by Kelsie Rae
Quincy is like a fine wine, and I just tried to swallow her whole. I shouldn’t be surprised she ran like a scared little kitten. Ha! I’m determined to savor her the way she deserves.
I’m currently in my hotel room, lying in bed while daydreaming about my new little kitten. She might not like the nickname but it’s staying, regardless.
We have a team practice tonight, and I’m excited to see what this team is capable of. Jett did a phenomenal job recruiting players with specific skill sets. Together, they should be unstoppable. Now, it’s just a matter of getting their strengths to mesh properly. That’s where I come in. Well, Marcus and I. He’s going to be an excellent Team Lead, I have no doubt. Their head coach is a bit of a wanker and didn’t even show up for the team meeting. I’ve been told that isn’t unusual behavior for him.
I’m excited to get into the game again. I’ve played recreationally for the past three years under a different username to hide my true identity. There’s just something about playing competitively that gets my blood rushing.
Quincy doesn’t live too far away from where our team practices are held. She decided to drive to and from the hotel instead of just staying here. I overheard her telling Marcus that she lives with her dad and doesn’t want him to be alone at night. She’s a thoughtful little creature.
I’ve been glued to my Flinch app, logging on periodically to see if she’s playing a game. I’m dying to see her beautiful face again. I’ve already admitted to having a crush on the babe, but seeing her in person was a whole new experience. My iPhone screen doesn’t show the dark auburn lowlights woven in her hair. It doesn’t show the light smattering of freckles on her forehead. It doesn’t show the flecks of gold sprinkled in her gorgeous green eyes. And it definitely doesn’t show how easily her cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink with a mere handshake.
Luck must be on my side because when I sign into Flinch this time, I notice that Quik_Q182 is online. My heart races from her username alone, and I know I’m in trouble.
I watch as the beauty dominates her opponents. She brings them to their knees in half the time it would take a regular gamer. Pride surges through me as she slips into the opposing team’s base and reaches the gemstone with ease.
“Yes! Good game guys! Next time, be sure to have your Operator check the back entrances to the tower. You might have a little more luck that way,” Quincy instructs kindly, giving them some friendly advice. If they listen, it will help them tremendously during their next game.
Impulsively, I pull up the message function. Before I even register what I’m doing, I congratulate her on the win.
I never message players. Ever. It’s not that I’m above it or anything. I’ve merely tried to stay under the radar. Messaging a player is like shining a headlight on my username, aka Gamertag. As soon as someone knows your Gamertag, they’re able to view your statistics. And if anyone looks up my stats, they’ll be shocked by my winning percentage. I’m not trying to brag, I’m simply stating a fact.
My Flinch inbox almost instantly alerts me to a new message. Cautiously, I open it.
Quik_Q182: Thanks! It was a good game, and I’m glad I got through their defense.
I hit reply, wondering what the hell I’m thinking as I do so.
BeatlesBoy_41: I saw that. Their Operator needs to get a few more games in, but they have potential.
I grimace as I hit send. Am I really chatting with this girl?
Quik_Q182: Yeah, I thought the same thing. Their Tank was crappy, though. No offense. All he needed to do was turn around, and I would’ve been toast.
BeatlesBoy_41: You played well. I saw you had your defense charged and ready to go. Even if he did turn around, you would’ve outsmarted him.
This time, her reply isn’t instant. My palms are sweaty. I wonder if I crossed an unspoken line or something.
Quik_Q182: … I’m not sure if you’re being serious or not.
BeatlesBoy_41: Why would you question my sincerity?
As soon as I hit send, I groan. Did that last message sound way too British? Bugger.
Quik_Q182: Sorry, but usually the messages I receive are loaded with trolls trying to piss me off.
My knuckles tighten around my phone while reading her reply. Trolls are tossers looking to piss off a player. They say absolute shite just to get a rise out of you. They’re the lowest of the low and aren’t afraid to hit below the belt. Even when what they’re saying has no precedence whatsoever. The need to protect Quincy from such arseholes is overwhelming, but I try to restrain myself.
BeatlesBoy_41: I’m sorry about that. But I assure you…
I tap the delete button on my screen a few times, rephrasing myself.
BeatlesBoy_41: I’m sorry about that, but I promise I’m being honest. You played really well.
Quik_Q182: For a girl, right?
I can practically hear her scoff through the message. It brings an instant smile to my stubbled cheeks. The girl has fire, even though she hides it quite well from the world. I’m determined to bring it to the surface.
BeatlesBoy_41: Hell yes, for a girl. For a guy, too. You’ve got real talent. I’m impressed.
Minutes pass without a word from Quincy, and I start to get nervous.
Quik_Q182: That means a lot coming from a guy with a 93% win ratio. Holy crap, dude. Where have you been all my life?
I grin at her fangirling, wondering what she’d think if she knew who she was really messaging.
BeatlesBoy_41: LMAO I’ve been busy watching you play.
Before I press send, I delete the entire thing. That message sounds a bit creepy.
BeatlesBoy_41: LMAO I guess I’ve been busy gaining those stats. But I’m glad they caught your eye. Wouldn’t want to work hard for nothing.
Quik_Q182: Well, it worked. Color me impressed. How long have you been playing? And what’s your usual position?
My fingers pause on the keyboard. How honest should I be with her?
After a moment of hesitation, I decide to be truthful but vague.
BeatlesBoy_41: I’ve been playing on and off for years. I’ve also dabbled in various positions, but my current favorite is Sneak.
Quik_Q182: TY Now you’re just trying to woo me.
A smile stretches across my face at her word choice. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were a match made in heaven.
BeatlesBoy_41: ROFL if I were trying to woo you, you’d probably run in the other direction. ;)
I hit send while laughing quietly at my proven assumption. I’ve already learned the hard way that my wooing technique has the opposite effect with Quincy.
Quik_Q182: You’re probably right about that. I don’t date. Especially not gamers.
My brows furrow at her last message. She doesn’t date gamers? Bollocks.
BeatlesBoy_41: Mind me asking who you do date then? Any other qualifications I need to know about?
I can’t help myself.
Minutes slowly roll by. My eyes are glued to my iPhone, begging it to vibrate. I’ve never been a patient man, and waiting for this girl’s reply is eating me up inside. She’s slowly becoming an itch I can’t scratch. It’s driving me insane.
Before I can stop myself, I hit reply.
BeatlesBoy_41: NVM. Forget I said anything. Is talking to gamers off limits, too?
Silence.
I’m about to chuck my phone in frustration and take a shower when I see a new notification. Anxiously, I open the message.
Quik_Q182: Sorry, I was in the shower. I have a team meeting tonight that I can’t be late for. As for my “qualifications,” I don’t really have any. Maybe because I’ve never been on a date? Pathetic. I know.
My eyes scan the message about a dozen times. How in the world has this girl never been on a date? She’s fecking gorgeous. She plays video games. She’s mysterious. And I assume she’s loyal, as well. Refusing to leave her dad for a couple weeks is a relatively good indication.
Quik_Q182: GTG. TTYL.
&nbs
p; She’s gone. I’m a bit miffed that I wasn’t able to respond before she disappeared on me. I spend the next ten minutes going through our conversation with a fine-toothed comb, trying to learn a little more about the fascinating bird I’m obsessing over.
I think I spooked her. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for why she discarded our conversation so quickly.
She’s a skittish little kitten, and I need to play my cards correctly. I have a feeling that chasing Quin will not be an easy feat and will require a great deal of patience.
Unfortunately, I’ve never been a patient man.
Chapter 4
Quincy
Well, that was an interesting conversation. I’ve messaged plenty of people through the Flinch chatroom. But I’ve never had a chat go in the direction that my conversation with BeatlesBoy_41 did.
His stats are insane, and if what he says is true, that he’s been playing Sneak lately, I need to pick his brain for a little while. That’s what I tell myself when I save our conversation and promise to text him later. It has nothing to do with the fact that our little chat is the most action I’ve had in about six months.
I wasn’t kidding when I mentioned my lack of dating experience. For all I know, BeatlesBoy_41 could be a thirteen-year-old prepubescent teen. Or worse... a forty-year-old dude that still lives with his parents. I shudder at the thought.
Before getting into my car, I take a moment to look up BeatlesBoy’s stats one more time, confirming his lack of streaming. Dang it. I was hoping I could watch him in action. Maybe I could even get a glimpse of the mystery guy.
Unfortunately, no such luck.
I slip my phone into the back pocket of my cut-off shorts before sliding into the driver’s seat and turning the key to start the engine.
“Please start, baby. Please start,” I coo, rubbing my hand affectionately along the dashboard. I’m praying my beater car won’t have any issues getting me to the team meeting on time.
Thankfully, the engine only stutters twice before starting.
I let out a sigh of relief and make my way to the freeway, grateful I won’t be late today.
The drive is uneventful, and I park in the same spot as the day before.
With a sense of deja vu, I nod to the same valet guy and ride up the elevator.
This time, there are six sets of decked-out computers spread across the buffet table instead of a smorgasbord of food. My feet carry me to the closest setup, and I slide my palm lovingly across the rig. My soul immediately quiets at the familiarity. I take a seat in the cushioned office chair and rest my fingers against the new keyboard. It’ll become my best friend for the next month or so while we fight our way to the Championships.
Some people may find technology to be cold, but it became my best friend at such a young age that I don’t think I’d survive without it. That might sound sad or pathetic, but it’s true. When your dad has dementia and doesn’t even recognize you most days, you learn to appreciate the consistency of technology. The predictability of the game. Sure, the outcome might be different depending on the day, but the rules remain the same. There’s something to be said about having stability in your life, and I learned at a young age to be grateful for it.
I sign on without waiting for my teammates, recognizing that I’m early and have some time to kill. I don’t bother logging in to Flinch because I have no idea if this computer is set up with all the bells and whistles needed to run the program. Streaming live while gaming requires a good chunk of RAM, as well as a kickass graphics card.
While the game is booting up, I hear muffled footsteps from the entrance of the conference room. Turning in my cushioned swivel chair, I’m greeted with a just-showered Jude. Either that, or he’s ridiculously sweaty.
I’m not sure which one is more appealing.
I try to feign disinterest as I remember his asshole comment last night. My attention turns back to the computer screen, and I’m insanely grateful for the distraction.
“Mind if I join you?” Jude asks, sauntering over to the computer setup on my right.
Apparently, he isn’t waiting for an invitation.
My focus remains on my screen as I lift one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.
Maybe if I act cold, he’ll leave me alone. I’m not used to attention from guys, especially not attractive douchebags. It makes me more than a little uncomfortable.
My hands tremble slightly as I finish connecting to the server. I shift in my seat before subtly taking a peek to my right. Jude’s already signed in. I put my headphones on while trying to pretend my celebrity crush isn’t sitting beside me. That I’m not about to fulfill one of my fantasies of gaming with him. Pathetic, right?
I try to get my inner fangirl under control, but she’s currently squealing her little heart out. That’s when I remind her that this guy’s a total jerkface. It seems to sober her up quite nicely.
“So, want to be on the same team or do you want to play opposite?” Jude poses conversationally, breaking the awkward silence.
My reply? Another shrug.
Jude’s warm chuckle miraculously melts a little of my bitterness.
“Don’t be so chatty, Kitten. I need to focus,” he teases playfully.
I scoff at his ridiculous comment, refusing to say a word. It’s almost like he’s challenging me to keep my mouth shut, and I can’t help but rise to the bait.
“I’ll take Operator on your team this round. We’ll let the noobs play the other positions.” I can see him wink from the corner of my eye, even though my gaze is still glued to the screen in front of me. My back is rim-rod straight as the server finds other players from a random selection.
Jude puts his headset on and stretches his arms over his head dramatically, like he’s about to perform a physically exhausting maneuver instead of typing on a keyboard and clicking his mouse. His theatrics almost cause a snort to bubble out of me, but I catch it just in time.
I refuse to let Jude know how entertaining he really is. The guy has a big enough ego already.
As soon as the game officially begins, the world around me disappears. I’m immediately sucked into the virtual reality of Gateway Guardians. I feel more at home in this artificial environment than in my own living room, let alone a lonely conference room in Vegas.
Every player starts off in separate sections of the randomized map and are left to gather various items that will become useful later in the game.
After a few minutes, Jude’s voice interrupts my concentration.
“Alright, Kitten, you have a sniper on the rear building. I’m going to need you to stay close to the brick wall and use your camo skill. RiteFlite,” he calls into a set of headphones, addressing the Tank on our team. “I’m going to need you to cause an explosion in the next three seconds to distract their Sniper from killing Q.” Oftentimes, players shorten Gamertags to save time typing and talking. Things get crazy fast, and we need to communicate as quickly as possible.
“Got it,” a random voice acknowledges through our headsets.
Almost instantly, an explosion occurs, and I book it to the nearest building for cover.
“Brilliant,” Jude praises.
The next ten minutes go by without a hitch. I’m using my camouflage charge and am seconds away from grabbing the gemstone.
“Wait,” Jude breathes cautiously. My fingers immediately stop typing the final action before my mind can catch up. I’m surprised how quickly I follow Jude’s command, and it makes me mad that he affects me so easily. Being the stubborn ass that I am, I reach the gemstone anyway, completely ignoring Jude’s order.
Nothing happens. I smirk in Jude’s direction, silently challenging his authority before my avatar drops to the ground. Single shot to the head.
Game. Over.
“Dang it!” I yell, frustration lacing my tone.
“Shit, Q! Why didn’t you listen to the Op?” a random voice screams through the headphones.
I drop my head back in defeat and
stare blankly at the ceiling while my teammates ream me. I’m angry that my stubbornness just cost us the game.
Jude’s forearm brushes against my thigh as he reaches down and powers off my computer. His touch sends an electric pulse throughout my system, and I jerk away from the unfamiliar feeling. The angry voices disappear into thin air, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.
“Quincy, it’s just a game,” Jude murmurs, trying to comfort me.
I lick my lips before replying. “Quin.”
“Pardon?”
“You can call me Quin,” I reiterate.
“Alright, Quin. It’s just a game. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
I scoff at his completely inaccurate statement. “Jude.” I turn to him, trying to maintain eye contact, though that’s an entirely separate battle. “It’s not just a game. It’s my freaking job, and I just botched an easy win because I was too prideful to listen to you.” Humiliation eats at my nauseated stomach with my confession.
Jude leans forward, his muscular forearms resting against the tabletop. “Kitten, it was a minor loss against a handful of noobs. The only reason you didn’t listen to your Op is because he happened to be the same guy who hit on you last night. I take no offense for your pride getting in the way.” He smiles briefly, before continuing. “But you’re correct. It’s no excuse. You’re not always going to enjoy your teammate’s company, but you need to trust them, regardless.” Jude places his hand on my own, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of my hand, just like the night before. “You need to learn to let people in, Quin.” His intense stare holds my own while portraying the importance of his words.