Stud
Page 8
Mick barked out a laugh. “Nice.”
I looked it up. “Starkad was a mighty Norse warrior.”
“With a big dick.”
Holding in a laugh, I scanned Wikipedia. “It doesn’t say.”
“It’s all in the subtext. I bet he was hell on the shield maidens.”
“He killed two that I can see.”
“So he was a…”
“Don’t say it.”
“…a lady killer.”
I groaned. “Yeah, and I bet he killed them with his big dick.” I swung my hand like I was using a mace.
“Well, you know in France the little death means…”
“We’re not in France. We’re in Scandinavia.” I pointed at the screen. “You can stop bragging about your dick and start killing wolves if you want to level up.”
“It’s not bragging if you can back it up, Yrsa.”
My gaze dropped to his lap. He wasn’t bragging, I knew from experience. There were a lot of things we didn’t get to do. I never went down on him. We never fucked in a bed. Or on a couch. I cleared my throat. No more thoughts like that. We had a business relationship now. At least for the next year.
“I still don’t understand why I can’t be Mick and you can’t be Terri in this game.”
“Well, ‘Terri the Viking’ aside, there are probably a million Micks and Terris out there. Then we’d be Mick554 or Terri222 and that just breaks you out of character.”
“I know you’re talking English, but your words don’t make any sense.”
“I don’t like giving out my real name. I mean the servers are secure and there aren’t any last names, but still…” I shrugged. “It breaks me out of character. If I’m playing a Greek merchant or a Viking voyager, I want to get in character. Yrsa could have been a Viking. Terri222 is me.”
It was weird having him here in my space. Even weirder that it was almost cool. The sexual tension was still there. I caught the looks he gave me out of the corner of his eye and my fingers itched to feel his muscles through the soft blue jeans he wore.
“What do you mean, get in character?” he asked.
“World of Legends is a game played on multiple levels. At its most basic, you’re playing a videogame. Pow, pow, kill the bad guys.” I made finger guns at him and pretended to shoot him. “It’s also a strategy game, because you’re trying to build your guild and house so they can fight other guilds, while also defending your land. Not to mention, it’s political, where you have to join different factions and do quests to raise your reputation so you can call on favors when you need to.”
“This sounds too much like work,” he groaned.
I ignored him. “And above all that, you’re pretending to be Starkad the Norse warrior. Like right now, you’re just Mick with a beer, jamming buttons.”
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, standing up to get another Corona.
“Nothing. Lots of people play like that. But remember back when you were a kid and you played cops and robbers?”
He snorted. “No. We played shut up, your mother’s hung over.”
I winced.
“Didn’t you and Simon ever pretend to be superheroes or something?”
“It was all so long ago. I can’t remember a time that Simon and I weren’t at each other’s throats. You wouldn’t understand that, would you?” Mick leaned back in his chair. “You and your brother are tight.” For a moment, his eyes were vulnerable. But then he blinked and the sarcastic expression he always wore on his face was back.
“Yeah, he’s my best friend.” A twinge of sympathy softened my feelings for Mick. “I couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Billy didn’t have my back.”
“I couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Simon didn’t want to stab me in mine.”
“What happened?”
Slinging back another swallow of beer, Mick shrugged. “I can tell you a lot of psychobabble that we were competing for our parents’ love and attention. But we both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Children were better seen and not heard, and only then during the proper social hours and then whisked away back to the nursery or the playroom.”
“It sounds lonely,” I said.
“Nah, we had tutors and nannies. Best of all, my grandfather was thrilled to take us for the weekend. He started the Wentworth Agency. It was all very Mad Men still back in the nineties. Simon and I were enthralled by the fast-paced glamour of it.”
“Did your grandfather have you sharpening pencils and emptying trash?”
Mick grinned. “And when we were teenagers, we worked in the mailroom. But he also let us sit in on meetings if we were quiet. When we were smaller, we’d pretend to draw ads for the products he was representing. When I was ten, I had a great campaign plan for the weight-loss drug fen-phen. But then the FDA stepped in and that was the end of my marketing career—at least until high school.”
“You win some, you lose some.”
“Simon, on the other hand, brought my grandfather’s attention to Harry Potter—which had just been published—and the two of them were able to jump on the wizard bandwagon together. So that was their thing. They would dress up every Halloween or before each book launch. My grandfather died before the last book came out. Simon still hasn’t read it.”
“Did you?”
“I rented the movies. Dumbledore reminds me of my grandfather a bit, but I think that’s the nostalgia talking.”
“How did he die?”
“Dumbledore?”
“Your grandfather,” I said.
“Cancer.”
“Fuck cancer,” I said bitterly.
“Yeah.” He clinked beer bottles with me. “Fuck cancer. Is that what happened to your parents?”
“Car accident.” I wouldn’t be able to get more than that out of my tight throat. As it was, I was blinking fast to stave off the tears. “But everyone knows someone who has died of cancer.”
“I’m sorry. Sorry for being such a drag.”
“It’s fine.” I gave up and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “It happened so suddenly and unexpectedly. Billy was a rock. He handled everything. He took care of me when I almost quit college in grief. So it’s only fair that I take care of him now.”
“It’s good that you’re so close. That you were friends as kids.”
“Billy and I always played nice—except he trash-talks something fierce in Parcheesi and UNO for some reason.”
“It sounds like playing games was a big part of your life growing up,” Mick said, staring into his beer.
“Yeah, we had family game night after supper a few times a week. We did puzzles on Sundays and videogames were only for Friday and Saturday nights.”
“You rebel, you. Playing on a Wednesday.”
“I’m an adult now. I make the rules.”
“What rules do you have?” He smiled.
“When you’re in the game”—I pointed at the screen—“you don’t break character. Real life gets put aside. When you play, you are the Viking. You aren’t a marketing exec. You can’t tell me that you never wanted to escape from your responsibilities.”
“I usually do that in a bar or a club.”
“This is just like that, only you’re not paying a ridiculous cover and being overcharged for watered-down drinks.”
“There are other perks.” Mick winked at me.
He had me there. By the time the pizza got here, I had set him up on the same server my brother and our guild were on. If he was nice to me, I might also sponsor him to join the guild. But after giving him a quick lesson on where everything was and what everything does, Mick’s eyes were glassing over.
As I was grabbing the wine and some paper plates, my computer dinged.
“Who’s Maeva and why did it notify you when she came online?”
“Oh, her.” I handed him two slices of pizza and a wineglass. “She’s my brother’s lover. I just want to know when she’s online so I can stay clear of where Billy is in
the game.” And it explained why Billy wasn’t all over Mick when he came to the door. He was waiting for Maeva, the shield maiden, to come online.
“Lover? Not girlfriend?”
“I don’t think they’ve ever met in real life.”
“What? Then how can they be lovers?” he asked and took a big bite of pizza.
“Because they cyber.”
He chewed and raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Sex,” I said, and he almost choked. “Yeah, there’s role playing in these games and then there is role playing.”
“Wait,” he said after he got the pizza down. “There’s a way your characters can have sex?” He immediately began shucking off his clothes. “I can’t get my underwear off.”
“Do me a favor and type /dance.”
“Okay, why? Why am I doing that?” His toon was gyrating wildly and shaking his pixelated hips.
“If you’re going to strip down to your skivvies in the middle of the town, you need to dance,” I said.
“Someone just opened up a trade window.”
I peeked over. “A gold? Good for you.” I hit the Accept button. “Now type /kiss.”
A loud smooching sound came over the speakers as his dancing, hunky character blew a kiss at his benefactor. Benefactorix?
A private-chat bubble came up.
HEY SEXY, DO YOU WANT TO BE MY PERSONAL SLAVE?
“What the hell?” Mick said, almost dropping the wine I was pouring for him. “I thought this was a kid’s game.”
“It’s rated M for mature.” I settled down with my own glass of wine to watch the show.
“What do I do?” he asked.
“What do you want to do?” I countered and almost choked on my wine when his eyes darkened and fell to my chest.
“I don’t want to be her slave.”
Did I imagine the emphasis he put on the word “her”?
“Then let her down nicely.”
“I typed in ‘not tonight.’ ”
I laughed. “Keeping your options open?”
“Is it always like that?”
“You’re the one who took your clothes off,” I pointed out. “It’s worse as a woman, sometimes. Normally, I keep the chat off.”
“So what would have happened if I said yes?”
“She’d probably take you back to the inn and request a private room where you could chat. Then it’s like phone sex, only you type one-handed, if you get my meaning.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” he said.
“The brain is the biggest erogenous zone in the body.”
“Speak for yourself.”
I licked my lips and glanced at his jeans again. I couldn’t help myself. They fit his body snugly, outlining every muscle and bulge. I drank more wine before realizing I probably should eat something before I did something we’d both regret in the morning.
“Have you ever done it?” he asked, inclining his head to the computer.
“You have to be careful. You don’t know if the person on the other end is a kid or not. So, no, I don’t want to risk getting off with a horny teenager. You can usually tell by spelling and word choices. But not always. There are some people who play the game completely in character, archaic language and all. Different strokes, so to speak.” I nibbled on the pizza crust.
“Why not just go out to the bar and pick up someone?” Mick asked.
“Lots of reasons. One, fantasy is always better than reality.”
“Not always,” he said with another smoldering look.
Oh, my.
More wine. “In the case of my brother, he can’t go out to bars and pick up pretty young things anymore. His health won’t allow it. So if this is how he socializes and has fun, who am I to judge? It’s better than him being alone.”
Mick put the laptop aside and faced me on the couch. “Tell me about your brother. Was he always sick?”
Forcing myself to slow down on the wine, I picked up the slice of pizza and chewed for a bit. “No. It came on all of a sudden about two years ago, steadily getting worse. We’re waiting to see if he gets into a new medicine-and-therapy trial that the Montefiore Hospital in the Bronx is offering. It’s probably not a cure. There isn’t one that we know of. It’s like ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease, you know?”
Mick nodded. “Fuck that too.”
“Amen.” I clinked my wineglass to his. “But this new therapy could reduce the rate his muscles are atrophying. It could give him years of mobility. Of course, it could also be a big fucking waste of time too. We can hope, though, right?”
More wine.
“What happens if he doesn’t get into the trial?”
“We continue on until the next one.” I drained the glass. “But he’ll get in. I know he will.” I had to change the subject or I’d start panicking that we hadn’t heard anything yet. The trial wasn’t supposed to start for another month, so there still was time.
We went back to the game as we demolished the pizza and the rest of the bottle of wine. Siri picked a good bottle of vino. I ran Mick through the starting world that introduced him to how the commerce, battle, and trade went.
“This is a bit of a grind,” he said, getting up to stretch. “I feel like I’m back in college cramming for an exam.”
“It gets more fun once you’re established. Like for me, I qualify for all the extras Lemmingware put in because my Viking is level sixty. Monday, I’ll do this all again for a new character from the Egyptian expansion Lemmingware gave you.”
“Ugh, you mean I have to do this all again to see the new stuff?” He made a face and I had to laugh.
“It’s supposed to be a game,” I said. “If you don’t like it, don’t do it. That’s what you hired nerds like me for.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Mick grimaced. His Henley shirt pulled up and I could see a muscled band of his abs. Wow. I looked back to my screen before he caught me ogling him.
“There’s still a few more Coronas left,” he said. “Want one?”
“Why not? I’m on the late shift at the Beanery tomorrow.” I accepted the bottle and clinked it against his. I met his eyes and saw a mocking smile. Oh, yeah, last time I was on the late shift, it was pretty memorable. Too bad that was in the past.
“Why are you still working there?” Mick slumped back into the couch and closed his laptop. I guess we were done for the night. Or at least, he was.
“The extra money is always nice. Besides, I want to keep on Elaine’s good side. Does the new girl make coffee as good as I do?”
“How would I know? I don’t drink it.”
“Well, has Janet complained?”
“Janet always complains.” He drank some beer. “But I haven’t heard her bitch about the coffee.”
“What about the sandwiches?”
“Huh?”
“You buy her breakfast and lunch. I was wondering if the sandwich girl was hot.”
“He’s not my type.” Mick grinned. “You want me to buy you lunch too?”
“I can buy my own lunch.” I stuck out my tongue at him.
“Don’t stick it out unless you plan to use it,” he warned, giving me a challenging look.
And this is how I usually got in trouble. Professional, I reminded myself. Even if I was wearing bunny slippers and PJs. “So what would you normally be doing on Friday night?”
“Depends on what clients I had. Tonight, if Jim hadn’t sent over the drive with the pre-beta release on it via messenger, I would have headed out to Club Martini or some other party. Someone is always hosting one.”
“And what would you do there?”
“The usual. Drink. Eat. Hang out.”
“Get laid?” I challenged. So much for being professional.
There was that smoky look in his eyes again. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“How much I drank. What my options were. I just want to fuck.”
I shivered. Me too. Was I imagining the offer in his dark eyes? Not by a lon
g shot.
“I’m not looking for a girlfriend.”
“So you’ve said. Just out of curiosity, why not?”
“It’s messy.”
“Not if you’ve got tissues,” I joked.
“The emotional crap. I just don’t want to deal with it. I deal with enough of that shit at work with my family.”
“What are they like?”
Mick rolled his eyes. “They’re a handful. You’ve met my brother.”
I smiled. “I like Simon. He’s nice.”
“His wife and two kids think so too.”
“He’s married?” I frowned, trying to remember if he wore a wedding ring.
“Seven years. Might not make it to eight the way he’s going.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Stay away from him,” Mick said.
“I get it. No fraternization in the office. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m there to do a job, remember?”
“How can I forget?” He grunted. “Do you and Curtis talk a lot?”
“Every day. He’s a little annoyed at me right now because I keep harping on him for the patch that has all the cool stuff he wants us to roll out. I guess that’s what’s in the version Lemmingware gave you.”
Mick shrugged. “It’s a whole new world for me.”
“Literally.” I winked.
It earned me a smirk. “I get how to market and sell in the real world. This virtual world, it’s a little different.”
“That’s what you have me for.”
He gave me a broody look that sent shivers up my spine. I’d really like to climb in his lap and kiss him. For a terrifying moment, I thought I said that aloud. But after a moment, he looked away and I could breathe again.
“So Billy plays World of Legends too?”
“Yeah,” I said a little shakily. I was relieved to have his attention back on the game. “Or Hauk, if you want to look him up when you’re playing.”
“So Hauk and Maeva get together every night and talk dirty to each other?”
I made a face. “I’d rather not think about it. He is my brother after all.”
“Yeah, brothers having sex isn’t a great topic of conversation.” Mick pierced me with a possessive glare. “I better not find you and Simon in a compromising position.”