The Hot Gamer (A Romance Love Story) (Hargrave Brothers - Book #3)

by Alexa Davis

  Her voice, on the other end, was like honey. Without the filters and background noise of the microphone, the computers, or the games, it seemed like I could wind that voice through my fingers like salt water taffy. We talked about gaming and all things computer-related. I was amazed to learn she hired out all her technical work, and told her that I could probably teach her a few simple things that would give her more control at a lower cost.

  When she asked about the ranch, I talked for an eternity about the lake, the horses, and the life out at Lago Colina. As it turned out, she’d been raised in Oklahoma before moving to Los Angeles to become famous, and my farm-town upbringing wasn’t so foreign to her as I thought.

  We talked for hours, and the conversation never devolved from “Where you from?” to “What are you wearing?” I’d never been the guy who had to use web sites or cam girls to get my rocks off, but I’d been here with other gamer girls and talking to her about how lonely she was surrounded by people who only wanted to use her for their own ends, was enough for me. It was nice just to be honest with her. I’d been surrounded by cattlemen, family, and mustangs all my life. I’d turned to computers because I needed to be different. She’d become a model to escape small town boredom and poverty, but instead, found out what it was like to be drowning in a sea of people.

  “Okay, miss hot-shot cosplay champion, what about your new career? I’ve been to a gamer conference or two, that must put some pressure on you, socially.” There was a long pause, and I could hear her take a swig of the soda she’d picked up from the vending machine down the hall while she’d been mocking me for living with my folks.

  “I like nerds. A lot of them are like me. Socially awkward and needing a lot of alone time between social engagements,” she laughed. “And apparently, none of us ever sleep. What time is it where you are?”

  I looked at the clock on my computer and sighed ruefully. “I should smell breakfast for the ranch hands coming up shortly,” I admitted. “And you have a flight to catch in a few hours.”

  “Yeah, I should grab a cat nap before I have to face the TSA with my sex toys and submit to a body cavity search based on my obviously foreign name and physical appearance,” she said. I imagined her shaking out her long blonde hair as she spoke.

  “Yeah, those blue-eyed girls with Sooner accents are becoming a real problem,” I teased. I knew she needed to go, but I wanted to keep listening to her. In fact, I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep to the sound of that milk-and-honey voice with its soft country twang.

  3. Carina

  I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until I hung up my phone and tried to look at my clock. My sight blurred and my eyes burned from the effort of trying to focus. I gave up the idea of brushing my teeth, choosing instead to turn out the lamp and fall into bed, dragging the covers across me as I closed my sticky eyelids and passed out.

  My dreams were familiar, yet strange, colored with the stories Jackson had told me. In my technicolor imaginings he was my quintessential cowboy, and we rode the plains outside Tulsa, since I’d never been to Texas. The last thing I remembered before even my dream world went black, was a snow storm and a set of deep blue eyes staring into mine, and the sensation of strong, callused hands hot on my frigid skin.

  When I woke up, the sun was streaming thin through the sheers over the hotel windows, and I was freezing cold. Somehow, I’d kicked off my covers and had been so exhausted that the air conditioning hadn’t woken me up, just blown over me, cold and steady, until I felt like I’d been asleep in a refrigerator all night. My fingers were icicles hanging off my hands and when looked in the mirror my lips were blue.

  I cranked up the heat on the water for my shower, and glanced at my phone. I didn’t know what to expect, but my grin felt like it might split my frozen cheeks when I saw JD, the moniker I’d given Jackson, in my notifications. I fumbled with the phone, trying to unlock it and, on the third try, got it unlocked and read the two messages he’d sent. The first was a simple good morning, and in the second he wished a safe flight for me.

  He thanked me for the great conversation, and not once did he tell me I was beautiful or comment on my appearance. It was a nice change, and knowing he’d woken up thinking about me was enough to start a fire low in my belly. I got in the shower and ran my hands over my naked body, wondering if he really was as rugged and hot as his profile picture. I imagined what the rough, callused hands of a working cowboy would feel like on my skin, and shuddered as the fire blew into hot need, that felt like shock inside my frigid skin.

  I stayed in the shower long after I was clean and, by the time the water started to cool, I was warm enough to function again, and my libido had calmed a little. I started a pot of coffee and got dressed in the most comfortable clothes I had, pulled my hair up in a messy ponytail, and skipped makeup all together in the interest of time and because truthfully, I just didn’t care what I looked like. I knew I’d regret it later when some slag mag ran a story about my imagined drug habit, based on my lack of fashion and my refusal to be pretty “just because.” I left the being pretty part up to my photographers and their photoshop. It just didn’t matter that much to me.

  I stuffed my dirty clothes in one suitcase, and carefully folded and packed my costumes, wigs, and the foam sniper rifle into their wardrobe case. While I secured my gear so that none of it would slide around and get wrinkled or torn, I smoothed my hand over the latex bodice. It was shiny and it squeaked when I rubbed it hard enough.

  I loved my new life. I loved talking to people who loved comics and Lord of the Rings, and Marvel movies as much as I did. I’d left my home to escape who I was, and I was finally starting to know what happiness really was since I’d decided to stop putting so much energy into being what other people wanted me to be. I’d been propositioned by a lot of guys since I started streaming my game play, but Jackson had been the first guy I’d ever been interested in. It hadn’t hurt that when I googled him, not only had his picture matched the one on his profile, but he was a hot cowboy, and what proper Oklahoma girl wouldn’t want one of her own to play with?

  I ordered breakfast to go with my coffee and considered what I was going to do when I got home. My LA apartment was small, dingy, and of course, overpriced. My bedroom had been converted into my workspace, which meant that half the room was now a sound booth with my computers, microphone, professional camera, and everything I needed to do a proper job of streaming. After all, my demographic was exactly the kind of people who would notice if I used the webcam on my laptop, or used a cheap mic.

  The other half of the room was a dressing area, complete with three-way mirror and clothing racks. Everything I was given by a sponsor or for a shoot was kept in there, away from my cat, Stiles, and temperature and humidity controlled, which was required for a lot of my costume pieces, as well as my audio and video setup.

  Instead of sleeping in my bedroom, I’d picked up a Murphy bed that, instead of folding into a cabinet on the wall, turned into a sofa with some shelving above it. Everything else in my home was either from Ikea, or a splurge item purchased in those rare moments when I forgot that I was a celebrity, but not a rich celebrity. I was barely old enough to drink, and I’d already done “Dancing with the Stars.” I hadn’t even won. So, I lived as frugally as I could while still rubbing elbows with the people who might help me make more money.

  I scarfed down breakfast and called Jackson while I waited for my ride to the airport. He didn’t answer, so I left him a message thanking him for hanging out the night before and told him I hoped he hadn’t had too rough a recovery after being up until the early hours of the morning. The porter collected my bags and I made one last sweep of the room, and swiped the second bag of coffee on my way out the door. God knows someone had paid for it, there was no point in leaving it behind.

  I made it through security and onto my plane with no real trouble, and even got to take a few pictures with some kids who had been at Gamercon and were excited to see me win the big pr
ize. I admitted to them that I was more excited for the chance to work with Bob Mackie than for the money. At his age, and with the state of his fashion empire, he didn’t need to work, let alone give his time to someone like me. I was grateful for the opportunity to up my cosplay game. I’d been a model, I was fortunate enough now to make a living playing video games, but both of those things were going to peter out to sheer abject poverty with time.

  I wanted to get into costume design. Jackson had even agreed that long-term, a better plan was needed than simply “looks good in clothes.” I had fought learning to sew when my grandmother had taught me. But, once I got to Los Angeles, and New York, and anywhere else there was work for me, I’d come to appreciate the value of that skill and earned a deep respect for the ins and outs of the fashion world you didn’t find on the runway.

  I sat in my plane seat, grinning like an idiot, as I went over my conversation with Jackson the night before. He’d managed to make me feel intelligent and talented and, without once telling me so, beautiful. He didn’t ask me for pictures of my breasts, or send me any R-rated pictures of himself (thank God). I felt a frown start to pull at my mouth and schooled my face blank again. Just because he hadn’t gone through all the typical male responses, didn’t mean he thought I was ugly. Even if he did, I wasn’t about to start wearing my mother’s perpetual bitch face. She was stick thin and could wear anything, but she looked at least five years older than she was. If I was going to stay in the business, I needed to fight that part of my genetics and maintain youth and healthy living as long as possible.

  The forty-minute flight was an eternity of having my phone in flight mode. The little commuter plane didn’t even have wifi, so I couldn’t check my emails or work while I was en route, and I was already flipping out a little about how to make my next paycheck, even before the prize money hit my account.

  I had my phone out and turned back on before the plane finished taxiing to the gate, scrolling through emails and missed messages. Nothing from Jackson yet but, for all I knew, he was still sleeping off our late night, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. Upside, I had two casting calls for bit parts and had gotten a job in a music video. It wasn’t my favorite, but I appreciated every bit of work that came in, even if I had to struggle to find my gratitude. I replied to my agent while I was waiting for my bags, and got into my Uber app for a ride home.

  4. Jackson

  I slept for three or four hours, but it was fitful and restless, so I finally gave up and headed downstairs. Thankfully, Mom or Rachel had set something aside for me, and Patty sat me down at the family kitchen table with a fresh, steaming cup of coffee that was nearly half cream in my extra-large Captain America mug, just the way I liked it.

  I checked my messages as I stuffed my face with biscuits and gravy with a few slices of thick-cut bacon. I was surprised to see that C.J. had called me, and not at all unhappy to find out that she wanted to talk again. My sleep had been hijacked with images of her, the sound of her voice, even her laugh. Not that it was the first time I’d wanted to get to know a good-looking woman better, but it was my first celebrity getting to know you.

  Looking at the time, I figured she was on her flight, so I got my boots on and went for a ride to clear my head. I was only a couple weeks away from starting school again and somewhere along the way, I’d got bored with life. I loved the ranch, but he older I got, the more time I spent with my computers. Because I was the youngest, no one had ever made me muck stalls or break colts. There were no expectations of me to excel or achieve. It was like no matter what I did, it would never live up to the guys who had come first.

  When I was a kid, it was great getting praised every time I belched or broke wind. Then as I got older, it stopped being novel that everything I did got cheers, but nothing seemed to matter. They didn’t even complain when I spent days alone in my room, coming out only to refuel my caffeine-addled body, or ever ask if I was doing well in school. I thought for a moment, but couldn’t remember if I’d even bothered to call home when I made the dean’s list. Talking to C.J., I’d felt adventurous, brilliant, and worldly. She was articulate and funny, and driven to succeed on her own, without the support of her own family.

  I rode over the fields where my parents kept their adopted wild mustangs, and found myself outside the new training facility that my oldest brother, Danny, had built for his race horse. His horse master, Pete, and jockey, Verica, were outside the stables talking as Verica brushed out the mane and tail of Danny’s pride and joy, Texas Tango.

  Pete glowed as he watched over the tiny woman and I had to admit to myself, he looked ten years younger when he stood by her. I liked her well-enough, but she was horse-crazy to a level I would never understand. Which, only made the Pete, Verica combination make even more sense.

  Lago Colina belonged to them, more than it felt like it did to me. I loved the land, but I was about to put in my last year of college unless I went for my master’s. The next summer, I needed to have another place to go because I just couldn’t keep moving back home and hiding away until it was time to leave again. Out in the middle of nowhere, it just got too easy to be a hermit in my room.

  The night before, I’d realized exactly how out of it I was. All my recent movie experiences had been pirated, the most fun I’d had was taking advantage of a website glitch that allowed me to put rainbow banners and pro-gay messages on a Westboro Baptist page, and the only time I ate solid food was when my mom brought it to me, or her assistant, Patty, dragged me down to join the family.

  God. I was turning into a stereotype. I waved to Pete and turned around. There was a streamer conference in California coming up, in a couple of months. I briefly wondered exactly how creepy it would be to C.J. if I showed up there while she was doing her cosplay thing. I dismissed the thought. It was definitely too creepy. Still, I wanted to talk to her again, and more importantly, I wanted to see her, face to face.

  I got back to the house and hopped online while I checked my phone again. I’d missed a call from C.J., and caught myself grinning at the sound of her voice as she thanked me for talking the night before, and apologized for keeping me up so late. If we’d been in the same state, it would’ve been the perfect day after a first date. I rethought heading out to the next big convention. It was worth the thought, anyway. With the beginning of school imminent, it would be nice to take a last summer trip, anyway.

  I called her back and was just figuring out a message in my head when she picked up on the last ring. Caught off guard, I didn’t answer right away when she picked up. She said my name, and I laughed.

  “Sorry, I was already past the ringing to the voice mail. I had to adjust.”

  She returned my laugh. “I totally understand. Sometimes it’s easier to leave a message. When I get to that point and I’m ready to leave a message, I hope no one picks up.”

  “Well, I was just calling to make sure you made it home safe, after being up all night.”

  “Yeah, I made it home. I just got done feeding Stiles and was putting my clothes in the wash.”

  “Wait, you do your own laundry? I have to admit, I didn’t think celebrities did anything for themselves.”

  “Asshat,” she laughed. “I’m sure there are even A-listers out there who can clean up after themselves. I had fun last night. More fun than I’ve had in a while.”

  “Me too. In fact, I liked talking to you so much, I toyed with the idea of attending the next conference in California in September, and maybe taking you out for coffee or lunch, if you’re comfortable with that.” I started to sweat in the length of the pause. “Or, maybe we can forget I said anything, and carry on…”

  “No, I think it’s a great idea. I was just thinking about how to make it work, and if you wanted to do anything else, how we’d fit it in.”

  “Well, I appreciate you thinking you’d want more than coffee with me. Especially considering I’m technically one of your paying stalkers.”

  She gasped and scoffed. “Please, neve
r call yourself that again, or we really can’t talk anymore. Ew.”

  I laughed, surprised at how loud and easy it was to laugh with her.

  “Okay, so, I guess we have a plan. You come out to California for the convention if we don’t get tired of each other before then. We can meet up for coffee, and if we still like each other in person, you can buy me dinner, or one of those ridiculously expensive photos with Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen. “

  “Wait, you don’t get those for free? Why are we even talking, then?”

  She giggled, and I puffed up like a rooster, instantly grateful no one could see me. She talked to me while she finished unpacking, with her phone on speaker, and I helped her fill the time until she was set to start her stream. I asked her for a picture to use with her profile on my phone, as she was starting up her streaming computers. She promised to send one, and we hung up, only for me to immediately receive a picture of dry, scaly, wrinkled skin. I stared at it for a full minute before I realized what I was looking at. I typed a quick reply of “That’s the hottest elbow I’ve ever seen. Thanks!” and I shelved my phone and started my computer.

  She invited me to play with her again, and I got to chat with the other girl and the two guys she usually teamed up with, who were all streamers. It felt weird being one of the people being watched for once, and I was really, really glad I didn’t have the additional stress of having my own stream and trying to entertain people who were probably better at these games than I was.

  We had fun, and in messages that only she and I could see, we got flirtier and less inhibited the longer we played. I missed supper with the family, not that they’d noticed, and when I looked out the window, the sky was already turning orange over the tree line. I took my phone off the charger and took a picture, and sent it to her phone. On the other end of my internet connection, I heard her gasp, and then she paused the game to show her audience the view from my window. I felt my face heat up when she referred to me as her “favorite guy” and hoped that I wasn’t expected to say anything.