn’t seem lost on her that “friend” was perhaps the wrong label. Jack also had the correct boyfriend posture down, she realized, with his shoulders appropriately angled to slope toward hers, his far hand in his pocket, his frame turned in her direction. If he was inexperienced at playing this part, he had the look down.
“I haven’t been to Le Mondeien. What kind of food?” Vi asked Olivia. Direct engagement was always best in a conflict like this.
“Oh, Le Mondeien is such a dream restaurant. Chef Liam and the team are amazingly talented. Every Saturday our all vegan prix fixe is booked out for weeks. We specialize in locally grown, all natural, all whole and clean food—”
“Oh, how fascinating,” gushed Janet. “You work with local farms then? Rolling Acres? Anderson’s? Yasniki’s?”
“Why, yes. There’s about fifteen of them. We have to go a little farther north to get European-style butter from—”
Olivia blinked.
“I’m sure Chef Liam chooses his ingredients very carefully,” Violet offered.
“Yes, of course,” Olivia rallied. “Most of the menu is vegetarian, but Surfing Cow Dairy is fully humane, pasture raised, antibiotic-free—”
“Even so.” Janet folded her arms across her chest. “I would never put my own personal gluttony over the welfare of sweet animals, no matter how good the butter one could harvest from them was.”
Olivia glanced from Lawrence, to Jack, then to Violet for support. Vi was tempted to mutter something like, “Jack loves butter. And foreign cheese. And walrus meat flown in from the South Pole.” But Olivia seemed more of an innocent here than the others, if a little dogmatic, and less deserving of Vi’s wrath.
Instead, she glanced pointedly at the heaping crock of barbecue pork ribs in its embarrassing Hawaiian getup and then back to Olivia, who smiled slightly and glanced down at her shoes.
An awkward silence settled over the group. Poor Olivia didn’t seem so bad. But jeez, this was how they treated the girl they wanted Jack to date? To marry?
Wait. When had she started to think of him as Jack?
“Violet was just telling me she wants to be a weapons designer or something,” Janet said, looking to Lawrence. “Is that right?”
Oh, great. Next target.
Olivia’s eyes shot up. “Don’t you worry about the potential use of your work to harm people?”
Girl was about as earnest and tactful as a rodeo bull let loose in an antique mall. Vi wondered if mentioning DOTA would make Olivia space out enough to be quiet. But it was a fair question, if violently impolite. “I do think about that, yes. But weapons have served many purposes in history, both good and bad. Including leveling the playing field in women’s self-defense.” They’d also been the love of her mother’s life. And the method of her death, in the end. But she wasn’t sharing that with any of them.
“I’m sure we won’t be—” Janet started.
Oh, no, she was not going to tangle with a robot over assault on women. She raised her voice and kept talking. “Also, more powerful lasers enable all kinds of new scientific research in particle interactions and natural behavior. Like the direct observation of photosynthesis.” She paused. They all had that when-will-she-stop-blathering look, but Janet had given up momentarily. “And laser-weapon defense systems can shoot incoming missiles in the air and neutralize them, something previously thought impossible. So what I mean is, they can save lives too.”
That was still a little bit over all their heads, but Olivia’s eyebrows fell to a more thoughtful expression. She didn’t seem nearly as vapid as Jack thought she was.
“Do you expect you’ll continue that work when you have a family someday?” Janet asked sweetly. The violence of the verbal onslaught increased. The robot meant business. “I think Jack deserves a woman who can be fully devoted to him and the commitments of a family.”
“I think Jack deserves whatever he damn well pleases,” Violet said back, her tone just as cloyingly sweet, “but especially a healthy relationship in which both parties seek their personal fulfillment, wherever that comes from.”
Jack coughed—or pretended to—covering what looked like a smile with his hand.
Janet was malfunctioning again. True, if Violet were really serious about this relationship, she probably wouldn’t have the balls to spit all that out to a potential future relative. Or even say “damn.” She’d probably have taken a defensive position like, “I’ll see when I get there.” Fuck that. Telling the robot the truth felt great, and so did the newly intense pressure from Jack’s fingers around hers.
“That sounds nice in theory, dear,” Lawrence cut in, picking up for the slack-jawed Janet. “Good luck with that when you get there.”
Oh, God. How was she not going to roll her eyes at that one?
“Maybe you could learn a little bit from her theories.” Jack’s voice was quiet and cold, and it sent a shiver through her but not the good kind. She winced.
Lawrence folded his arms across his chest. “Maybe you could learn a little bit from a day of honest work.”
They stared each other down for a moment, scowling. Violet had a feeling standoffs between them were not unusual.
“Maybe Mom wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t—”
Oh, no. Had she struck some kind of nerve? She had to stop this.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a disappointment, you lazy, slacking, talentless—”
“Talentless?” she muttered under her breath, making a noise of disgust. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Lawrence glared at her now, his jaw tense. Had he heard her? Maybe she’d muttered that louder than she’d thought.
She raised her own eyebrows at Jack. He was eying her. Actually… they all were.
“Pardon me, young lady?”
There they went with the “young lady” crap again. She decided not to point out that that shit didn’t work on her. Yet. She knew how to play the polite-society game at least as well as they did. Better, actually. She cleared her throat. “I assure you that Jack is very talented at his chosen profession.” There, she’d kept it sweet and polite. No “eat shit and die, you asshole” from her. Yet.
“Now who’s kidding who?” Lawrence said in the tone of an overconfident professor. Or what had Jack said he was? Some high-powered, overpaid business consultant? That sounded about right.
“Please. Case in point, there’s like a hundred people in the world with that hoodie,” she said, jerking a thumb at Jack’s shoulder.
“This is from before they expanded it,” he muttered.
“Oh, right. Fifty people in the world, then.”
Jack looked like he was trying hard not to smirk. “And before we start throwing things, I think we should probably leave. That’s quite enough for today. Uh, nice to see you again, Olivia.”
“You, too!” Olivia exclaimed, waving wildly. “And nice to meet you, Violet!”
Janet and his father both opened their mouths, looking to each other as if searching for a way to stop their exit, but Violet took the hint and made immediately for the door, dragging Jack behind her. Normally she would say goodbye herself, but fuck these people.
The door slammed behind them. “Oh, shit, should we be leaving together?” she said softly. “Like, in the same car, given our cover story?”
He winced. “Damn. I didn’t think that far into the plan. You’re right. I got a ride here. Would you mind dropping me off at Riola’s?”
“Or I can take you to your place. Or whatever.”
“Or I can buy you a coffee to persuade you not to sue me for harassment on the job.”
Snickering, she clicked the car doors open and got in, and he followed. She slammed her door with satisfaction and a bit of pent-up rage. She stabbed a finger at the stupid mansion, excited to drive away and never return. “Dude! Fuck those people. How do you deal with that shit?” She turned the key in the ignition as he buckled his seat belt.
He shrugged, although he had a small, pleased smile on his face. “You dealt with them brilliantly. I don’t deal with it as well as I probably should, honestly. Mostly I use avoidance. Or alcohol and a punching bag.”
Her eyes widened. That sounded… tortured. No wonder he was such a dick sometimes.
“Well, fuck them,” she said, pounding a fist on the steering wheel. “Fuck their Ragsford Greek literature. And fuck their Hawaiian-barbecue-frat-party-in-their-fifties-in-January bullshit. Grow up.”
He was grinning now, unguarded in a way she’d never seen before. He liked hearing her say that, didn’t he? It made her want to continue. “Fuck the family business, fuck couch surfing, and fuck butter too. Oh, and fuck Call of Duty. And especially fuck what ‘normal’ people do for fun.” She didn’t think the folks where she grew up would agree with Lawrence on what counted a
s “normal” fun activities. Oh, alcohol was often involved, but she couldn’t picture that asshole cow tipping, telling stories around bonfires, or shooting at the moon.
He outright chuckled. “Oh, Call of Duty isn’t so bad.”
“I know, but that was a sweet TV they were hogging.”
“It’s true.” He paused, staring out the window as she put the car in gear and pulled out onto the street. “I don’t know how they still think there is such a thing as normal.”
“A bizarre illusion, I agree.”
“What’s normal about only being able to have fun with the aid of liquid sedatives?”
“Didn’t you just say something about alcohol and a punching bag?” A mental image she did not regret having conjured up.
“Yes. I’m trying to stick more to the punching bag alone these days.” He shrugged. “Where do these normal people live? Certainly not here. What do they do for fun? Not get smashed, please tell me that’s not it.”
“Maybe these mythical creatures watch television or something. Go out to restaurants. But I don’t think that’s ‘normal’ so much as it is ‘common.’ ”
“I pretty much only play games.”
“Me too,” she said, nodding. “Although if you get paid to do that, is it still fun?”
“Then it’s even more fun.”
She snickered at his cocky tone. “Well, whatever. Video games are also a pretty common pastime, even if your family doesn’t know it.”
“True. What else do you do for fun? Are you one of these ‘normal’ people?”
The question seemed casual, but it caught her off guard. She stole a quick glance at him. He was still gazing out the far window, revealing nothing.
“Other than games?”
“Yeah.”
Odd. There was no explanation for why he would care about this. Perhaps to prepare for more elaborate ruses as this project went on? Maybe he was just making conversation, trying to forget about his awful family. “Well, I eat dark chocolate, for one. That’s pretty fucking fun. I’ve got a paper to finish and my defense to prepare for, but I wouldn’t put that in the fun category. Lab work can be fun. Hiking and camping, when I get the chance, which is hardly ever.” It’d been too long since she’d gone with her dad. Maybe when it was warm again, and her doctorate was finally over. “Oh, and I do tarot readings.”
Good Game: A Gamer Romance (Leveling Up In Love Book 1) Page 4
