Rolling for Love

by Kate Messick

  “That can’t be what I said; rectitude is the rightness of conduct.”

  “Ok, I’m making up words, but you get my point,” Blake says, frustrated.

  “I do – striving for perfection will just make you miserable in the end because It’s unattainable.”

  “So why are you using the word perfect now?”

  “Joe found her sexy lingerie in his refrigerator Sunday morning,” I don’t know why this fact comes out of my mouth, but it does. Maybe because it was the opposite of perfect? Because that’s what Sandy is – the opposite of perfect, which is what makes her so perfect. I really do hate that word.

  “I’m just going to stick in here that you and Joe have developed an unhealthily close friendship,” Blake states.

  I want to argue, but the truth is I don’t think I really knew what a bromance was until that night watching League of Legends with Joe. I thought Blake and I were good friends but, if Joe didn’t work in Aurora, I think we would have already moved in together. Same tastes in food, drinks, video games, well, games in general. Where I spend hours reading, Joe spends hours at the gym. But otherwise Joe, honestly, has my favorite conversational qualities that I love in Sandy, without the sexual tension or drama.

  “I sometimes do wish I was gay,” I mumble.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” Some Freudian stuff there for sure. But I went through my experimental phase and men alone just don’t do it for me. I focus back on Blake’s words. “You have a good point. I need to listen to my own advice instead of getting trapped in my own head.”

  “Yes, I will take credit for what you just said,” Blake laughs.

  My computer plinks a few times with messages. Blake knows the cue and stands to return his chair.

  “Chicken Steve today?” Blake asks.

  “Blake, I have yet to miss a chicken Steve. I might be over thinking my life right now but never too much for that,” I reply.

  “Just sleep with her again; it will fix so much.”

  I let the assumption that we have already slept together go and get back to work.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Campaign, Estes Park

  The shape of Estes Park reminds one of a snake. Snuggled up against the sheer sides the Big Thompson River, it empties into a large reservoir. Tall mountains line it’s sides. The opposite of defensible, It’s a town rife for attack, built to welcome tourist invaders.

  Nozomi (Sandy’s character)

  Lynda has graciously let us use her kids’ bedroom for any asides and private information Joe has needed to pass on, the game being at their house this afternoon. I have been separated from the rest of my party, having taken damage during one of the little jobs Raphael keeps sending us on to prove our allegiance. Joe and I find ourselves surrounded by a cacophony of colors and kids’ toys. The low murmur of the rest of our party, talking from the floor below, is the only ambience. Joe grins at me and slips into his role as Raphael.

  Raphael escorts me to headquarters instead of my party’s hotel suite. Maybe we have earned some goodwill and I’m on my way to get a look at their true intentions. It took maybe ten minutes for his team to heal me, I could have gone with my friends. But we need intelligence and Raphael seems drawn to me, and if I’m honest, I am to him.

  He sits me down in what looks like a typical hotel conference room, hastily made into a war chamber complete with maps, folding tables, and …

  “Is that a demon portal?” I ask. It’s the wrong color, the script more angelic, but it is unmistakably a portal of some kind. But only Kaatse demons can make portals, right?

  “Mostly,” Raphael answers. “My brother Uriel can create them, but they don’t quite use the same energy as demon portals, so they only connect to the others Uriel creates.”

  “Because you are angels?” I prod, trying to understand how this is possible.

  “I could be your angel.” Raphael stops walking and meets my eye, distracting me from the topic at hand.

  “Did you create an NPC just to flirt with me during the game?” I ask Joe.

  “I would never,” he says innocently. “Raphael takes one of your hands in his gloved one and air-kisses each of your knuckles.” Joe does exactly what he’s describing.

  I move my hand back and blush. “You are very straightforward,” I tell Raphael. “And also very good at not answering my questions.”

  Raphael’s grin is anything but innocent as he guides me past the maps and the board to the scrying glass we used the first day. Despite his guidance, I study the other objects in the room, storing away information. I jump when I feel his arm wrap around my waist.

  “I need to touch you for the glass to work,” he reminds me and touches the bowl with his other hand. “I would assume you wanted to watch your friends again?”

  He leaves the question open. To my embarrassment, Raphael’s face appears in the glass first before I focus my thoughts on Strider. Raphael’s energy is very soothing. His arm on my waist should feel intrusive but it doesn’t. I don’t move him; we’re trying to make allies. Flirting never hurt anyone.

  “They are slower without you, but still very impressive,” he murmurs into my ear as we watch them tear apart a group of small Kaatse demons.

  “We’re a good team. We had to face our fears together and it has made us close,” I respond. I don’t pull away and turn my head to meet his eyes, his face kissably close.

  “Roll,” Joe breaths. Just like Raphael in the game, his arm curls around my waist. His face right next to mine. I look down and, instead of a scrying bowl, he holds a wooden dice tray with a D20 in it.

  I roll the dice. It bounces around the tray and then slows, landing on18.

  Raphael brings his mouth to mine, his kiss tastes like light and it simmers against my darkness. I hear the scrying bowl clatter to the ground as his other arm pulls me close to his body. The combined light and dark fight where our skin touches. My black tank top is not enough and yet, too much material at the same time, as need pulls at my core.

  Suddenly the ground under us shakes violently and we hear an explosion. Yelling comes out of the main hub of the walkie-talkies. Raphael lets me go and runs to the window. I’m hot on his tail. Raging orange and red sparks fill my view. Something large and covered in hell fire has landed in the middle of town. Our view from the Stanley shows a scene of chaos and destruction as demons burst into the peaceful tourist town. I can’t tear my eyes away as Raphael runs to a walkie-talkie.

  “Entry points report in,” he demands.

  “Entry point one under attack,” a voice quickly replies.

  “Entry point two under attack,” another voice echoes.

  We wait, but no check-in from entry point three comes – my friend’s entry point! Raphael gives some quick directions and then waits. I hold my breath.

  “Do we have any entry points?” I recognize the voice of my team’s driver.

  “Entry point three has not checked in. I repeat, no safe entry points,” Raphael responds.

  “I need orders,” the voice pleads.

  I see Raphael study the map but before he can respond, Strider’s voice comes over the walkie-talkie. He outlines a plan, but it all rests taking control back of entry point three. Raphael studies the map for another second and hits the walkie-talkie.

  Joe and I had walked back down the stairs when our characters had run to the window. Joe pretends to be holding a walkie-talkie and whistles to get the table’s attention. He pretends to hit the button on his fake device and makes eye contact with Dillon.

  “Confirm those orders,” Raphael requests urgently. “All available units to entry points, unless given other assignments. All water units put out those fires, work with the human fire units. Sylvester is your point of contact. I need unit one and four inside the city under the command of Gabriel, who’s on the ground now. Uriel will take point at HQ. I’m on my way to entry point three.”

  “Roger, we’re en route, ETA,” Strider’s voice says
over the speaker and then pauses. “Five minutes. Are you bringing our rogue?”

  Raphael takes a moment to check with me and I nod. I will not be left behind.

  “She’s with me,” Raphael declares.

  Strider (Dillon’s character)

  I punch the back of the seat in front of me at the vague and possessive words spoken by Raphael. But a crackling walkie-talkie is not the place to retaliate. Our van threatens to topple over as our driver takes the windy mountain roads at dangerous speeds. Only a few minutes later we hear his muffled voice from the front shout “brace for impact” as the van speeds up.

  “I can’t believe we let the DM make a decision about ramming something – he’s going to kill us,” Steven comments.

  We’re all looking at Joe's excited eyes as he describes the hastily erected barrier the Kaatse family has put up at entry point three. He starts rolling dice. With little care for his players’ lives, his NPC drives the van directly into the heart of battle, describing the carnage with glee.

  “Graphic,” Lynda comments. She reaches below the table and brings up one of her kids as Joe begins giving us our crash damage totals. Matilda, her youngest, has a ring of chocolate around her mouth. Lynda looks from her daughter to Zack, the only one at the table eating a chocolate bar.

  “Initiative if you please,” Joe says politely and then squeals like a girl after one of his rolls, saving Zack from a confrontation with Lynda about said chocolate.

  We flank our now crushed van. Supernatural beings and humans fight side by side against the minions of the Kaatse family, all clearly marked by the glowing pentagrams on their chests. Our party charges in. I take aim with my crossbow and start shooting. As I see my team, I channel my bardic powers to inspire their abilities. I feel droplets of moisture as a helicopter flies above me, dropping water onto a fire now raging through Estes Park.

  A shriek pierces through the sounds of battle as a brilliant white pair of wings suddenly dives toward us. They snap open, slowing the descent. The shriek turns into laughter as the large wings softly beat and lower two figures to the ground. Nozomi’s cheeks are flushed from the flight, her body curled in the arms of Raphael. He holds her a second too long, meeting my eyes with a challenge before Nozomi squirms out of his grasp.

  “Strider!” She runs past me, her daggers sink into a demon about to skewer me from behind. I turn and cast, weakening the demon as she strikes it again with her daggers; it drops.

  “Well done, little dhampir,” a voice crackles. “My family’s weapons suit you. Too bad you didn’t take our offer.”

  “Damion,” I hear Nozomi hiss. She takes two steps toward the double-crossing vampire from the Poogse family. My face pulls into a frown as I notice Raphael standing on my other side, both of us flanking Nozomi. The first rays of sunrise join the orange hues of the fire, making the world glow. Nozomi’s skin starts to sparkle. I’m sure Goliath’s body is now stone.

  “Why are you here?” Nozomi demands of Damion.

  He adjusts his layers of cloth further around his figure and brings a thick mesh mask over his face. Protecting his vampire body from the sun. “Probably the same reason you are,” he says calmly.

  Nozomi doesn’t speak and Ruby chooses this moment to pad to her side in bear form, her muzzle covered in demon blood. The fighting around us has stilled, our entry point now secure, but the battle still rages behind us. Another ball of fire streaks over our heads delivering more Kaatse demons into Estes Park.

  “Join me,” Damion says dramatically. “Rid this area of the Kaatses and we may forgive your part in our loss of the newest member of our family.”

  “What’s the saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” I ask.

  Raphael spares me a glance.

  “There is no time for this,” Damion states. “The fiery balls of demons are being launched into Estes Park by a giant trebuchet attached to a portal. Allies or enemies, we must stop the Kaatses.”

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Reality, Dillon’s Apartment, Solar Row

  Never judge a book by its cover. Never.

  Sandy Yuhi

  “I got you something fun,” Dillon teases.

  I raise one eyebrow. I’m still mad. Even a week later, it better be something really good. Despite my need to run from my problems, I find myself at Dillon’s place. Braced for another talk, because that’s all we ever do.

  I follow him into his living room. There is a bouquet of flowers on the table. Under it is a bottle of Scotch with something hanging off it. I sit on the couch and lift up the bottle. I don’t recognize the distillery, but It’s a 16-year Scotch from the Speyside whisky region, so it should be good. I move to the thing hanging off it. It’s a Celtic knot, all in silver, wound around a 2D D20 and hanging off a thin silver chain. I look over as Dillon settles himself on the couch next to me. Two glasses, one ice cube each, are in his hands.

  “This is beautiful,” I say, somewhat placated.

  “I actually got you a matching set, earrings too, but the earrings are not done yet,” he explains. He takes the necklace and motions me to turn around. It falls to the middle of my chest bone, right where I like to wear them.

  “I have been acting like an idiot,” Dillon apologies as I turn back around. He pauses to open the Scotch and pour us each a healthy dram. He takes a sip and grimaces. Dillon isn’t a big Scotch drinker.

  Some of my anger melts as I try my own. Smooth, hints of vanilla and heather. Not that I know what real heather smells like. I would love to go to Scotland and find out. I put down my dram and Dillon cups my cheeks with both hands. My hips automatically rotate on the couch, so I’m facing him.

  “I’m head over heels for you.” His voice is intense. “I’m afraid I’m going to mess it up. I have stopped taking my own advice. You’re right. I’m treating you like glass. I don’t understand this mess with Amorino, not even a little. And, if I’m being honest, it makes me a little insecure. That much history, that much emotion. My quest to make sex special is making me act crazy and push you away.”

  Dillon presses our lips together and slides his hand slowly down my side. When he gets to my hip, he presses his weight into my chest and I sink into his overstuffed futon. He gently teases me with his lips and I open my mouth, letting our tongues meet in the middle. I understand his fear. I’m intimately aware of what he’s feeling, not wanting to act because of the fear of loss. I feel my heart expand as our emotions mingle through touches and unspoken acceptance.

  When we finally come up for air, he returns for a short, sweet kiss before standing and holding out a hand. I feel my anger melt. Dillon purposely doesn’t talk, doesn’t try to analyze. Just leads me to the top of his house … the only part I haven’t seen.

  “Don’t judge me,” he says playfully as he opens the door and flips on the lights, and then immediately dims them.

  I gape. I’m not sure what I expected, but this was something different. I feel him shuffle behind me and gently guide me into the room.

  A large circular bed sits in the middle of the master bedroom, taking up a good half of it. The bed is made up with gaudy black and gold, and covered in silky pillows. The dimmed lights are all set in sconces that dot the corners, and mirrors reflect the light on every surface, including the ceiling. I hear a click and the lights dim further and the room begins to move in a dazzle of silver and gold dots.

  I’m at a loss for words. The rest of his house is so tastefully decorated, but also rather bland now that I think about it. I feel Dillon’s hand on my waist and, before I can take in more, he spins me around so that he’s behind me. His eyes watch us in the mirror as his hands explore my sides and front.

  “I like to watch,” he breathes as his mouth begins to kiss my neck.

  He guides us toward the bed and I see our reflections from every angle. It’s odd to actually watch someone undress you. I’m instantly ashamed that I didn’t even bother to match my lingerie as he slides my blouse over my head. He meets my e
yes in the mirror as he unhooks my bra; his fingers caress and dance over my breasts.

  He squeezes each nipple gently, drawing my eyes down. “We don’t have to stay here, if you’re uncomfortable, but there’s no part of you my eyes wouldn’t drink in … no part of you I don’t want to memorize and kiss. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes and not just my mirrors.”

  “Dillon, that’s too …” I start to tell him it’s too much, but he traps my words with another bruising kiss.

  His reflection doesn’t bother to unbutton his shirt, just pulls it off over his head, and I run my hands over his smooth hairless chest, and then once more, watching myself do it. I meet his eyes in the mirror again and he cups my face with one hand, guiding my mouth. I let my hands wander to his waistband and explore the hard tent poking into the material of his pants. He stops kissing me, a guttural moan on his lips as he watches in the mirrors.

  I can’t stop looking at the reflections; they are literally everywhere. I sink to the floor and pull down his pants, dodging his erection as it escapes. I’m not tall enough to reach his dick with my mouth on my knees, so I grasp it with my hands and gently bend it down to lick the tip. His hand rests on my head and his knees bend so I can swirl my tongue around the salty appendage.

  Again, I look at the mirror and this time I laugh. I can’t not. Dillon’s figure is bent at a weird angle to be lower and my half-clothed form looks like It’s controlling a joystick from a video game. He chuckles as well and gives me a hand up.

  “I can’t decide if this is hot or not,” I say honestly.

  “Obviously, I can’t decide for you,” he says huskily as his hands work the button on my jeans. The only upside to wearing my favorite oldest ones is they need little coaxing to come undone and fall to the floor. “But I can’t wait to see you bouncing on top of me … to watch your body shudder from every angle as you peak in ecstasy.”