Dewey Belong Together
Green Valley Library Book #7
Ann Whynot
www.smartypantsromance.com
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.
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Copyright © 2021 by Smartypants Romance; All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author.
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Made in the United States of America
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Ebook Edition:
978-1-949202-33-5
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Acknowledgments and a Note From the Author
About the Author
Sneak Peek: Eye Candy by Jiffy Kate, Fighting For Love Book #3
Also by Smartypants Romance
Dedication
For my family and Pat. This book could not have been written without your steadfast support and love.
Chapter 1
Maxine
“A game is an opportunity to focus our energy, with relentless optimism, at something we’re good at (or getting better at) and enjoy.”
― Jane McGonigal
I must have been crazy when I agreed to host a dozen strangers from an online game in my hometown of Green Valley, nestled in the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee.
In person, I was the furthest thing possible from a social butterfly. I am what might be called a basement dweller. Like all underground creatures, I prefer depth and darkness to the shiny world above. Above the basement floor of the Green Valley Public Library, that is. And okay, so I don’t inhabit the basement as much as catalog there. This is my ninth year of creating, polishing, and publishing records in all their metadata glory for several counties—an honor given to the Green Valley branch because of, well, me. I can say without an inflated ego that I am probably the best cataloger in the state, due to my meticulous nature and the fact that the beauty and structure of the records appeal to me as a librarian far more than interacting with the patrons, or other staff, upstairs. I swear, half the time the other librarians forget I’m even down there. More than once I’ve come upstairs after working a bit late to find the library locked up tight.
Sound a little boring? Sad? Well, strap in because I am not just Maxine Peters, ace basement cataloger. Unbeknownst to those who know me in “real life,” I am a warrior. As Maximus_Damage, I am a fighter in the eternal battle of good versus evil, a vanguard against might makes right, a last bastion against … well, you get the picture. I am, and have been for the last eight years, an avid player of the massive multiplayer online role-playing game League of Magecraft. What I love so passionately about Magecraft is that I get to be, from behind my computer screen, tough, sassy, strong, and fierce. I get to tap into a part of myself I never let out offline. Have fun, complete epic quests, and make friends along the way.
It’s not that I don’t have “real” friends here in Green Valley, I do. But they know me as a buttoned-up cataloger who works in the library basement. The perpetual wallflower at the few Friday night jam sessions I venture out to at the community center. The woman who overindulges at Daisy’s Nut House and who often gets runs in her stockings and has lipstick on her teeth. Offline Max’s idea of fun is hosting monthly book club meetings for three friends—two of whom also work at the library—or sipping wine and watching a Hallmark Christmas movie. In June.
Online Max? She tells Alexa to slam on Black Veil Brides, sticks her hair up in a messy bun, and logs in to a fantasy world of mages, demons, knights, and warriors. She throws on her armor, picks up that ginormous sword, and kicks major ass. I’ve earned a bit of a reputation in the game as a badass of epic proportions that you do not want to cross weapons with. I’m also a leader of sorts, as an officer in the largest and best guild on the continent. See, Magecraft isn’t only a game, it’s a vast social network that connects people from around the entire world, organized into guilds—associations of players committed to helping each other build friendships and reach both peak fun and potential in the game.
And this year, several of my fellow guild members, aka guildies, are descending upon Green Valley like a plague of locusts.
Okay, scratch that. I did invite them, after all. It all happened so fast; some of the officers suggested a meetup offline for folks in the South after the success of a Midwestern gathering. After a lot of hemming and hawing over the location, I suggested my little town in autumn with all its riotous colors. And what do you know, it turns out no one else wanted to organize the thing anyway. So the invitations went out, and before I knew it, I was arranging activities and accommodation for a gaggle of geeks for four entire days.
This is how I wound up standing in the airport in Knoxville holding a sign with their names: “Deathdrop, Carebear, Nedris, and Wrath.” So perhaps I used the word gaggle a little liberally. To both my consternation and relief, after a dozen RSVPs, people began to drop out of the gathering one by one. Some had family obligations, couldn’t get time off work, or perhaps they couldn’t face their crippling social anxiety to meet in meatspace. We were down to five, including me, the others all due to arrive within the next two hours.
I paced the terminal feeling a bit like an alien in blue jeans, red Converse, and a tight red T-shirt that read “Got Geek?” with illustrations from Firefly, Lord of the Rings, and Game of Thrones. I never wore clothes like this in public, preferring to hide under a lumpy cardigan and an ankle-length skirt or something else that screamed frumpy business casual. The truth is, I had fretted for weeks over what to wear during the gathering. Did I show them the Maxine Peters who yawned her way through life in Green Valley, or did I embrace my inner extrovert and present myself how I had always wanted to be seen? During a night in which wine may or may not have played a big part, boxes from the back corner of my closet were dug out and jeans, T-shirts, tank tops, and sneakers I hadn’t seen since college were unearthed. The extrovert screaming inside me begging to be let free won, and I was going to let myself be seen. Not only in jeans, but socially, through the activities and events I had planned around town. For the first time in a decade, I was going to cut loose in public, not only in my gaming room.
Not since I was fresh out of my library and information studies master’s program—almost ten years ago—have I been my truest self offline. The main reason being that I was assaulted by a pair of Iron Wraiths one evening as I was fixing a flat by the side of the road. The Iron Wraiths were Green Valley’s local biker gang-slash-menace, and most of the members were unhinged in one way or another. That night l
eft me in the hospital with my jaw wired shut, unable to talk. Even after I healed, I didn’t talk very much. I didn’t feel like it. But online? I could speak fine with my fingers. And in gaming, a newer hobby of mine at the time, I had discovered that beating up on virtual bad guys gave me a sense of satisfaction, helpless as I was to do much about the actual bad guys in the picture. The official story was that I didn’t get a good look at their faces, and that’s how I’d wanted it. I didn’t want retribution against me or my mom if I had pressed charges. I didn’t want to be looking over my shoulder all the time. The Wraiths were not known for being kind to their enemies. They could all go to hell as far as I was concerned; lately it looked like they were halfway there already. With their leadership in jail and their numbers plummeting, their demise seemed imminent. I’d try not to shed a tear, bless their hearts.
And to give Julianne MacIntyre credit where credit was due, she didn't hesitate to hire me back then, bruises and all. It probably didn’t hurt matters that I’d given up on my dream of being a children’s librarian and decided cataloging in solitude was more my jam. After the attack, being around so many people had become frightening to me, and I was well-suited to the cataloging world.
I saw some passengers coming through the arrivals entrance and rechecked the itinerary. First to arrive were Carebear, Deathdrop, and Wrath on a flight from Jacksonville. I inwardly seethed. I couldn’t believe Wrath had the gall to show up, knowing I was the organizer and host. Of course his name wasn’t really Wrath, but we didn’t do real names in Magecraft. Our guild placed a high value on privacy. I played as a male dwarf—it’s all about the beard—so everyone in-game basically assumed I had a dick. Speaking of dicks, that brings us back to Wrath. If everyone in the world is destined to have one mortal enemy, one great nemesis that follows them through time and space, Wrath would be mine.
The feud between Wrath and I had been going on for a decade, following us from one game to another. We had been leaders of opposing guilds in an earlier online game, Guilds of the Ages. Back then, Wrath had been the very definition of a competitive, petty little shit. If my guild had something, he wanted it. If we hosted an event in Ages, he had to have one bigger, rowdier, better. And as for me, personally? At this point, I’d like to introduce the word griefing. To grief another player is essentially to go beyond the code of fair play and be as big of a pain in their posterior as possible. And Wrath and his guildies griefed me in spades.
I could have sworn that Wrath's very existence hinged on giving me grief.
Ages went the way of the dodo when Magecraft was released, and I thought my days of alternately avoiding and being annoyed by Wrath had come and gone. Not so. Turns out we both applied for and joined the same Magecraft guild, and the game? It was still afoot. Only now, because we were technically on the same side, it was psychological warfare and pranks galore. Just last month, “someone” had taught the parrotling in our guild hall to say “Maximus is a jackoff” every time someone walked nearby. The same parrotling that was in the dead center of the hall and could be heard for miles. Very funny. It took three days for the guild leader to figure out how to get the damn thing to shut up without killing it (which I may have floated first as an idea).
Let the record show that I am not as well liked as our virtual parrot made up of code and rendered in pixels. Killing Pollywoggy? Not an option.
The crowd was starting to thin, and I still hadn’t spotted my guests. I knew Carebear used a cane, but I hadn’t seen any women with one yet. As for Wrath, who the heck knew. I was expecting every terrible gamer stereotype come to life, right down to bad odor. As I scanned the assemblage, my gaze stopped on what was possibly the finest male specimen I had ever laid eyes on. He was standing against a pillar fiddling with his cell phone, his long, sleek black hair pulled into a ponytail that reached mid-back. He was at least 6’2” and had shoulders that made my lady parts tingle and take notice. I was glad of this as they hadn’t taken notice of much of anything for a long, long time. I could see tattoo sleeves poking out of his T-shirt. And his face! Beautiful cheekbones and a neatly trimmed but not too short beard. I did love a man who knew how to maintain attractive facial hair. Suddenly, he plunked the cell into his pocket and gave a visual sweep of the room before advancing in my direction. He looked younger than me, maybe late twenties?
“What, he couldn’t be bothered to pick us up so he sends his mousy girlfriend?” came out of the perfectly shaped mouth, a duffel thudding to the floor at his feet. In that instant, when he looked at me and rolled his eyes, I knew. Wrath. The hottie was him.
Gritting my teeth, I lowered the sign and stuck out my right hand. “Maximus. Good to meet you, Wrath. I see you haven't picked up any manners lately.”
He reared back. “Max?! You’re a … chick?” he asked, his mouth agape, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. I held my hand firm, giving him time to recover and adjust his worldview to one in which his worst nightmare had two X chromosomes. After it became apparent that Wrath lacked any social graces, I dropped my hand and shook my head.
"Have you seen Carebear?" I asked, ignoring the odd look Wrath was giving me. It was downright unnerving. At least when the rest of the group arrived, I would have some potential reinforcements to balance out Wrath’s assholery.
"Geez, madame hostess, haven't you been checking the guild chat? Before I boarded, Carebear bailed. Her kids’ babysitter flaked. And Deathdrop and Nedris are out too. Their mommies took away their permission slips or something equally lame. Looks like it’s just us, sweet cheeks," he said with a broad grin.
Just us? Just us?! I reminded myself to breathe, and not to get distracted by the gorgeous face staring down at me. Didn’t they say Lucifer was the most beautiful of the angels? And what in the holy hell was I supposed to do on my own for four days with Wrath?
First things first. Start as you mean to go on, my mom always said. I looked up at him and growled, “Call me sweet cheeks again, and I’ll acquaint your testicles with my kneecap.” I heaved his duffel onto the luggage cart I had procured earlier, then looked him in the eye and said in my sweetest Southern voice, “Welcome to Tennessee.”
Chapter 2
Jonathan
“I’m a Knight of the Realm. We have a code to uphold, you know.”
― Wrath
As my plane descended into Knoxville, I stared out the window, my left knee shaking rhythmically and probably bothering the bejesus out of the person next to me. The stranger, I should say, sitting where my best friend Deathdrop was supposed to be. I hated flying, even more so when I had to do it with someone who fell asleep on my shoulder as soon as we hit cruising altitude and then drooled on me as we flew north. It was only lunchtime and already this day was turning into a shitshow. My anxiety levels were at a peak, and I needed to get in touch with Deathdrop, like, yesterday. I was about to meet Maximus_Damage, for Pete’s sake!
“All passengers are requested to remain in their seats with their seat belts fastened as we approach the gate. Mobile functions on devices may now be used.” I sighed in relief as the crackling voice of the flight attendant gave us the all clear to use our phones. I fished my cell out of my pants pocket and frantically dialed Deathdrop. He picked up on the second ring, his voice positively jovial considering the stew I was in.
“Wrath, my man! Toss a coin to your Witcher, beotch. I totally slayed another nerd for you and cleared the way for you to have four whole days of lurve alone with Maximus.”
“Dude, where the hell are you?” I whisper-yelled. “Why is there an elderly lady next to me instead of your sorry carcass?” Oh, this had better be good. Someone had better be dead for this to get a pass. Deathdrop loved to hatch schemes, and if I was caught up in some stupid plan of his, I was going to be beyond pissed.
“Look man, I thought about it, and after I saw that Carebear was out, I messaged Nedris and told him the weekend was off. I messaged you that I’d meet you at the airport after spending the night at Mindy’s, but I st
ayed home. Think about it, bro. You are about to see the love of your life after ten years of crushing hardcore. Some things a man has to do alone.”
“Alone?” I almost shrieked. “If there was ever a time for a wingman, this is it, you ass! I have never been attracted to a guy before, and here I am about to see one live and in person that I have these crazy strong feelings for, and where is my best friend? Off picking his toes in a swamp!”
He laughed. “I don’t know man, you thought Jason Momoa was pretty hot in Aquaman. And I keep telling you, they are ingrown toenails. It’s not my fault I get picky.”
“Jesus, Norman, would you quit it with that? No one wants to hear details about your toes. And it was his tats that I thought were awesome. I wasn’t mooning over his luscious locks.” God, again with fraking Aquaman. I let out a huge, frustrated sigh. “This conversation is going nowhere, and we’ve stopped at the gate. Man, all I can say is, you suck.”
Dewey Belong Together Page 1