“I had not. I’m also pretty sure the character didn’t have a name when I passed it over to you.”
“Well, he didn’t,” she moved her foot, stroking the inside of his thigh as casually as she could and trying not to smile wider when one of his hands rested against the top of her foot, his thumb slowly stroking her arch. “But I had to give him one, didn’t I? I couldn’t go around just calling him Nameless.”
“Well.” Terrance crossed out the name on his character sheet—Magdeline—and, glancing at her between each letter, wrote something new in its place.
“What?” she asked, leaning forward to see over her binders. It was difficult to do without pulling her foot away from his grip and there was no way she was going to do that. “What did you call her?”
“Oh, nothing—” he said in a way that made it super clear it was definitely something.
Hallie laughed despite herself, “What? What are you calling me?”
“Nothing nearly as loathsome as Terry,” he said, smirking and continuing to stroke her foot with his left thumb.
“What is it?” She wanted to stand up, to reach across the screen and take the sheet from his hands, but to do that she’d need to pull her foot from his lap, and she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Even though he knew it too—she could tell from his overly casual attitude and the touch of his hand on her foot—he was pretending otherwise and was waving the character sheet at her just out of her reach.
“Fluffy Snuggle Bunny.”
“You didn’t.”
“I might have.”
“You didn’t.”
“Well,” he said, smoothing the paper back down in front of him where she couldn’t possibly reach it, he smirked. “I guess you’ll never know, now will you?”
“Grrr.” She pressed her foot against his hand. It was meant to be a playful display of frustration, but then her toes brushed against his zipper. Still smiling, he lifted his eyebrows at her and said nothing. Heat flooded her face and she ducked back down behind the binders she was using to block his view of her notes and shuffled through pages as though she was looking for something. Which she was, if looking for a way to gracefully get past the fact she’d just rubbed her foot against his crotch counted.
“Well,” she said after too long of a pause had gone by. “Do you want to go shopping before you head out?”
“Nope.” When she looked up, he caught her eye and held her gaze meaningfully. “I have everything I need.”
“You—” She was about to argue, to point out that his character had only the armor on his back and a longsword when she realised two things. First, it was now her character who had only the armor on his back and a longsword and second, he wasn’t talking about the game any more.
“Well,” she looked down at her sheet. “Well, okay then.”
“Okay then,” Terrance said. His fingers moved from her foot to just above her sock and he stroked the bare skin there, sending an electric shiver down her spine. The hairs on her arm actually stood up, and she was incredibly grateful she’d shaved her legs that morning.
“Entering the woods is like stepping into a whole different world,” she read off the notes. “Beneath the trees the temperature drops and shadows loom. It’s like twilight even now, in the middle of the day and despite the ever-present feeling of being watched, you can’t see or hear any animals. No birds chirp in the branches, no bunnies rustle the underbrush. All is still, eerily still, and oppressive.”
“Hmm…”
“What?” Hallie asked.
“Well, it’s just that Fluffy Snuggle Bunny here doesn’t seem to have a cloak.”
“So?”
“So, you just said it was cold.” He leaned forward and his fingers slipped beneath the cuff of her jeans and stroked the back of her calf. Butterflies erupted in her belly, fluttering so hard she noticed a slight tremor in her fingers. This was going so much better than she’d ever imagined. Just so long as she didn’t screw anything up—
“Oh,” she pretended to look over the barbarian’s sheet, then looked up at Terrance. “You’re right. Terry doesn’t have a cloak either. They’re going to be pretty cold if they just keep on like this.”
“What,” Terrance began. “What do you suppose they should do about that?”
“You’re the player,” Hallie said, relieved to have the perfect dodge for his question—she didn’t want to seem too eager too soon. “Terry is mostly just coming along as extra muscle so I think you have to decide that for both of them.”
“Is that so?”
“I—well, that might not be the only reason he’s coming, but you still need to make all the important story decisions because he’s an NPC.”
“In that case, Bunny is going to stop and set up camp.”
“They aren’t going to get much of the forest mapped that way.” Did he hear the tremor in her voice, or was she just imagining it? His fingers on her skin were driving her to distraction. Not only could she feel where he was touching her, but even after his fingers moved on, the feeling of his touch, his heat, the tiny pressure, lingered. Like a ghost.
“But they’re not going to die of exposure either. Perhaps they should share body heat too.” His voice sounded perfectly reasonable, but looking into his eyes she could see the gleam there. He knew the effect he was having on her, the double meaning of this entire charade of an RP session.
“It’s pretty cold—” she said, but was interrupted just as Lila came rushing back into the room.
“I forgot my—” Lila began.
Hallie jumped guiltily, banging her knee on the bottom of the table as she jerked away from Terrance. She bit back a curse but too late, and both Lila and Terrance looked at her with matching frowns.
“What did you do?” Lila said.
“Just,” she blinked back tears. The sharp pain of impact had subsided into a dull throbbing. “You startled me is all.”
“Are you okay?” Terrance asked, all flirtation had left his face and he was a picture of unadulterated concern. Great. Now she’d screwed everything up. She’d been so close—
“I’m fine.” The tears she was valiantly blinking back were no longer inspired from pain but frustration. So close. Now the whole atmosphere was changed, different. Even after Lila left, how was she going to get things back to how they’d been?
“I’m sorry,” Lila said. “I just forgot my purse. I made it all the way to the bar before—are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” Hallie said, forcing a smile. “Tis but a flesh wound.”
“I left Brock waiting downstairs so I can’t stay.” Lila gestured toward the door then started walking in the direction she’d pointed. “Have fun, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That doesn’t feel very restrictive,” Terrance called after her as she slipped out the door a second time and let it close softly behind her. Hallie laughed and he looked back across the table at her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she waved a hand dismissively. “Embarrassed more than anything.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Right.” The mood had been killed, if not by Lila’s re-appearance then by her bashing her knee on the table. She didn’t feel flirty anymore, she felt silly and insecure. “Where were we?”
Terrance reached beneath the table, cupped her heel in his hand and lifted it to rest between his thighs. “Right about here, I think,” he said, and moved his fingers to the back of her calf. Hallie’s breath caught and she had to clear her throat twice before she trusted her voice to work properly.
“Oh, that’s right.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“And uh… what does Bunny want to do?” She gestured at his character sheet. Terrance didn’t look down, but stared straight into her eyes.
“What do you think she wants to do?” His voice was deeper than usual. Husky.
“I—she’s your, I mean… what do you want to do?”
“K
iss you.”
The flutters returned to her belly and she smiled so wide it hurt her cheeks. “You’d better roll for that…”
Terrance picked up his d20, without looking away from her, and rolled. “How’d I do?”
Hallie didn’t look at the die either, but pushed her chair back from the table and stood in front of Terrance on wobbly legs. He rose to meet her, cupping her face, sliding his fingers through her hair and leaning in for the kiss. “Critical hit,” she whispered, right before their lips met.
Cori Vidae is an editor, anthologist and the founder of Pen and Kink Publishing. She works as an Assistant Editor at World Weaver Press and also occasionally finds time to write things (often Under Glass). You can learn more about her at her blog www.CoriVidae.com.
Classification of Nerd
Mara Malins
Chapter One
“Johnny Knoxville.”
Emily shot Jack an irritated look, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. It was getting harder to control her tongue, particularly as she was on a relaxing buzz from her third beer. Jack was her superior and though he never insisted on keeping the ranks, it didn’t feel right to openly challenge him.
The team were at a pub quiz, something they usually did every Friday night after the late shift. Despite being the only female, Emily enjoyed spending time with her male co-workers, they never made her feel like she wasn’t accepted. With her private education and wealthy upbringing, it wouldn’t have been difficult for them to exclude her, but once they realised that not only could she take the banter but also dish it out, she became ‘one of the boys.’
The only problem was how much Jack disliked her.
When she went to work for Tester.com, the best computer game testing company in the UK, she thought she had scored her dream job, spending her day playing computer games for next-gen consoles. She knew the work would mostly be tedious and repetitive but the lure of testing games pre-release was so thrilling that she had taken a pay cut to join the company.
Within three weeks, she bitterly regretted the decision. The team were friendly enough and the work was what she expected it to be but Jack was just unbearable; awkward, stubborn, and sometimes downright unpleasant to her. He would walk away abruptly, even changing direction when she approached him to start a conversation. On two occasions she was positive he had seen her coming. He rarely looked at her in team meetings, keeping his eyes on the floor when he spoke, and, worst of all, he seemed completely oblivious to her gaming reports. She knew she was the best tester in the team, being systematic and analytical in a way the boys could never seem to replicate. But from the minimal feedback she received from Jack, it didn’t feel like it.
After a month, she had tried to talk to Jack about his unfair behaviour, even asking if she was at fault, but he categorically denied any wrong doing and offered her a placement on another team—a lesser testing team—if “she had a problem working with him.” The worst part was she could tell from his intense expression that he hoped she would accept the placement, despite it being a step back in her gaming career. She had no choice but to ignore his unfair treatment and move on.
Sometimes, though, it was tougher than others. Like tonight. They were at their usual hidden table at the back of the room. Tim, tonight’s team leader, was slyly scanning the bustling room to see whether any of the other teams were mouthing the same answer. Somewhat keen to the issue between her and Jack, he studiously avoided both of their eyes.
“It’s Johnny Knoxville, Tim. Write it down,” Jack insisted, his broad shoulders hunched in, as though expecting a rebuttal. Thanks to his huge size, he always seemed to fold himself in, like he was trying to go unnoticed. It didn’t work.
Emily couldn’t hold back; she rolled her eyes. Sliding her almost-empty beer back on the table much harder than she intended, she leaned in. “No,” she argued in a heated whisper, “Nathan Drake is based on Nathan Fillion. His Firefly character Mal to be exact. Everybody knows that. They look identical with the braces and everything. They even share the same name, for God’s sake.”
Jack shook his head. His unkempt auburn hair fell across his forehead and he flicked it back with an impatient jerk. It was the only sign of his own irritation. “You’re wrong, Emily, but it’s a common enough mistake,” he said in that superior voice she hated. “Drake is based on Johnny Knoxville. And a little bit of Han Solo, if you must know—that’s where the braces come from. Fillion was based on Han Solo too.”
Tim turned back to them and waved an impatient hand. Emily couldn’t help but notice the amused glance he shared with Ben. “I thought it was Nathan Fillion too,” he admitted.
“And you lot call yourselves gamers,” Jack muttered beneath his breath. Then louder, “I’m telling you, it’s Knoxville.”
Ben scanned the room where several whispered arguments were taking place at the other tables. “Guys, make your mind up. We’ve got ten seconds. I don’t know this one.”
“I don’t either,” Dave slurred, not even bothering to hide his boredom. His eyelids were low and heavy. He rarely participated in the quiz, once telling her he came for the booze, not the quiz.
Emily sat back in the booth and crossed her arms, stewing. “It’s Nathan Fillion, Tim,” she insisted, tucking her flyaway hair behind her ears impatiently. “Don’t listen to Jack. He’s wrong. I’ve got this.”
Tim studied both Jack and Emily, before bending down to scratch an answer on the paper with his lucky, raggedly-chewed pencil. Emily leaned over and was happy to see him entering her answer. She flashed a smug smile at Jack.
Jack gave a halfway shrug. Ignoring her, he spoke quietly to Tim. “She’s wrong. We’ll lose the points. We’re already three behind from the last round, do you want to make it four?”
Before either of them could reply, the host moved on to the next question, blaring his commentary into the microphone. The conspiratorial whispers from the other teams were immediately silenced. Emily leaned back into her seat and huffed, partly wanting to argue some more and get Jack to see that she was right, and partly wanting to back down and pretend she hadn’t just contradicted her superior.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jack shift in his seat, his arms resting lightly on his knees. He was wearing well-worn jeans and his usual slogan tee. She eyed it surreptitiously, always interested to see what geeky tee he wore. Today, instead of a subtle film reference or a nod to one of the fantasy books he regularly read, he had a math pun scrawled across his broad chest—3/2 people have trouble with fractions. Before she could stop herself, Emily sniggered. Jack flashed her a startled look, his eyebrow raised questioningly.
“I was reading your shirt,” she explained. To her embarrassment, a blush creeped up her neck. It felt like she had been caught staring at him. Which, in a way, she had.
Jack nodded his head and then turned away again, his face indifferent, apparently disinterested in pursuing a conversation. Emily wasn’t at all surprised, so she did what she normally did; she ignored him. She took a sip of her beer and moved back into the group huddle, paying no attention to the feel of his critical eyes on her.
“Question twenty-three: Where was the 1978 film Dawn of the Dead mostly filmed?”
“Monroeville Mall!” Emily whispered excitedly.
At the same time, Jack murmured, “Pittsburgh.” Then he looked over at her, surprised. “You know Dawn of the Dead?”
Emily felt her shoulders stiffen. “Can’t a girl like zombie films?”
He blinked. “Of course. I didn’t mean that. I just didn’t think. I mean, look at you.” He waved a hand over to where she was sitting. “You don’t seem…” he faltered.
Emily looked down, knowing already what he meant. Blonde haired and blue eyed, with a petite but curvy figure, she didn’t look like the traditional horror-film lover. Then again, she didn’t look like a traditional gamer either. She was used to snap judgments. She was used to people assuming she was more interested in fashion than Final Fantasy, o
r shopping rather than collecting Blu-ray’s. Coming from Jack, however, it sounded like he was judging her and finding her wanting.
“Seem like what?” she challenged, her dislike for him simmering closer to the surface than usual thanks to the beer.
Jack swallowed nervously. “Nevermind.”
“No, what did you mean by that?” She insisted. She knew she would regret this the next morning, but she was unable to stop herself. It annoyed her that he thought it was okay to say something so inflammatory, so critical, and think he didn’t have to explain himself.
“Guys, break it up,” Tim interrupted. His long face twisted as though he was having trouble hiding his amusement. “What am I putting on the sheet?”
Jack gestured to Emily with a placating hand. “She’s right. Monroeville Mall. Put that.”
Emily was startled that Jack had backed down so easily—technically, they were both right and he could have insisted on Pittsburgh as their team answer. But she didn’t say anything as Tim scribbled her response on to the sheet.
She was completely absorbed in the next round of questions when there was a light tap on her shoulder. Surprised, she turned and saw Jack holding out a fresh beer to her—the draught she preferred. She accepted it automatically. “Thanks,” then because she couldn’t help herself, “But I could have gotten myself another one. I didn’t need you to get it for me.”
“I know,” he said, taking his seat again, “But we’re at the geography section and you’re good at those questions. I’m useless. I didn’t want to pull you away from the team.”
Emily didn’t answer. Despite not wanting another drink, she was strangely affected by his gesture. It felt like an apology, something completely out of character for him. A victory almost. When she tipped her drink at him in thanks, he gave her a soft smile that made his plain face seem attractive. Their eyes locked for such a long moment that when she looked away, her face felt hot.
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