Conventionally Yours (True Colors)

by Annabeth Albert

  “Okay, if, but I’m optimistic.” His hand was already making a beeline for my fly, lips skating across my cheekbone. “And we’re alone now, finally, so we can say all the words—and do them too. Whatever we want, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” I made a strangled sound as his hand reached his objective. His grin, wide and wonderful, was such that I couldn’t deny him anything, and when he kissed me, I ceased thinking altogether. Everything else, including all that loomed the next day, could wait. Him. Me. Us. It was exactly that simple after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Conrad

  I woke to a racing heart. Double alarms blaring. Even my body knew what day it was. I pulled on the gray T-shirt Arthur had provided advertising his store. God, Gracehaven seemed a million miles and that many years away, a distant memory given everything that had happened. Next came my jeans and lucky socks—goofy superhero-themed ones that my sister had gotten me a couple of years prior. My poor battered kicks were by the door. If I won, they were first on the list to be replaced.

  If I won. When. When I won. I had to think positively. No room for doubts. The scents of coffee and sweet oatmeal mingled as Alden bustled around, scrounging us breakfast from supplies we’d picked up at a convenience store the day before. We didn’t want to fight the crowds and the high prices before we had to. As I buckled my belt, it felt like we were preparing for battle, and in a way we were. Needing a distraction, I grabbed the box of card packs that we’d received from the cosplaying wizard store owner in Ohio. We’d been rather…occupied since then and never got around to opening them up.

  But now I had a few minutes, so I sat in the center of the other bed, the one that was still made—other than our stuffed goat mascot that I’d tucked under the covers to make Alden laugh the night before—and divided the six packs into three for me and three for Alden.

  “Come over here and crack some packs with me,” I ordered, pointing to the spot across from me.

  He frowned midsip of coffee. “My decks are pretty set. I’m not sure I need to open cards.”

  “For luck. This is one of my favorite things. Like birthday presents. All shiny and wrapped, and you never know what you’re getting. Come on. Indulge me.”

  “You’re easy to please.” Setting aside his food, he came to sit opposite me and picked up a pack of cards.

  “Yeah, I am.” I winked at him. We might not have had enough time to start something, but I could still enjoy teasing him. I was already looking forward to that night, to the moment when we’d be alone again. I loved the moments before sleep when we curled around each other, drowsy confessions and wordless cuddles, like floating away on a cloud of good feelings, sweet emotions tucked all around us like quilts. In those moments, I was invincible and happier than I’d been in years.

  And even with my mounting nerves about the competition, I kept that feeling going as we opened the cards. My first two packs only yielded things I either already had or couldn’t use, but I wasn’t that disappointed. Something about the act of unwrapping them, the scent of new cards, and the company was enough.

  “Here. This goes more in your frog deck.” Alden held out a card from the stack he’d opened.

  “Have it already, but thanks.” I added the card to my pile before opening the final pack, thumbing through past the commons, to find the couple of included rares. “Holy wow.”

  “What?” Alden leaned forward so he could see, and I had to squash the old impulse to hide the find from him. This wasn’t my competition. This was my…well, my guy, if nothing else. The one who would probably be happy for me, not try to take the card.

  “I scored a Transforming Scroll Scribe rare.” Turning the card this way and that, I marveled at the artwork and my luck both.

  “Really?” He whistled low. “Jasper’s been wanting to score one of those for years for his transforming deck, but it’s a two-hundred-dollar card. The sort of card that makes any deck stronger.”

  “I know.” My heart rate galloped like a pony on the first day of spring, but I forced my brain to work as well. “It’s not fair for me to claim it though. The cards were for both of us.”

  “You opened the pack. It’s yours. Those are the rules.”

  “Regular rules for opening packs in a group don’t apply to us. You really okay with me claiming it? I don’t want a card—even one this cool—to come between us.”

  Alden was silent a moment, which I appreciated because it meant he was actually thinking. Finally he nodded. “It’s yours.”

  “Thanks, man. Think I’m going to play with it this weekend, and then maybe give it to Jasper for his deck. I feel weird keeping it.”

  “The odds of getting such a rare are so minute that you shouldn’t feel guilty. And if it enables you to win, then you should play it. Winning is the whole point, right? Logically, you’d be silly to pass the card up.”

  I wasn’t so sure I agreed with him about winning being the whole point, not any longer, not after everything that had went down between us, not after he’d shown me so much more than the game. But I nodded because the rest of what he said made sense, and if winning was still his most important thing, then far be from me to get all sappy and emo.

  “Okay. I’ll use it.” I stretched so I could give him a fast kiss. “Thanks. Did you score anything worth keeping?”

  His face went soft, more tender than I’d ever seen it. “Maybe,” he whispered, and I knew from the gravity in his tone that he didn’t mean the cards, so I kissed him again, long and slow and sweet. I tried to use my mouth to tell him that he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Maybe we’d both already won.

  * * *

  It was easy to feel like a winner up in the confines of our hotel room, and much less so on the convention floor. We walked over to the convention center together, but Alden’s first match started before mine, so we separated near the entrance. He headed to the cavernous tournament play space which had a sea of tables, all occupied by players huddled over their cards, rules judges circulating around, scorekeepers hovering. This was the real deal, not another day at a local game store with friendly play, and my stomach flopped around just watching Alden head off to check in.

  Alone and more than a little adrift, I set a phone alarm reminder for the start of my round, then wandered around the event. Even with the early hour, artist alley with all the handmade merch from card artists and accessory crafters was crowded with shoppers. The vendor space was similarly packed, people haggling over card prices and trying to level up for upcoming games. Casual players were everywhere—on the hallway floors, on benches, in designated play spaces for pickup games and different nontournament formats, and even in stairwells. It wouldn’t have been too hard for me to find a play group, meet some new people, and get a warm-up round in. And ordinarily that’s exactly what I would have done.

  Yet something kept me at a distance. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that Alden had turned me into an introvert, but whether it was nerves over the coming competition or a lesser need for interaction than usual, I hung back. Various panels were getting started in the smaller rooms lining the long hallway, but none grabbed my attention. Cosplayers and Odyssey celebrities like the big streamers posed for pictures, but so far no one had recognized me from Gamer Grandpa.

  “Conrad!” Oops. Maybe I’d had that thought prematurely as I heard a familiar voice calling my name. I whirled to find Payton striding down the hall toward me. They looked like some space-age emissary in a long cotton tunic with a flat collar and wooden toggle buttons over slim-fitting pants, long hair gleaming in the morning sunshine filtering in through the skylights. Not cosplay as much as Payton doing Payton-things in their inimitable style.

  “Hey.” We weren’t hugging sort of friends, but we traded handshakes and shoulder claps. “You made it!”

  “I did. Flight got in yesterday, and I thought about texting, but then I got dragged
off to this club…” From Payton’s dreamy smile, I gathered the dragging had hardly been against their will.

  “It’s okay. Good to see you. You got your schedule of matches?”

  “Yeah.” Payton shrugged. “I’m honestly hoping to not advance though. I want to party tonight with a clear conscience and not have to worry about playing tomorrow. I’ll leave the nail-biting to you and Alden. Speaking of, tell me all about the trip. How many times did you almost kill the poor dude?”

  Oh man. I should have been ready for this question. But I totally wasn’t. How was the trip, indeed. Awesome. Life-altering. Exhausting. Emotionally draining. Sexy as hell. Special. All the adjectives in the world crammed into my brain, but none made it to my tongue.

  “It was okay.” Rather than meet their eyes, I studied one of the many giant posters hanging from the ceiling advertising upcoming Odyssey products.

  “Just okay?” Payton’s refined eyebrows went up. “Tell me he doesn’t drive with that same pole up his ass that he plays with. God, I’m sympathizing with you just picturing all the rules he must have made you follow.”

  I legit had to glance over my shoulder to make sure Alden wasn’t about to walk up. “He’s not that bad when you get to know him. You’ve said before he’s good with the newbies at the store.”

  “Good at explaining endless rules doesn’t equal fun to hang out with.” Payton rolled their eyes. “I’ve known him for years. He’s not like wine or something—he doesn’t improve with age—but I’ll take your word for it.”

  “He’s a good guy. Helped Jasper get home when there was an emergency.”

  Why I wasn’t telling Payton the whole story, I wasn’t quite sure. I’d told Alden we were a couple, and we’d wandered all over the Strip last night holding hands. It wasn’t like I was looking to keep him a secret, but it also felt…private. Like more than the sort of gossip Payton was looking for. They’ll have to find out eventually, my conscience reminded me, calling up that vision I’d had of us walking into Arthur’s store together. It was silly and probably never happening, but that didn’t stop a huge part of me from wanting it, wanting some sort of future together beyond this weekend, improbable as that was.

  But right then, I felt more protective than triumphant, wanting to keep the special parts of Alden safe and all to myself. Something must have been evident on my face because Payton’s lips pursed and their eyes narrowed. “Tell me you didn’t—”

  Chirp. Chirp. Right then my alarm went off, reminding me to head over to the tournament space. “Sorry. Gotta jet. First match.”

  “Oh, I see how it is.” Payton laughed before clapping me on the shoulder again. “Go get the win. I heard last night that it’s probably going to take going undefeated or close to it to advance. But no pressure.”

  No pressure. Ha. I was nothing other than a ball of pressure at that point. But no time to dwell on that. I hurried toward the tournament check-in station, taking my phone out to make sure it was off for the match. To my surprise, I had a series of texts wishing me good luck—Professor Tuttle, Jasper, even Professor Jackson and Professor Herrera. And my sister. My heart leaped at the unfamiliar number, familiar emoji-laden message stream.

  The professor said on his channel that you guys are at some big convention out west. Tell me you didn’t come through Kansas and not even *try* to stop. I get it, but I miss you, Con. So much. And as pissed as I am if I missed the chance to see you, I want you to win. You’re the best player on the show. Go make some noise and WIN!!!!

  Heart in my throat, I dashed off a quick response. You know I can’t come back to town. Not while Dad is still… My fingers paused, trying to word things best. Cassie didn’t know the whole story, and no way was I going to go there with her. Unreasonable, I settled on before continuing. I don’t want to risk him mad at YOU. None of this is your fault, Cass. Thanks for the good luck. I’m going to try to win for you.

  My reasons for winning had become murkier over the course of the week, but the message from Cassie was a swift kick to my lust-addled head. I needed to win. Needed a future her and my other sisters could be proud of. Needed money so that once they were older and not under Dad’s thumb, I could see them, show them that I made it, even without his help. I needed the validation, the money, the recognition—all of it. All the stuff with Alden, all the complications, none of that changed my reality.

  And knowing that, knowing how much each match was worth and what was riding on me advancing, I played tight in my first match. I was playing one of the “Ready to Lose?” pink-shirted women, a redhead with distractingly glittery nails, and she was a damn good player with an expensive dragon deck. It didn’t take long before she had me on my heels, watching my life total tick away.

  Despite having scored the kick-ass card earlier that morning, it wasn’t simply a matter of waiting to draw it. I needed to set up for the win, regardless of what I drew, and needed to stop playing so defensively. But it was hard when her dragons kept coming at me, the way they kept crashing through whatever paltry barrier I had. It was like trying to drive a car race with only three tires.

  Wait.

  Three tires. I’d been there. And I knew better than to drive on a bent rim. That wouldn’t win me the game. But a diversion—like oh, say, an arcade with a cute guy in the middle of nowhere—that might buy me enough time to find that metaphorical fourth tire. Rather than keep playing defense, I started throwing out things as distractions, trying to get her attention on those while I slowly built back up enough force to attack with. And when I had enough to win, I floored it. Top speed, so the dragons never saw me coming as I went in for the kill.

  “Good game.” The woman spun her life counter down to zero, and I resisted the urge to fist pump. One down. As I cleaned up my stuff, I thought about digging my phone out, sending a quick text to someone like Professor Tuttle or Cassie, telling them that I got the win. But they weren’t who I really wanted to tell. Funny what a difference a week made. The last person I would have thought about before was the first one I wanted to know.

  How’d your match go? I texted Alden. I beat a dragon deck. Watch out for the pink-shirted women—ruthless. Lunch later? I added a dragon-toppling-over GIF and hit Send.

  His reply was gratifyingly fast. About to go again here. Won first one—digger deck. Tricky new card to watch for called Underworld Superstition. Yes, lunch. Must feed the Conrad! His GIF was one of a big dinosaur eating leaves.

  Herbivore food? Too healthy for me ;) See you then, I replied, my soul lighter than I would have thought possible. Just having him to share this with made a huge difference, his little tips and texts powering me through two more games. I warned him about saving scrolls versus fire demons, and he reminded me to be patient with ogres. He made sure I had my inhaler in my bag, and I reminded him to drink water. Him caring about me like that, and having him to care about in return, felt good on a level I hadn’t had in years. Like wrapping up in warm towels from the dryer when I hadn’t even realized I was freezing.

  And when I saw him again in person, across the crowded lobby area, it was as if my whole body lit up, every cell tuned in to his frequency. I liked everything about him—the way his hair fell across his forehead, the protective way he held his deck bag, and most especially, the way he went from solemn and somber, standing off by himself, to a slow, satisfied smile as he spotted me.

  “Glad I’m not the one playing you. You’ve been kicking ass.” I shoved at his shoulder in lieu of the hug I desperately wanted to give him.

  “I have.”

  “And so humble about it.”

  “Facts aren’t bragging.” He adjusted his bag so he could take my hand. It was the first time he’d initiated anything in public, and my heart revved like a Harley at a stoplight. I didn’t care who saw. This was my guy, and I wasn’t letting go, not until I had to.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Alden

&
nbsp; “I’m not sure that I’m ideal pillow material,” I mused to Conrad as we finished up our lunch, which consisted of the typical overpriced convention food of lukewarm fries and bland burgers. All the available tables, chairs, and benches had been packed, but we’d found seats on the carpet in one of the less populated hallways leading to the food court. Somewhat out of foot traffic, but hardly private. However, after he finished eating, Conrad had stretched out, head in my lap, long legs sprawling, apparently not caring who saw him adopt me as his human pillow. He looked content enough to drift off, face slack, and my heart seemed to swell with each breath. He was right where I wanted him.

  “I’ve got two nights now that say you are,” Conrad countered. And okay, maybe he wasn’t exactly where I wanted him, but as neither of us had time to race back to the room for a make-out session between rounds, this would have to do. “You’re way better than boring cotton and stuffing.”

  “Gee, such a compliment.” Unable to resist, I let my fingers filter through his hair.

  “Mmm. Think I could pay you to do that before my next match? Scalp massage as preround warm-up. It could be the next big thing.”

  “Should I want to help you?” I laughed nervously. The tips we’d been trading were fun, but also made me feel weirdly wobbly inside.

  “Plenty of players here work together like we’re doing.” As usual, he managed to read my mind. “The ‘Ready To Lose’ contingent even shares decks. And several pro players have more formal alliances, working together to try to dominate. There’s no rule against it. And it’s fun, right?”

  “It is,” I admitted. His texts had been the highlight of my morning.

  “For what it’s worth, it’s not simply because we’re sleeping together either.” He said that part so casually, even as my skin heated, with prickles of both awareness and embarrassment. “We’re friends now. I’d do the same with Jasper or Payton, just not with the fringe benefits.” He winked at me, making heat along with some softer emotion I still couldn’t name unfurl in my gut.