Conventionally Yours (True Colors)

by Annabeth Albert

  “You want tacos for lunch?” As we finished putting the stuff in the car, Conrad gestured toward the place at the other end of the parking lot. “At least it’s right here, no need to go find something else, and it doesn’t look like some sort of fusion cuisine, so maybe it won’t drive you too crazy.”

  “Unlike you,” I muttered under my breath, but apparently not quietly enough because he grabbed my arm.

  “Hey. What’s your problem? You won. I made sure—”

  “I know. You think I wanted you to throw the game just to keep me happy?” I slammed the trunk harder than Black Jack deserved.

  “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds bad.”

  “Because it is.”

  “I just didn’t want to ruin things,” he mumbled, studying his scuffed sneakers, kicking a stray pebble on the asphalt.

  “Me either,” I admitted, leaning against the car. “I kept holding back my best stuff too. It was the most miserable game I’ve played.”

  “Other couples manage it. I see them all the time at the game store, waxing each other and talking trash and then going off to do that thing you don’t want me talking about in public.”

  “We’re a couple?” I squawked, both delighted and appalled. After our talk at the lake yesterday, I’d assumed I’d be lucky if Mr. Let’s-Not-Define-This was up for a series of repeats, let alone any sort of public acknowledgment. Couple sounded pretty close to definition to me.

  “Unless you wanted to be a hookup or a one-night stand. Which I was under the impression that you did not.” Conrad, King of Swagger, actually managed to look unsure of himself, which made the truth that much easier to spill.

  “I don’t want to be a hookup. Thought I was clear about that.” On that much at least I was clear. I might not get all of what I wanted, but I knew that I wanted as much as he was willing to give me. “But I’ve never…”

  “I know.” His smile seemed to have recovered some of his ordinary easiness, and he headed in the direction of the taco place, leaving me scrambling to catch up, as usual. “Me either, really. And I’m sure that you’re going to tell me there are rules and expectations—”

  “Aren’t there?”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “But maybe we can just keep winging it? Figure out the rules as we go.”

  “I’m not good at spontaneity.”

  “No kidding.” Pulling me behind a large cement pillar, he gave me a fast kiss on the cheek. “How about you try? And start with forgiving me for the crappy game.”

  “I can’t stay mad at you,” I admitted, which earned me another quick kiss. “Just don’t do that again. You could have won. I’d still want to…you know.”

  “I know. That-which-we-do-not-name. But that which we are damn good at. Better than gaming at least.” Laughing, he waggled his eyebrows at me. “Maybe eventually we’ll figure out how to play like normal.”

  Eventually. Normal. Two loaded words that conjured up a vision of a future where we were a couple, a real one, not just as shorthand for not-a-hookup, but a real one with a future filled with games and an endless stream of nights. A couple that had a normal to fall back on. And, man, I wanted that future more than I’d ever wanted anything, and that scared me, making me shiver despite the desert heat, and wonder what the heck I’d gotten myself into.

  * * *

  I remained off-kilter through our taco lunch, alternating between freaked out and happy beyond belief. Happy won out temporarily when we shared some spicy kisses in the car parked behind the gas station where we’d filled Black Jack’s always-almost-empty tank. With that fill-up, we were over halfway through the gas money, but I didn’t want to point that out to Conrad and add to his monetary stress.

  I was pretty sure he noticed anyway because he stayed quieter as we dipped down into Arizona, following the interstate for what was supposed to be the last two hours of our journey. But we hit road construction and a major traffic snarl almost as soon as we crossed the state line.

  Conrad was driving, and he kept fiddling with the stereo while making frustrated sighs at the line of cars in front of us. I wanted to ask him what exactly would happen in Vegas between us, what the plan was. He’d said we could figure things out as we went, which was all well and good, but I needed a strategy. Rules of some kind. Were we only a couple on the road? Only behind closed doors? Somehow I already knew he wasn’t going to be rushing to tell Payton about this latest development when we saw them at the convention. And nothing had changed in terms of either of our motivations to win the tournament.

  A good boyfriend, one worthy of the couple label, would root for their other person, even if it meant losing themselves. But I was clearly lacking some important boyfriend traits because I still wanted to win. I’d had another message from Mom asking if I’d come to any conclusions about what I wanted for my future. I figured “Kissing Conrad” didn’t count, so I’d answered only enough to let her know that I was still alive and ignored her real question.

  “Can you check and see what time the registration tables are open until?” Conrad drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m worried about missing our window to check in.”

  “We’ll get there. We’re almost to the Nevada border.” It was my turn to be the reassuring one, a role I usually sucked at. I fell back on what I was good at, logistics, finding out that the registration area was open later than we’d thought and updating Conrad on how far the highway was backed up. “We can do registration first, then check into the hotel after.”

  “Add a late dinner somewhere in there. I’ll feel better once we have our official tournament badges.”

  “Me too.”

  Las Vegas rose out of the endless desert like a glittering jewel, an ostentatious diamond, a stark contrast to the simple pleasures of the previous day, with the natural beauty of all those overlooks. After so many hours of desert and countryside, it was weird to be back in a decidedly urban area. And this was a metropolis on steroids, everything done on a grand scale, even the clogged highways.

  Finished with all those hours fighting the construction traffic, we finally found a parking garage near the convention center, only to have a lot more waiting ahead of us, with endless long lines at the registration area. Odyssey cosplayers jockeyed for space with families, dads in ironically geeky T-shirts, moms chasing excited tweens clutching deck bags. Groups of friends, guys our age, stood around the wide hallways of the massive convention center in big clumps, all different languages and ethnicities represented. I took a picture for my sisters of a group of female gamers, all in matching pink shirts that proclaimed “Ready to Lose?” Serious pro-player wannabes in dress clothes were right alongside actual pro players and internet celebrities, much bigger ones than us, slumming it in faded jeans and ball caps pulled low.

  “That guy has a quarter million subscribers,” I whispered urgently at Conrad, not pointing but wanting to.

  “Look.” Conrad nodded in the direction of four guys ahead of us in line in black “Gaymer” shirts with rainbow-shaded game controllers on the back. Two of them held hands, and they weren’t the only same-sex couple we’d seen. Two witch cosplayers in long velvet gowns kept kissing each other for pictures.

  “I can’t believe we’re really here.” I didn’t only mean Nevada, that we’d made the whole journey relatively unscathed, but also here. This place that had only existed in my most private of fantasies, the ones I hardly ever let myself have, the place deep inside me that had wanted Conrad all along and that couldn’t believe its luck.

  I wasn’t quite as bold as the “gaymer” contingent, didn’t want to risk Conrad pulling away if I reached for his hand, but I also didn’t flinch when he bumped shoulders with me.

  “Me either.” He grinned at me before the line moved, and he stepped back out of my personal space. I missed him already, even though he was still right b
eside me. I wasn’t ready for everything to change yet again.

  “Next.” A bored volunteer with a purple silk head scarf summoned us forward, and we produced our tickets. She frowned as she tried scanning them. “Hmm.”

  “What?” My voice almost cracked. We had not come all this way for our tickets to not work. We just hadn’t. The universe wouldn’t be that cruel.

  “Weird. It’s not scanning. Let me get someone else.”

  “It’s okay.” Conrad leaned in to whisper in my ear, his breath a warm tease that distracted me away from my rising panic.

  “What if—”

  “We’ll deal.” He shrugged, face impossible to read. “Hit the casinos or something.”

  Right as I was about to tell him what a horrible idea that was, the volunteer arrived back with a supervisor, an older man with a neck beard and an officious attitude, who examined our tickets closely.

  “These are promotional tickets. Comps. You have to input each number manually. Try again.”

  I held my breath, and next to me, I heard Conrad do the same, audibly sucking in air and holding it, tension rolling off him. He could pretend all he wanted, but I could tell how much he wanted this, how much he was counting on it.

  “Oh, there we go.” The woman smiled as her printer started spitting out papers, and she produced two badges in clear plastic lanyards. “Two tournament registrations plus convention badges. I’ve got your schedule for tomorrow. Rounds begin promptly, no exceptions, so it’s best to be ten to fifteen minutes early for each of your matches. A map is included with your schedule. Updated standings will be available late in the day tomorrow with elimination rounds starting Saturday. Finals on Sunday.”

  Need to make it to Saturday. Then Sunday. The enormity of being there hit me all at once, and Conrad had to nudge me to keep moving once we had all our paperwork. Open doors to the convention hall revealed vendors scrambling around, setting up booths for selling merchandise. The whole place had an air of anticipation—like the night before a big birthday. As we made our way out, we passed a number of informal groups playing Odyssey in the hallways sitting cross-legged, cards strewn around them on the red carpet. Conrad’s steps slowed as he kept glancing around, not trying to hide his people-watching.

  “Do you want to stay and find some people to play with?” I asked, even though unfamiliar in-person play groups were not my thing at all. I knew that socializing and playing with a lot of different people was a big part of the draw of the con for Conrad, though, and I didn’t want to be the one to hold him back.

  “Nah.” His mouth quirked, something soft in his eyes. “I’d rather get food with you. There will be plenty of games tomorrow—ones that actually count. Let’s have fun tonight. Just us.”

  I was so pleased that he’d choose hanging out with me over meeting new people that I almost forgot to be nervous over the coming seriousness of the competition. Happy as I was to be alone with Conrad, my back tensed with worry that maybe this would be our last chance to be just us. Everything seemed so simple when he put it in terms like that—just two guys who liked spending time together. And kissing. Which in his eyes made us a couple of sorts. But my brain kept trying to complicate everything. Stupid logistics mucking everything up.

  “Stop thinking,” Conrad ordered once we were out on the sidewalk.

  “Who said I’m thinking?”

  “I can feel you thinking. Stop it. Just have fun with me.” He grabbed my hand. “Please?”

  No way could I deny him anything, especially not when he made that goofy, pleading face. “I’ll try.”

  “Good.” He didn’t drop my hand as we made our way away from the convention center, toward the famous Las Vegas strip. The wide sidewalk was crowded with people, and holding hands was almost a necessity for keeping together, but I still thrilled at the connection. Casinos and huge hotels towered above us, but all my awareness was on him, on this once-in-a-lifetime moment.

  “So I’ve got an idea.” As we paused by a huge illuminated fountain, his eyes sparkled the way they always did before he did a particularly tricky play in the game.

  “Should I be afraid?”

  “Nah.” With his free hand, he dug in his pocket and came up with a fist full of quarters. “Let’s each do quarters in the next casino we pass. If it wins us anything, that’s what we eat with.”

  “We are not gambling for dinner money.” I tried to sound stern, but his enthusiasm was a little contagious.

  “Sure we are.” His grin was almost enough to make me willing to risk a public kiss. He was simply that appealing. “If it doesn’t pan out, we’re only out some quarters, and we can get something cheap. But if we win…”

  “Getting you to eat something other than tacos and biscuits would be nice,” I conceded, letting him lead me farther down the sidewalk. “Statistically speaking, though, the odds are not in our favor.”

  “There you go.” He slapped me on the back as we turned toward one of the mammoth glittering casino/hotel complexes. “You use that gorgeous brain of yours to logic out which machine is most likely to yield us steak money.”

  “Alright.” After we were in the casino, I took my responsibility seriously, studying the room filled with row after row of whirring, chirping, and blinking machines. “The problem is that these are rigged in seemingly random ways. If we were playing blackjack, say, I could better predict—”

  “You want to use the last of the gas money on blackjack?” His eyes went wide, and I couldn’t tell whether the idea shocked or excited him.

  “No! Pretty sure that’s the start of a terrible movie, not to mention a gross betrayal of Professor Tuttle’s trust.”

  “Fine. Be reasonable.” He walked up to one of the machines, which proclaimed itself “Super Lucky.” Not surprisingly, it ate Conrad’s first quarter, but he was not dissuaded.

  “And there are rules—we’re not playing beyond the quarters you brought in,” I warned him even as he pressed one into my hand.

  “You try.”

  I was similarly unlucky as him, although he did yield an extra spin on his next try. It didn’t take long for us to burn through most of his quarters, even with a few small wins of extra turns, and a thrilling five-buck win at one point.

  “God. I’ve been here all day. Stupid machine.” An older woman with hair so blond it was white slapped at the machine she’d been playing since we came in before moving on.

  “That one,” I said decisively to Conrad.

  “Really? You’re not thinking it’s a dud?” His head tilted, but he fed it a quarter anyway. Nothing. He held up his one remaining quarter. “Last try?”

  “Might as well.” I leaned in, so he could hear me better over the casino noise. “For what it’s worth, I’m okay with hot dogs and popcorn or something else supercheap. Hanging out with you…that’s the fun part.”

  “Aww. Offering to eat junk food and a compliment.” He put a hand on his heart. “Tell me I’m the better game player, and this might rank right up there as the most romantic moment of my life.”

  “Dork.”

  “You love it.”

  I did, but I wasn’t telling him that, because loving his antics was perilously close to loving him.

  “Logic would say I better not hate it if I want…that.” My lips were close enough to graze his ear and still I couldn’t say the word aloud. “Later.”

  “Hot dogs, popcorn, and a proposition? It’s a date.” He grinned at me as he dropped the last quarter in. Ching. Ching. Ching. Ching. The machine chimed like crazy, but no quarters spilled out like the machine had done when we won the five dollars. “Wait. Why is it printing something?”

  I reached down for the ticket it spat out next to the coin hopper. “We won a hundred bucks!”

  “Yes!” Conrad pumped his fist as he plucked the ticket from my hand. “Winner, winner, steak dinner. Or okay, m
aybe chicken dinner. But we won! Told you we could do it. And I’m a better date than popcorn, which must mean I’m getting l—”

  “Yes. You are.” Cutting him off, I glanced around, but no one was paying us any attention.

  “Now, decisions. We could use your blackjack skills to double this or—”

  “Or.” I extracted the ticket from him and started heading to the cashier area. “We won. Let’s not press our luck.”

  It seemed to be a good motto for the weekend—win, but conservatively. I had him, which was the greatest stroke of luck of all, and I didn’t want the universe thinking I was getting greedy. Him, some food, and hopefully winning my matches at the tournament qualifiers the next day. That was all I wanted.

  “Okay.”

  After we cashed out the ticket, he cast a last longing glance at the casino floor on the way out, but brightened when we used my phone to find restaurant possibilities nearby. A hundred didn’t get us the swankiest place in town or anything, nor was it enough to add good wine, but it did get us giant portions of meat and pasta at an Italian-themed place with a decent view of the strip, and I was plenty drunk on Conrad’s company.

  After dinner, we took a lot of pictures along the strip to send to the professor before we finally headed for the hotel. I didn’t want to know what the per-night lodging fee was on a big convention weekend like this, but the complimentary MOC West tickets had included a room for us to share. Payton had opted to get their own room, while the rest of us had been planning to share the free room. Which meant two beds. Which meant me standing there, staring at them as Conrad set his bags down.

  After the relative simplicity of the past two nights, I was stumped. Were we each supposed to claim one? What if he didn’t want to share, and I looked needy for assuming? What if—

  “Oh, hey, a spare bed.” Conrad tumbled me onto the closest one, landing squarely on top of me. “When we ruin this set of sheets, we can move to that other one.”

  “When?” I blinked at him. Maybe I truly was overthinking things and it really was this simple and easy.