“What about Payton?”
At the sound of their familiar voice, I almost dumped Conrad onto the carpet, but he stayed put, shoulders digging into my thigh, apparently unconcerned about our rather obvious PDA.
And crap, how much had they overheard? I was hardly ashamed of what I’d been doing with Conrad, but I also wasn’t ready for the inevitable teasing. The last thing I wanted was anyone—Payton included—to diminish this fragile thing we’d found, like having some rare flower and not wanting it stomped on before I had a chance to properly enjoy it.
From the way Payton smiled—a slow, feline grin—the teasing seemed imminent, and my back muscles tightened.
“So, Conrad, dude, is this what you meant by the trip being ‘okay’? Anything else you’d like to share?”
“Nah.” He stayed put, smile far more impish than Payton’s. I hadn’t known that they’d already run into each other. And that Conrad had apparently minimized the trip. Not that I wanted him shouting an announcement from the rafters, but I also didn’t like the idea that maybe he had wanted to keep this secret and was now simply blustering, doing that thing he did where he acted like he didn’t care.
“You know, all that advice about keeping enemies close is bunk, right?” Payton plopped down next to us.
“We’re not enemies,” I snapped, even though I wasn’t so sure. Was that what we’d been? Were we still? Enemies who slept together and made each other laugh and…
Heck. I just didn’t know, and that made me vaguely nauseated. Payton diminishing what we had would be awful, but Conrad doing so was just untenable.
“Well, not now.” Payton had a knowing laugh. “Clearly. And now I want to hear all about this trip. I might hate road trips myself, but yours sounds plenty intriguing and possibly worth the waste of all that time sitting.”
“Not sure I’d call it wasted time.” Conrad’s voice was almost bored-sounding, and it grated, making my skin itch with the uncertainty of not knowing what he was thinking.
“I need to get back over to the tournament space.” My tone was far too pissy, but I was having a hard time reining it in.
“Okay.” Conrad sat up. “You want me to walk over with you?”
“I’m fine. You guys catch up.” I tried to sound casual, but it probably came out too stiff and formal. “I’ll take your trash.”
“Thanks.” Conrad gave me a look I couldn’t quite make out, concern maybe, but he didn’t follow me when I hurried away with our paper lunch baskets.
Because I’d fudged how quickly I needed to check in for my next round, I had a few minutes to kill, so I ended up browsing the vendors closest to the tournament room and listening in on a panel of popular vloggers and streamers.
“I’m not really like that,” one guy was saying. “I’m nothing like my stream, actually. It’s just a persona. But the viewers love it, so I keep it up.”
Huh. Conrad around other people was like that—a persona. The fun-loving, care-about-nothing joker. Life of the party. But that wasn’t really him. The him I’d gotten to know was different. Deeper. More complicated. Cared far more than I ever would have given him credit for. But was that a persona too? One he’d adopted to get along with me on the trip, but no closer to his true self? I didn’t want to think that. I wanted to believe I knew the real Conrad, that I knew parts of him Payton and others would never see.
Feeling slightly guilty for how I’d left things, I pulled out my phone, but he’d already beat me to a message.
Good luck this afternoon! I begged off going out with Payton tonight. Sorry if they made you uncomfortable. Would rather get food with you anyway. Play for our dinner again? Meet you in our room after your last round?
I was unreasonably pleased that he’d turned down partying with Payton. And even though he wasn’t wrong—I was uncomfortable and doubting everything—he was still the person I most wanted to see at the end of the day.
Will see you there, I typed. And sorry for leaving fast. No playing for our dinner—we’re not likely to get lucky twice.
His response was quick. Oh, I think *someone* is bound to get lucky tonight…
Even with no one around me, I could still feel myself blushing, fingers clumsy as I replied. Accurate. But still no playing the slots. Save your luck for the tournament floor.
Then it really was time for me to play, time for me to block everything out, including the promise of alone time with Conrad later and my earlier discomfort too.
“Do you want headphones?” asked an older woman in a red MOC West Volunteer shirt as I checked in for the round. Her gray braid and slight British accent didn’t quite fit in the glitzy Vegas surroundings or with the younger demographics of the con. “Your next round has been chosen for streaming. The commentators will try to be unobtrusive, but a lot of players like the noise-canceling headphones to block out the camerapeople and such.”
“Do I have a choice not to be broadcast?” I’d been filmed hundreds of times but not with so much on the line.
“The release you signed gives us permission to stream any of the rounds.” Her voice stayed polite, but she frowned at me. “If you’re worried about distraction, the headphones can help. And you’re an Odyssey celebrity, it’s natural they’d want you on one of the streams.”
“Okay, I’ll try the headphones. And I’m not that well known.”
“Sure you are.” She was back to smiling now. “My son’s been a fan of your online play for years and then Gamer Grandpa too. Maybe I can get an autograph for him?”
“Uh. Sure.” I’d never been asked for an autograph before, and pride warred with embarrassment, shoulder muscles not knowing whether to lift or hunch in. “What do I sign?”
“Got a spare token? I’m collecting them for him. He was in a car accident a few weeks back, or he’d be here now.”
Painfully aware that I was holding up the line, I fished out the first token card I could find in my bag, one of the new ones I’d opened with Conrad. It was of no real use to me, but I’d stuck it my bag because it reminded me of how he’d looked sitting on the bed that morning, all giddy and happy. Distracted by the return of thoughts about whether I knew the real Conrad or not, I signed the card and handed it over.
I wanted to believe the little-kid happiness Conrad had exuded that morning had been real and that the way he’d used me as a pillow all night long had been real too. I wanted so badly to believe that I could make him happy, that I could be enough for him, that he wouldn’t eventually get bored and ditch me to go party with Payton—find someone more fun, more his speed.
The volunteer walked me over to one the streaming stations. Unlike the rows and rows of tables on the main tournament floor, a few tables were set up on raised daises for streaming, with camera equipment in place, and a commenting crew in its own little booth as well. I felt far more exposed than I had earlier, and I gratefully put on the headphones she gave me. She wished me luck, but I was already too deep in my own head to do much more than nod.
My opponent was a crafty player, a young woman with elfin features offset by the large headphones and a killer instinct that led to her attacking almost every turn, relentless even when her attacks were ill-advised. It took all my wits to hold my own, and I had a brief moment where I wished I’d claimed the rare card that Conrad had opened. The ability to generate more scrolls would have greatly helped in this game, but while not nearly as cash-strapped as Conrad, I still couldn’t go out and drop that kind of money to pump up my decks, even if it might help with this tougher competition.
I’d heard the rumors—with this many entrants, players would need to be close to perfect to make the cut for the elimination rounds. I couldn’t afford to drop this match, couldn’t afford—
Wait. Afford. I needed to make her pay more scrolls for her moves, make it more expensive and odious for her to attack. I shifted my strategy, playing a series of ca
rds that effectively taxed her for making certain moves, and narrowly pulled out the win.
My adrenaline surged like the last mile of a long run, heart rate speeding up, lungs burning, and there was only one person I wanted to talk to.
Those tax cards of mine you hate? The ones you call the vise? They won me this round. Stay on your toes and stay aggressive if you meet another aggro deck. This one didn’t stop attacking.
I didn’t expect a response as he was probably midround himself, and indeed, it was two more games before I got a chance to check my phone again.
Whatever wins you the game. Almost lost to a reaper deck, but remembered how we stomped Bart and Danny. Still think we make a great team. Few more rounds, and then I can show you ;)
The memory made me smile too. Get *that* out of your head, I lectured via text.
Sex, Alden. Sex. You can type the word. And too bad. It’s always on my brain, especially when I think about you.
Overwhelmed by good feelings from nothing more than a text, I melted like an ice cream sundae on the Fourth of July, a useless bowl of soupy contents. I couldn’t even manage a reply, only grinning at my phone like an idiot, rereading the message until it was time to play again.
I was still feeling good after another win, still feeling like maybe I mattered to Conrad, even if for purely physical reasons. As I packed away my stuff, I actually spotted him, setting up at one of the filming tables, frowning at a pair of headphones. My heart did this little dance, looking forward to later when he’d be mine again. But right then he was the property of the tournament and his opponent—
Oh crap. I recognized his competition, a bushy-haired middle-aged man in his trademark neon orange T-shirt. He was a popular streamer whom I’d played a number of times online, especially before he got big. And I knew that Conrad didn’t play as much online as me, wouldn’t know this guy’s weaknesses. But I did. Before I could overthink it, I headed over there. It was still between rounds, so chatter filled the space, but I had no time to spare.
“Hey.” His eyes went wide as he spotted me.
“Hey. Do you have a spare token? There’s this woman collecting signed ones for her injured son.” I did care about the volunteer’s quest for her son, but I also needed an excuse for Conrad to come closer.
“Sure.” Conrad got a spare one from his endless supply of frog soldier tokens, and I held out a pen, which as I’d hoped, brought him into whispering range.
“That’s Arresting Aaron, the big-time streamer.” I spoke fast but super low. “He’s good. But he plays decks with lower total scrolls than most. Get him screwed on scroll counts, and you’ll have a good chance. And he plays fast—easy to goad into attacking too soon.”
“Oh wow. That helps.” Conrad’s face stayed neutral, but I recognized his pleased tone. “Thanks, man. I owe you…something.”
“Later.” I took the signed token from him. “Good luck.”
Surprisingly, I meant it. Helping him felt good, and I found that curiously, I didn’t want to make the break to the elimination rounds if he didn’t as well. Maybe he was right and there was something to having a coalition or alliance, someone on my side. Heart lighter, I didn’t rush to find the British volunteer right away, instead hanging back with some others watching the streamed matches on giant monitors outside the tournament space.
I’d watched Conrad play hundreds of times before, but never with such a sense of… Well, ownership certainly was a reach, but there was a possessive sort of pride in me that had never been there before. That was my guy, making the deft moves, destroying Arresting Aaron’s scrolls, matching the fast pace easily, and jumping out to an early lead that led to a comfortable win. Funny thing was that maybe he hadn’t needed my advice. He’d handled each challenge with an ease I hadn’t noticed in him before, his natural confidence even more pronounced than usual.
My earlier worries about whether this was real, whether I got to see the real guy, receded under the force of so much pride. This was real. It had to be. I’d do anything to make it so.
Wandering away from the monitors, I found the British volunteer over by the tournament check-in station. She was bent over a stack of printouts.
“I brought you another token. From one of the other Gamer Grandpa guys.” I held out the card.
“Thank you, dear.” Accepting the card, she dropped her pen, and we both bent to retrieve it at the same time, which jostled the table and sent some of the pages raining to the floor.
“Oops. Sorry!” I scrambled to help her gather them up.
“Thanks. I need these for tomorrow. We’re working out the brackets now for the early elimination rounds.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t help glancing down, but I instantly regretted the impulse because what I saw there made every muscle in my body stiffen, panic gathering low in my gut. No. No. No.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Conrad
I was riding a serious high after winning out over Arresting Aaron. Alden’s tips had enabled me to win easily, something I still wasn’t sure I liked. On the one hand, I wanted to stand on my own feet, win entirely due to my superior play. But on the other hand, a win was a win, and I’d met my goal of going undefeated in the qualifying rounds. Making the elimination rounds was a given, with the real wait being for the schedule and seeding. Seeding would be determined mainly by the strength of the opponents I’d beaten and other complex algorithms.
But right then, I wasn’t worried about math. No, my main concern was getting back to the hotel and thanking Alden properly for the tips. After a long day of competition, our brief interlude at lunch hadn’t been nearly enough time together, especially not since Payton had brought an awkward end to that. And who would have thought that I would come to crave Alden’s company? Need him even? The me of just a week ago was laughing hysterically at this turn of events.
But the me of right now spotted Alden in line for the hotel elevator, and screw past me and all my assumptions and biases, because this joy was too good to deny. I hadn’t been this happy in a long, long time, even with all the worries about the tournament looming.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” He nodded at me, a strange expression on his face. His eyes flashed with pleasure, but the tight lines around them spoke to the sort of exhaustion that had me worrying.
“You doing okay?”
“Yeah. Just…I’ll be better when we’re back in the room.”
“Me too.” I leered, mainly to get a rise out of him in the crowded lobby. No one was paying us any attention as we squeezed into the elevator with a herd of other convention-goers. I took advantage of the opportunity to hook my fingers in his belt loops and pull him against me in the back of the elevator.
He made a startled sound but didn’t pull away until it was our floor. Body thrumming with anticipation, I followed him to our room with every intention of pouncing on him the second the door closed, but I hadn’t counted on him beating me to the punch, pushing me against the door even before I had a chance to turn on the light and smashing our mouths together with a desperation I’d never seen from him before.
His kiss was a wild creature, untamed and unfed, hungry and aggressive, and I was along for the ride, clinging to his shoulders as he stretched to plunder my mouth. He devoured me like the place could burn down around us and we’d still be here kissing, still clutching each other, still needing with a force I hadn’t experienced before. He’d never seized control quite like this, but I sure wasn’t complaining. Instead, I matched him needy moan for needy moan, trying to tell him with my lips and tongue that I was here, not going anywhere, and that I could take whatever he needed to give me.
And that ended up being long, frantic moments of more of those wild kisses until he pulled away, breathing hard. My own breath wasn’t doing much better, especially not when he sank to his knees on the carpet in front of me.
“Don’t s
top me.” Eyes glassy and voice unsteady, his hands trembled against my waist before reaching for my fly.
“Not gonna do that.” My head fell back against the door. I wasn’t enough of a saint to stop him, but I could also tell something was up with Alden. Something had pushed him out of his comfort zone, made him into this desperate creature, who was sexy as hell but also majorly out of character for the guy I lo—liked so much. Threading my fingers through his silky hair, I took a shaky breath. “Not gonna stop you, but I am going to ask if you’re sure about this? I’m totally fine with a rewind of the last two nights, and if something’s happened to make you think you need—”
My words died on a guttural moan as he pulled me loose from my jeans, tongue connecting with the one part of my body that was completely on board with whatever Alden had planned. However, while I still had two operating brain cells, I drew in some much-needed oxygen and tried again. “You okay? I don’t want you doing this if you’re upset about something. We can talk—”
“Later,” he all but growled at me, and okay, there went the last of my nobility, right out the big window at the opposite end of the room. The city lights were twinkling, sending enough light into the room for me to see the need and desire in his eyes. For whatever reason, he wanted this. Badly.
Later was good. Later I’d make him talk. Later I’d figure out what had gotten into him. But right then, he wanted this, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to deny him. Not when he attacked me with the same single-mindedness he’d kissed me with, a primal hunger behind each movement of his full lips and devilish tongue.
“Tell me if I get this wrong,” he pulled back long enough to say.
“No such thing as wrong. No teeth, but no other rules. Trust me, you’re doing plenty right already.” I managed an uneven laugh. It seriously wasn’t going to take much. Not only had it been a long time since I’d done this, but this was Alden. Alden, who I liked and respected so very much, on his knees for me. It was heady stuff, and whatever he lacked in practiced technique, he made up in sheer enthusiasm and my control rapidly evaporated.
Conventionally Yours (True Colors) Page 24
