Dewey Belong Together

by Smartypants Romance

I unleashed a virtual bucket of cold water on my head when I reminded myself that this was Wrath, the guy who once followed me around in-game for a half hour shouting, “This is my boomstick!” when he was lucky enough to win a cool weapon. Wrath drove me up the wall. And he wasn’t nice either. He played on the edge of cheating sometimes. He and his minions griefed me in Guilds of the Ages, he'd even opposed me going up for guild officer in Magecraft. The Dark Side would be so lucky to have him!

  “And aren’t you just the cutest kitty cat there ever was. Yes you are, yes you are!” I concealed both my surprise and a smile. He was currently rubbing She-Ra’s belly, and the cat was purring loudly while Wrath talked to her. I stood there for a few minutes, mouth agape, while Catra got similar treatment. When Wrath was done, he smiled at me, pushed his ponytail off his shoulder, and shrugged. “I like cats, what can I say.”

  Not to be distracted, I walked into the main room of my open-concept cottage and swept an arm around. “This is it. Home sweet home,” I said. The main room was my personal library, with built-in bookcases on practically every available wall space. Wrath whistled as he looked around the room, taking in the multitude of volumes. From there he could also see the smallish kitchen and the cozy configuration of sofa and chairs in front of the fireplace made of river stones. I waited a bit nervously for his judgment, which I didn't fully understand. Why did I care what Wrath, of all people, thought of my home?

  “So you’ve got cats, ten thousand books, and are a huge geek. What are you, a librarian?” he asked, snickering.

  I instantly bristled. “See, this is a prime example of why I hate you. You say librarian like it’s the lamest thing ever, when in fact, I am very proud to be a librarian in this community, Wrath. More than ever, libraries are essential in rural areas.” I knew I sounded like a PowerPoint, but I didn’t care. How dare he mock my profession and stereotype me.

  Color literally drained from Wrath’s face. I saw him turn pale before my eyes, and I reached for him instinctively in case he had suffered a sudden drop in blood sugar or some such. But no, he yanked himself away from me.

  “You … you …” he started, clearly at a loss. “You hate me?”

  For some reason, his voice was one of utter disbelief, like this was new information. Interesting. And then, to my immense surprise, I saw the Hindenburg explode in his eyes.

  “You flippin’ hate me? We’ve known each other for … I’ve been gaming with you since I was seventeen! Almost ten years, Max. I know I can be an asshole, but you've always given as good as you got.”

  “I really haven't,” I said softly, defending myself against such slander. I had never lowered myself to Wrath's level, I was certain of it. He looked stricken, and I honestly didn’t know what else to say.

  I bit the index finger of my left hand and closed my eyes for a moment. It was a teeny coping mechanism that I relied on too much, but hey, it got me through a lot. Confidence wavering, I thought back to when I’d first met Wrath online. He said he’d only been seventeen. Seventeen! I’d been twenty-two. He’d probably been a high school kid, and I, having graduated early at sixteen, had just earned my master’s degree. We were only five years apart, but we’d been in completely different places in life.

  I’d be lying if I said I hadn't let those first few years color our entire relationship. But now, all of the talk he’d smacked back then seemed so long ago. So irrelevant. He’d been seventeen. And I still hated him. I wondered what in tarnation that said about me, other than having inherited the Peters' ability to hold a grudge.

  But wait a minute!

  “Hold up. You don’t hate me?” I asked Wrath, my voice full of suspicion. The truth would out, surely, and maybe we could put this farce to bed.

  And again, he surprised the pants off me. “I would rather not discuss how I feel about you right now,” Wrath replied cryptically, bitterness detectable in his voice.

  I wracked my brain as I made a slow approach to the sitting area and sat gingerly on the sofa. He hadn’t known I hated him. He thought we were what—acquaintances? Or, horror of horrors, friends?

  I turned my body toward Wrath, but before I could open my mouth, he said, "So, what exactly will we be occupying ourselves with this weekend, oh mighty Maximus?"

  He crossed his arms and looked at me with a smirk. To be honest, it looked like a half-hearted attempt at a smirk, but there it was. I didn’t get how he could go from stricken to bitter to smirking in twenty seconds flat. The Wrath I knew was a proud guy, and now that I thought about it, that smirk was probably a front to hide his true feelings of … what? Hurt? Did I have the capacity to hurt Wrath? It would appear I did, and I didn’t know how I felt about that.

  "Well, our first event was supposed to be a friendship-speed-dating thing. We were all going to swap tables at a restaurant and ask each other questions as quickly as possible to get to know each other better offline. Since it's only you and me, we can definitely skip it."

  "Skip it? No way. We can do it right here over some stiff drinks. What kind of booze do you have?"

  My thoughts strayed to the lone box of white wine in my fridge. Did I want to get wasted with Wrath on boxed wine? Did I even want to admit to owning boxed wine? I decided I did not. Worse than that, I had a jug of moonshine in the pantry gifted to me by another book club member, Cletus Winston. Cletus’s family went way back here in Green Valley, and there was always one or three of them around somewhere. Cletus wasn’t a hardened criminal moonshiner or anything, but he liked moonshine eggnog and had brought the shine to me last year as a holiday gift so I could mix up some of my own.

  Under no circumstance would I tell Wrath any of that. I already felt a bit like a hillbilly next to someone from Jacksonville. Suddenly, inspiration struck. "We can go out for a drink, and get some dinner too. There's a bar not too far from here."

  "Now Maximus, you're not going to drag me to some two-bit honky-tonk out here in the sticks, are you?" The thought had merit because that’s almost exactly what I was about to do, though locals might argue that Genie's Country Western Bar was at least a three-bit kind of place. It could get rowdy, but it was only Thursday, so I was sure we'd get a booth.

  “Just you wait and see,” I replied, keeping the charade going that everything was okay between us when I had the distinct feeling that something was rotten in the state of Denmark. Why wouldn’t he own up to hating me, too? I essentially had verbally bitch-slapped him, and he was all creepy smiles. “If you want to freshen up first, I’ll show you your room, and you can get settled and wash the travel off, if you like.”

  He got up and flashed me a tight smile. “That sounds delightful.”

  Chapter 4

  Jonathan

  “Hey Maximus, do you wanna quest with me? I bet we could take down a whole pile of dragonkin and get the treasure under the lava waterfall. I see you walking away! Is that a no?”

  ― Wrath

  She hated me. Maximus_Damage, the best player I have ever seen, the funny, smart as a whip, genius strategist, take-no-prisoners Max, loathed me. All of these years I thought we were having fun, and she probably thought I was that annoying kid who wouldn’t leave her alone. Who pranked her. Who made her time in the game—which, in her words, was supposed to be fun—miserable. Lovely. I knew now that any chance I had been holding on to that Max returned my feelings was strictly in the realm of fantasy or delusion.

  Almost as bad was the fact that Deathdrop had been right. Freakin’ Norman. I’d never hear the end of it from him. The last time he'd been right about something, I heard about it for three months.

  I thought of the other pill in my pocket but refused to give in. I could wait until tonight to take my regular cocktail of meds. Taking another one now would also mean I'd have to come up with some reason why I couldn't drink at the bar. Why had I suggested it to begin with? I knew drinking was reckless for me, considering all the prescriptions I took, and yet at that moment, in the face of Max's hatred, I wanted to say screw it all and
be irresponsible.

  I followed a nervous Max down the short hallway past three doors before stopping in front of one with a small Hello Kitty poster on it. She let out a long sigh and stood there with her hand on the knob so long that I thought she was never going to open the door. Then she dropped her hand and turned to look at me.

  "There are a few things you've got to understand," she began, looking almost green. "This is my game room. It's a sacred space to me. It's where I can be myself in this town. Ever since my, um, accident I've been someone else in public. Mousy, like you called me at the airport. I tried dressing differently, carrying myself differently, and yet I couldn’t shake that particular attribute. Maxine Peters, mousy basement librarian."

  "Max—" I started, wanting to stop her from putting herself down, and curious about what accident she was referring to.

  "No, let me finish. I am who I am. Try not to judge me too hard and keep the snarky comments to yourself after you see inside. And if you aren't comfortable staying in there, I'm sure Mrs. Potter would love to have you back at her place."

  "Uncomfortable? Why would I be …” A wayward thought struck me. “Max, is that room painted red?"

  A burst of laughter bubbled out of her, exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Something had to break this awkward tension between us. "No, you fool. Let's just go in. You'll see what I mean."

  She opened the door and stepped back, ushering me inside. I held back my initial laughter and gazed around in amazement. I'd been expecting sex swings from her warning, but instead found myself in geek heaven—or geek hell, depending on your point of view.

  "It looks like a comic book store, an anime convention, and an art gallery threw up in here. But in a good way," I said. Maximus's inner sanctum was rockin,' and my heart was hammering in my chest as I moved deeper into her private world. Of course the first thing I noticed was the computer. It looked like a custom build, and with three huge monitors, it was kind of hard to miss. I was itching to sit in the enormous desk chair, log on to Magecraft, and tell everyone that I was in Maximus_Damage's gaming room.

  Shelves completely lined one wall, and they were packed full of action figures and statues, miniatures and plushies; everything from Steven Universe to A Song of Ice and Fire to Batwoman was represented. Along the bottom shelves were cardboard comic book boxes, labels placed with obvious care on each box. Against another wall were tubs of what I presumed were Legos, considering the size of the sprawling Lego city built on a long bench. In a corner was a round chair, with gauzy stuff hanging down from the ceiling, and little white lights brightening the cozy reading space. Towering potted trees were in the other corners of the room. And the walls! Every inch was covered in art of some kind. Pencil drawings, pop art, postcards, and types of modern art that never made much sense to me, like those flowering vaginas. At least I could appreciate the intent, being a bit of an art enthusiast myself. Against the wall nearest me was a stack of board games: Carcassonne, Munchkin, Ticket to Ride, and many more.

  "Wait, if no one really knows you're a huge geek, why do you have all these board games?” I asked, pointing to the stack. “Aren't those implicitly a team event?"

  She turned a shade of crimson that almost matched her bandana, and replied softly, "I keep meaning to try to organize a club, like once a month. It's hard opening up to people sometimes."

  It struck me as incongruous that Maximus was always the first of us to charge into battle or jump into a melee without fear, but Maxine couldn't seem to summon up the courage to invite people over to play Apples to Apples.

  The bed was in the middle of the room against the remaining wall and surrounded by shelving holding paperbacks and game manuals. The headboard was strung with little purple lights and a bright white quilt on the mattress. I walked over and sat down, testing the bed's firmness. It was comfy, but I knew I'd be far more comfortable wrapped around Max in her room.

  The thought struck me out of nowhere, and it took deep root. I shouldn't care one whit about Max. She'd lied to me, whatever her intentions. Not to mention she hated me. In fact, I should be on the next plane out of Knoxville back to Florida. Yet I still wanted her. And I was tired of not getting what I wanted. I'd been given the shaft by life too many times. I was carting around ten years of longing. Ten years of crappy relationships because the person I was with could never measure up to an ideal. So Max was a liar of sorts who thought I was an asshole. I gotta say, I lived for a challenge.

  "Bathroom is across the hall. Towels are in the cabinet," she said, still looking uncomfortable.

  "And is the bathroom some kind of den of mystery, also?"

  She had a gleam in her eyes, and for a minute I knew she was considering screwing with me, like telling me the hot and cold taps were reversed on the shower or something.

  After a beat of silence, she said, "Nope, standard issue. Just don't let the cats in with you. They have this thing about playing in the water. She-Ra will jump right in the shower with you."

  Something she'd said earlier, before I was distracted by her gaming room, suddenly stuck out to me. "What kind of accident did you have? I don't remember you telling the guild about anything like that."

  Color drained from Max’s face, and she lowered her eyes. "It was ten years ago. And it was the kind of accident where a guy wails on you with a tire iron while his buddy tries to pull him away, if you must know." She pointed to a barely visible scar along her jawline.

  I was sorry I'd asked, not only because I'd possibly triggered her, but because I had never wanted to commit murder before. It wasn't a good feeling, and I hoped I never ran into the men who had committed such an awful crime against her.

  “Don’t pity me,” she said, her voice firm. “Don’t you dare.”

  She shot me a glare, and I recognized the pain of a wounded warrior in her eyes. I’d seen it in Norman’s often enough after his discharge from the military.

  “I don’t think I could ever pity you, Max. But there’s a difference between pity and wanting to protect you.” And God, did I ever want to protect her. I hadn’t felt this protective of anyone, other than the women in my family.

  The longer I spent with Max, the more I realized how full of contrasts she truly was. She was prickly edges and soft curves all at once, hard but not without heart. The Maximus I knew online was definitely in there, but the surprise of this complex woman was both unnerving and delightful.

  “I told you I hated you, Wrath. Why on Earth would you want to protect me?” she asked, hands on her round hips.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Because I’m a knight. It’s in our code to protect others,” I replied, like it was obvious.

  “In a game, Wrath! And you haven’t exactly been a shining example of holding up the knight’s code. Or is it also part of the code to give hell at every turn to certain players who have done you no wrong?” That stung, but as there was a kernel of truth in it, I didn’t reply. Instead, I thanked her for the room and dug through my duffel, grabbing a new shirt and some toiletries once she left me with my thoughts.

  Max turned more than one head as we wound our way through the crowd at Genie’s, the bar that wouldn’t look out of place in my neck of the woods. Yup, I said woods. Max had assumed I was from Jacksonville because of the plane route, but I actually hailed from a town that felt even more remote than Green Valley. I was from the kind of place that routinely made Florida Man headlines, usually with incidents involving both alcohol and some kind of creature from the surrounding swampland.

  She’d insisted upon changing, and when she emerged from her room in a vintage red dress that fell to the knee, her lips stained a dark red to match, and her hair done up in those rolls women wore during World War II, my pants suddenly felt a little tight. All of her curves were on display, and I itched to get my hands on them, to feel what this woman and I could be like together. Intuition told me that if we could get past our history, we could be dynamite. Patience. I had to have patience and somehow convince her I wasn't a to
tal dick. I had a feeling this was going to be a difficult task to accomplish in the few days I had left.

  Tick tock.

  When we’d entered the bar, I instinctively placed my hand on her lower back, sending out death glares to any man that looked her way. I wasn’t a possessive jerk, but I also knew she was a freakin’ knockout and wouldn’t be lacking for attention for long. She guided us to a booth, and for a second I considered sitting next to her. But then remembrance hit me like a gut punch. This wasn’t simply a gorgeous woman I was out on the town with, this was Maximus_Damage, who despised me.

  I almost hooted when I realized how pissed she must be that I'd talked my way into being her houseguest. Smiling at the thought, because it still tickled me to get her goat, I sat across from her and fiddled with the menu on the table while waiting for our waitress. We sat in a semi-awkward silence, conversation stalled since we’d left the house, listening to the music playing and watching the few folks who were dancing.

  "What can I get y'all to drink?" our waitress asked. Well, here it was, the moment of truth. Or rather, untruth. No way was I going to have an intense conversation with Max about my private life while people were line dancing mere feet away. If Max asked me why I wasn't drinking, it was because my stomach was upset. Why had I suggested alcohol in the first place? I had been nervous and now—oh, the waitress was still waiting for my order.

  “I’ll have a coke, a water, and we’re fixing to get a bite to eat when you’re ready for our order,” I jumped in, getting it over with as fast as possible.

  “And for you, ma’am?” she asked, obviously a seasoned professional as she didn’t bother writing anything down.

  “Patty, it’s me, Maxine Peters,” Max replied, giggling a little. An actual giggle! Who knew the kick-ass warrior whose strategy had helped lead our guild to the first North American defeat of the demon Beelzebub giggled.