Make Your Move

by Laura Heffernan

  I didn’t care that we were at my workplace. Or that the guys would tease me for acting “girly” for the next week, as if I should be ashamed of being female. Beating Dennis in this game, by so much that he found himself at a loss for words, meant more to me in that moment than all of it.

  If I could turn that emotion into a board game, I’d be a billionaire.

  Chapter 11

  “When life gives you lemons, chuck ’em out and make chocolate cupcakes.” —Nana

  A week later, Tyler popped into my home office with a mug of steaming tea in each hand. “How’s the new game going?”

  “It’s not.” I glanced guiltily at the computer screen, where I’d been adjusting the fonts on half a page of text in an effort to feel productive. The euphoria at beating Dennis should have given my mojo a boost. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get past wanting to use the one idea I had. Everything kept circling back around to trying to convince myself to produce it, despite there being a very similar game already available. Which I couldn’t do. With a sigh, I took a long gulp of the tea. “Thanks for this.”

  “You’re welcome. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Maybe. It’s early, though, so this is totally secret, okay? You can’t tell anyone the details, not even Cody.” Or your girlfriend.

  “My lips are sealed,” he said.

  “Okay, great. I’m determined to come up with a new social deduction theme, but it’s not easy. A lot of my ideas wouldn’t work as a game.”

  “I liked the speakeasy idea you had,” he said. “The Roaring Twenties are cool.”

  “Thanks. So did I. I wish there was a way to make it work, but it’s been done.” I sipped my tea, brow wrinkled. “And I’m unfortunately so stuck on that idea, it’s hard to come up with anything else. There has to be something I can do so my work isn’t wasted.”

  “Okay, so you don’t want to put out the same themed game as someone else. I get that,” Tyler said. “But their game is meant for at least a dozen people to walk around and chat with each other in one-on-one conversations. It’s basically a role-playing game, much more like a murder mystery dinner party than a board game. Yours is a group discussion around a table, with as few as four people. Right?”

  “That largely sums it up.”

  “What are the other differences?”

  “In my game, one of the speakeasy patrons gets hauled off to jail in the middle of each night. In theirs, people have time to talk and all make their guesses at the end.”

  “See? You’ve got the same theme, but the actual games aren’t that similar.”

  “True,” I said. “I don’t know, though. For some reason, it still bothers me.”

  “Fair enough. What if you expanded? Do a dual release, one the pure social deduction game you’ve been working on. But then also, what if you used that social deduction element in some other type of game? Instead of talking to the other players to find the undercover cops, give people something else to do.”

  “Like Shadows over Camelot?” The game I mentioned was one of the most complicated, longest games my friends owned (other than campaign-based games like Dungeons & Dragons or legacy games, which could last ages), but we enjoyed it. Although the game came out several years ago, it was still the most difficult cooperative game I’d ever played. Even when you didn’t have someone secretly working to undermine everyone else, we routinely lost. “That game is painful.”

  “Well, your game doesn’t have to be exactly like that,” Tyler pointed out. “I was thinking of something like Werewords.”

  Ohhhh. The only social deduction word game I’d come across, Werewords had mass appeal because people who enjoyed both word games and social deduction games could play together. The entire game lasted only five minutes, but you could play over and over. It also required people to use an app, which appealed to a lot of millennials.

  “Hmmm… What if we had players trying to guess the ‘passcode’ to get into the speakeasy?” I said. “Where one person is an undercover cop, and if they figure it out, everyone gets busted? The passcode could be a word or a phrase, which adds a bit of complexity.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’d need Holly’s help with an app at some point. But we could make the game function without it. Like, put the words on cards. That way, there’s a low-tech version for people who want to be true to the 1920s theme.” The more I spoke, the more excited I became.

  “Excellent point,” he said. “I like it.”

  “And we’d need other roles. The waitress, the band leader…” I made notes on my computer as we talked, until I realized I’d been typing for several minutes while Tyler stood in the doorway. “Sorry. I got a little carried away.”

  “No problem. You’ve been so stressed, it’s nice to see you enthusiastic about something.”

  The compliment flustered me, so I went back to typing. Then I realized Tyler was still waiting for me to say something. I could thank him and send him away, but I remembered his initial offer of help. “Do you think you could sketch me some basic cartoons of what the characters might look like? Not right now, but whenever you have time.”

  “I’ve got time now,” he said. “Let me grab my sketch pad.”

  He disappeared and returned a moment later, settling into an overstuffed armchair I’d shoved into the corner when Tyler moved in to make room for his leather recliner in the living room. I usually had trouble working at home when someone else was in the room, but ideas flowed freely back and forth between us. Having a collaborator was very different from having a distraction.

  “Speak Easy!” he shouted, out of nowhere. “That’s it.”

  “I thought I told you the game’s name before? Anyway, we can’t use it. It’s taken.”

  “No. I mean, yes,” he said. “Speak Easy, not speakeasy. Two words, because it’s about speaking the passcode, not about the venue itself. It’s a play on words.”

  “I love it. Tyler, you’re a genius!”

  Our eyes met over the top of his computer screen, and my heart pounded with excitement. To me, nothing compared to the joy of being creative, and I’d been blocked for so long that getting unstuck felt like Christmas morning.

  Soon, the welcome sound of fingers clacking across a keyboard filled my tiny office for the first time in weeks. Behind me, Tyler’s pencil scratched across the paper, quickly and surely. This sure beat the arrhythmic clicking of my mouse button while I dejectedly played online hidden object games, praying for an idea.

  Next thing I knew, my stomach growled, pulling me out of the Zen-like state I’d fallen into as we worked.

  “Sorry,” I said with a glance at the time. “Wow, we’ve been working for almost two hours.”

  “Uh-oh,” Tyler said. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Is something wrong?

  “No. I’m supposed to meet someone for dinner. I can still make it, but it’ll be tight.” He stood and stretched, wincing. “Speaking of tight. Oh, man.”

  “You okay?”

  He tried to shrug it off, but failed to conceal the flash of pain crossing his face. “It’s an old injury. Flares up sometimes when I sit the wrong way for too long.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That chair isn’t terribly ergonomic.”

  “My fault,” he said. “I should’ve sat at the kitchen table. Even the recliner would have been better.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  He bent down, touching his toes, then rolled up one vertebrae at a time, like in yoga. “I’m way past due for a massage. Maybe I should cancel my dinner.”

  “Come here.” I wiggled my fingers at him. “I can help you work out the kinks.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Come on, I’ve been caring for Nana for years. I can do a mean massage. Or, you know, a nice one.”

  “We’ve got
to talk about these jokes.”

  “At least I didn’t mention a boy band.” I stood and walked behind him, grateful that my height left me eye level with the back of his neck. Flexing my fingers, I said, “Show me where it hurts.”

  Gingerly, he brought his hand to the right side of his lower back. I touched him softly, hearing a sharp intake of breath. “There?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lifting the edge of his shirt, I kneaded the muscles, adding more pressure as I went. He let out a groan. “Sorry, am I hurting you?”

  “No. That’s good. Keep going.”

  I continued the pressure, using my thumbs to dig in, noting the stark contrast between my pale hands and his ebony skin. His back was taut, smooth. I’d always thought Tyler was a bit on the skinny side, but as I massaged him, I realized that he had more muscle than it seemed. He was thin, but strong. Without even realizing it, my fingers slid around his side, cupping his hip. More of a hold than a massage.

  He coughed, and I jerked back as if he’d burnt me.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “No, it’s good. I’m good,” he said, pulling his shirt back into place. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m late for dinner. I’ll see you later?”

  “Absolutely. I’m going to keep working, but I’ll show you what I’ve got when you get back, if it’s not too late,” I said.

  “Awesome. Sorry for running out on you like this.”

  “Don’t be silly. You spent all afternoon helping me with work. I didn’t expect you to spend more than five minutes talking about this game with me.”

  “I really enjoyed it.”

  “Me, too. I’m so excited about this project now.”

  “Right.” Was it my imagination or did his smile falter, just a bit? He cleared his throat. “Have fun tonight.”

  “You, too.” Fun with Megan. Ugh. He didn’t say it, but that had to be who he was meeting.

  “You okay?” he asked. “You look like you’re smelling a raunchy fart.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah. Just… thought of a particularly unpleasant character. For the game.”

  “Cool.” He glanced at his phone. “Can’t wait to hear about it.”

  After he left, I turned back to the computer, but somehow my excitement had fizzled. I could, of course, write in an unpleasant character like Megan, as long as I didn’t name her.

  The Sneak: Completely two-faced. Pretends to be your best friend, but she’s not. Lies constantly.

  But I’d lost my taste for the game. When Tyler and I were working together, the room buzzed with energy. Now the lights seemed muted… I must be hungry. Or more likely, I needed water. Before Tyler came in, I’d worked for several hours without a break.

  Time to recharge, get some dinner, review what I’d worked on, and maybe catch a streamer on Twitch. Not think about what an amazing afternoon I’d had collaborating with Tyler.

  Chapter 12

  “I’m not a poor loser. Come on, no one likes losing.” —Gwen

  Between my excitement at attending the conference and planning for Nana’s upcoming wedding, the next few weeks flew by. I managed to bury my humiliation at the botched interview. Spending all my spare time working on Speak Easy with Tyler even made waiting for Jameson to announce his replacement bearable. With luck, the game would be ready to go to play testers by the end of the summer.

  As long as we competed for the same promotion, Dennis remained on his best behavior. Mostly that meant he ignored me, but I’d take a total lack of discussion over ogling my boobs, making thinly veiled sexual references, or snidely questioning my competence. He and Megan spent more and more time together, working on some secret project, and I enjoyed the temporary reprieve.

  Before I knew it, the weekend of the conference arrived. Although technically Ryan had been my partner for the team-building exercise, he agreed that Tyler deserved to go with me. He’d not only come up with the winning idea, but he’d helped me present it. Besides, Ryan didn’t want to leave Zoe before she’d fully recovered.

  When the first day of BoardGameNerd Con arrived, we woke up early to fly to Dallas. I couldn’t contain myself. Two days of playing games, conversations with manufacturers (some of whom might be hiring remotely, if I was very lucky), and a chance to get out of the office for a few days. Throw in the fact that I’d be traveling with a good friend and that the trip was free for both of us, and it was my perfect weekend.

  If I needed anything else to be happy about, Nana and Michael were getting married the day after we returned. A four-day weekend of relaxation, games, and celebrating love. What more could a person need?

  My happiness shone back at me from Tyler’s face every time I looked at him. Even though he didn’t make games, he loved playing as much as I did. When our flight landed, we rushed to the taxi line, then headed straight for the hotel, eager to get checked in and start exploring the conference as soon as possible.

  After we got our keys, we took the elevator up to the seventh floor. Tyler opened the door and went ahead of me into the room. In my eagerness, I plowed straight into his back. “Oof! Ow. What are you doing?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Take a look.”

  He moved out of the way, and I rolled my suitcase up beside him. The room looked nice. Thick, heavy navy-blue drapes held open with silver cords. A plush dark-blue patterned carpet that would eat my high heels if I weren’t careful. Inside the bathroom door, I glimpsed a tub roughly the size of my entire bathroom at home. So what was the problem? I didn’t spend nearly as much time in hotels as, say, Gwen, but this place met all my needs and then some. Did he have some way of detecting bedbugs?

  When I turned back to Tyler, I realized he’d been watching my face while I surveyed the room. He saw my confusion and pointed. My eyes followed his finger, and finally realization dawned. A massive king-sized bed sat between two wooden nightstands.

  One bed, not two.

  “I asked for a double room,” I said. “They didn’t have a two-bedroom suite, but they said I could get double beds.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “It’s not a big deal. I’ll call the front desk, and they’ll move us.”

  “If they can. This is a big conference. The hotel block probably sold out months ago. Rooms with double beds tend to go fast because everyone wants to share to save money.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Negativity. This is clearly a mistake. They’ll fix it, I’m sure.” Confidently, I strode to the phone by the far nightstand and dialed the front desk.

  Three minutes later, I replaced the receiver and turned back to Tyler, who stood tapping away on his phone, apparently disinterested in my conversation. Negative Tyler might have been, but he was also correct. The very polite concierge apologized and informed me that they could give us a free breakfast at the hotel buffet as an apology for the mix-up. Conference-goers had bought out the entire hotel, and they didn’t have anywhere else for us to sleep.

  Not only were all the double rooms booked, but they didn’t even have an extra king or queen room if the two of us wanted to split up and pay for one room so we wouldn’t have to share a bed. Also no suites. We could sleep in this room paid for by BGG or go somewhere else.

  To his credit, Tyler put his phone away without saying “I told you so.” “It’s no big deal. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  I glanced at the couch in the living area next to the bed. My inner feminist bristled at the idea of getting the bed because I was the woman. But the couch was narrow, not really suited to someone with my frame. Tyler would sleep more comfortably on it than I would. Besides, my company had paid for the trip. We wouldn’t be here at all if not for me, and it wasn’t like I’d messed up the reservation. I absolutely, 100 percent, had asked for a room with two double beds. My confirmation email said so.r />
  “Thanks,” I said. “Let’s go downstairs.”

  Excitement perfumed the air of the convention hall. I’d attended the local American Board Game Championships with Gwen and Holly in the past, but this was different. People came to play (and buy) new games or talk to their favorite game designers. Some manufacturers hosted daylong tournaments for various games, but not all attendees entered. Vendors also ringed the room with dozens of different games, most of them brand new to me. Some not even available in the United States yet.

  Beside me, a smile just about split Tyler’s face in two. He looked like a kid in a candy store. I bounced up and down on my toes as I peered around the room, even though I already towered over most of the other attendees.

  “Glad we came?” Tyler asked.

  “This is unbelievable!”

  He glanced down at my feet. “Are you going to be okay in those shoes? The conference lasts all day.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I play most board games sitting down.” I offered him a teasing smile. “But yeah, I’ll be fine. I wear these at work all the time.”

  “You also sit at work.”

  “Sure, but the bathroom is wicked far from my desk,” I said. “Really, don’t worry about me. We’ll be sitting and playing games at least some of the day.”

  “Speaking of work, any news on the executive game designer job yet?”

  “No,” I said. “When we won this trip, I figured I had it all sewn up. But no one has talked to me. Everyone has been on their best behavior, working hard to come up with new ideas for the big bosses. Rumor has it there will be an announcement next week, but that scares me. If Jameson makes an announcement without talking to me first, it’s probably going to be Dennis. He’s such a weasel. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  “I’m sorry. That must be hard for you.”

  It was hard. Mostly, I got through the workday by ignoring my less supportive coworkers. As long as we worked on different projects, we were fine. A thousand times over, I’d earned that promotion. My newest ideas weren’t a hundred percent ready to show off yet, but I’d been working hard all summer. Jameson would love the concept I’d come up with recently—not just one game but an entire new product line. With my help, BGG could explore a largely untapped market. After we got back, I’d scheduled a second meeting to discuss my new suggestions, but recent whispers made me worry it might be too late. I cringed every time I thought of how badly I’d botched the interview. Then I thought about how Megan convinced her father to poke at me until I blurted out a terrible idea, and I saw red.