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  She’s Got Game

  Laura Heffernan is the author of:

  The Reality Star Series

  America’s Next Reality Star

  Sweet Reality

  Reality Wedding

  The Oceanic Dreams Series

  The Time of My Life

  The Gamer Girls Series

  She’s Got Game

  Table of Contents

  Laura Heffernan is the author of:

  Dedication

  Part I: Boston

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  PART II: NEW YORK CITY

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Part III: Charlotte

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Part IV: Chicago

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part V: Boston

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Part VI: Las Vegas

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Read on for a preview of

  About the Author

  She’s Got Game

  Laura Heffernan

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Laura Heffernan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: August 2019

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0848-0 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0848-5 (ebook)

  First Print Edition: August 2019

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0851-0

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0851-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Angel and John.

  Because if you’re not prepared to lose every friend you have over a board game,

  you’re not playing hard enough.

  Part I: Boston

  Gallivanting Gwen

  June 9

  wan-der-lust: /n/ a strong, innate desire to rove around or travel

  If home is where the heart is, my home is an airplane. Crisp, clean sheets in an unfamiliar room. Finding the hidden gems in a new city. I’ve had this blog for almost a year now, and the most common question I get is: why do you do this? Where’s your home base?

  Well, readers: I do this because I love it. Nothing makes me as happy as strapping into an airplane seat, leaning back, and dreaming about where I’ll land. I can recite the safety demonstration along with the flight attendant. I’ve touched down in thirty-eight states (including Alaska and Hawaii), and I can’t wait to see the rest. My best friend Holly doesn’t understand how I can stand airplanes, because the coffee’s so gross. Here’s the secret: coffee’s always gross. Diet Coke tastes the same up in the air as on the ground, even if it pours slower on a plane. (See? I’m full of fun facts, thanks to my travels.)

  As a kid, we never went anywhere. Dad worked all the time, and it was just the two of us. We didn’t have a lot of extra money. He never wanted to take time off. If I had to name a home base, it would be his place. A couple of boxes with my name on them are currently living in his basement. But I have no interest in owning a home, and there’s no lease with my name on it.

  Someone pass the avocado toast, please. This millennial has no problems with her life. The American dream, it’s a-changin’.

  This week, I’m back in my old stomping grounds. Ever since the year it rained 28 out of 30 days, I’ve avoided Boston in June. However, I’m excited to be participating in the annual American Explorers of Islay Board Game Competition. Love this game.

  Chapter 1

  The conference center buzzed with anticipation. Palpable excitement filled the air. Some of the other participants fidgeted. I stood alone, an island of calm in the sea of activity. Nerves were for the less prepared. I’d done my homework, I’d played endless games, and I planned to make it to the final table in Las Vegas, where I’d win the $10,000 grand prize.

  In about six months, anyway. One thing at a time.

  My first game started in about twenty minutes, leaving me plenty of time to sip my Diet Coke and survey the competition. If someone said “I’m going to the local American Explorers of Islay Competition,” most people would picture a room full of pasty twenty-ish guys with glasses and high water pants, living in their parents’ basements. We had a couple of those types, sure, and my collection of geeky t-shirts fit in perfectly with that crowd. But the room also contained people of all shapes, sizes, genders, and colors, ranging from eighteen to about eighty. We hailed from all over the region, possessed a variety of interests.

  And one of us was a very good-looking guy with curly brown hair, surveying me over his coffee cup with gorgeous chocolate brown eyes. He wasn’t pasty at all, with a deep tan and lean muscles making his jeans and black t-shirt look a lot more exciting than they sounded. When I met his gaze, he smiled, flashing beautiful teeth, the kind typically found on the wealthy and children of dentists.

  Although I’d never seen him before, he chatted with a guy who showed up at these things every now and then. Tall, with thin black braids trailing down his back, the most beautiful light brown eyes I’d ever seen, and dimples. The two of them upped the hotness average in this room by about thirty percent, but both were unfortunately off-limits to me. I didn’t date gamers. Don’t poop where you eat and all that.

  “Not bad.” My former roommate, co-competitor, and close friend Holly appeared beside me. “Looking for a little after-competition action?”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “Whatever. I won’t have the energy for hooking up after I kick butt.”

  Participants in the American Explorers of Islay Competition competed in a popular resource-sharing board game. The original game accommodated three or four players, and the expansion allowed for more, but the tournament assigned everyone to tables of four. This morning, everyone would play three games and receive a score based on their final rank in each. Table placement was determined in advance by a random draw.

  Holly and I weren’t playing each other in the first round, but it wasn’t a big deal. At some point, we’d inevitably face off. And if we didn’t, well, the trash ta
lk would still kick into high gear. The way the tournament was set up, we could both move onto the next round. After three years of grad school and playing together, we’d still be friends after the final scores were announced. It didn’t matter whether one of us got knocked out on Sunday or the two of us made it to the final table.

  “Almost everyone here. I personally plan to wipe the floor with you.” Holly corrected me with a wink and a smile. Trash talk and “game hate” ruled at these events. No one meant anything they said. Usually. “Oh, hey, I forgot to mention–last year’s winner is here. I talked to him when he transferred his registration from Florida.”

  With her background and tech know-how, Holly helped set up the registration database for the competition. After years of acting as tech support and back-up registrar, she knew practically everyone’s name. We weren’t a large community, at least not locally.

  Playfully, I swatted at her arm. “What? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

  Last year’s winner was a legend. He’d won four years in a row, more than anyone except John, the current competition host. Rumor had it he was calm, collected, and dominated the table during games. Many a gamer imagined testing our skills against C. McKay. The thought of getting to play him here made my mouth water.

  Unfortunately, he lived in Florida, so our paths had never crossed. I’d never been able to afford to go to the finals. Usually, I volunteered at the local and regional competitions, then dreamed about the rest. But not this year.

  “Sorry. Things have been busy with the wedding planning and everything. But there he is.”

  She pointed at the list of first round match-ups on the wall behind me. Directly below H. McDonald, also known as Holly, the sheet said, C. McKay. A name I’d never seen on the lists in this state, but sent a little thrill through me. Was he as good as everyone said? I couldn’t wait to find out.

  “Excellent! I can’t wait to scope out the competition, find his weak spots, and destroy him.”

  “You were checking him out a second ago,” a voice said behind me.

  John, the only person who won more tournaments than C. McKay, stood behind us. He was medium-height, medium-build, probably around my dad’s age, with close-cropped, curly dark hair and a salt-and-pepper goatee. Only his whistle and clipboard made him stand out from the rest of the crowd. And the twenty years he’d been around, playing with everyone, making friends. He and his wife Carla co-owned the local game store with his parents, so I’d known him since I was a baby. “That’s him over there. Cody.”

  Following John’s finger, my eyes once again landed on the hottie. So that was C. McKay. My number one competition. My ridiculously buff number one competition. My stomach dropped. Why did he have to be an excellent player and totally hot? He reminded me of my very first crush as a child, Jonathan Crombie from Anne of Green Gables (who reminded me of my second crush, Megan Follows). Those crushes may have played into my utter fascination with the entire series.

  He winked at me. For some reason, winking always weirded me out. Maybe because it was mostly old men who did it, looking at twenty-something women. I’d never seen anyone my age do it. As I rolled my eyes, he flashed a grin. My stomach flip-flopped.

  Mentally, I revised my assessment: a good player, hot, and a shameless flirt. He probably thought that made him a triple threat. Whatever. I’d been one of only about a dozen women at these events for years: There wasn’t a single pick-up line my friends and I hadn’t heard. This guy didn’t have as much game as he thought.

  “Did he wink at you?” Holly rolled her eyes. “Like he’s gonna win because he’s cute?”

  “I think he did.”

  “If only he frosted the tips of his hair or wore a popped collar, he could be a total walking cliché.”

  “Or both,” I agreed.

  A high, clear tone filled the room: the bell, alerting us that we only had ten minutes to get to our tables and settle in before the first game started. The guy started toward us, eyes still fixated on me, and I groaned.

  “Ugh. I’m not up for introducing myself.”

  “I’d love to say hello,” Holly said, “but I need coffee before we start.”

  “Yeah, I’ve gotta go, too,” John said. “Talk to you later.”

  “You don’t want to say hello yourself?” My question went to both of them, but John had already turned away, tilting his head the way he did when someone spoke into the earpiece he wore during these events.

  True friends wouldn’t abandon me with this guy. If he opened with “Hey, is your name Sonic? Because you’ve been running through my dreams,” I’d never forgive them. And, knowing Holly, she’d be sorry to miss such a horrible line. She’d been attached to her fiancé for so long, most everyone around here knew not to bother trying their luck. Every once in a while, though, a newbie got sucked in by her perfectly polished sorority girl look and decided to make a move. Usually with amusing results.

  Holly grinned as she stepped away. “Not with the way he’s looking at you. See you later.”

  Before I could argue I wasn’t here to flirt, she vanished back into the crowd, and C. McKay arrived in front of me. He looked even better up close, if possible. A wave of disappointment hit me. Part of me hoped he was like a Monet–beautiful from afar, but a total mess up close.

  “Carrots?” he said.

  As pick-up lines went, this one stumped me. It beat the Sonic line some creeper tried on me a few months ago, but largely because it made no sense. With no idea what he was talking about, I said the first thing that came into my head. “Squash? Rutabaga?”

  He chuckled and pointed at my chest. Oh, right. My t-shirt: Don’t Keep Calm, He Just Called You Carrots.

  My face grew warm. “Sorry, I forgot. It’s an Anne of Green Gables reference.”

  “I got the reference. I was trying to be funny. Sorry.” He held out one hand. “Cody McKay.”

  In all the times I’d worn this shirt, no guy my age had ever caught what it meant. Of course, I’d never met a guy who looked like Gilbert Blythe. Under other circumstances, I’d have been impressed. But now I was mostly intrigued to meet the guy I’d heard so much about. Not that he could know. “Gwen Williams. I’ll be kicking your ass here shortly.”

  “Gwen? That’s a pretty name.” He smiled. “Think I prefer Carrots, though.”

  My stomach fluttered traitorously at the way he looked at me. My hand tingled where our fingers still touched, but I quashed those emotions. If this guy thought he could charm me to throw me off-guard, he had another think coming. Just because he was better-looking than the average gamer didn’t mean I’d fall at his feet once he flashed those gorgeous brown eyes. I came here to win games, not to hook up.

  Hoping he couldn’t see how flustered he made me, I said, “Then maybe you should hit up the snack room. They’ve got plenty of carrots for you.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m usually much better at this.”

  “Well, if you’re not great at playing games, you’re in the wrong place.” I flashed a broad smile at him to take the bite out of my words. “Excuse me, I’ve got a tournament to win.”

  “Actually, I’ve got a tournament to win,” he said, smoothly maneuvering around me. Still walking, he turned to look back at me. “After all, I’m the four-time American Explorers of Islay Competition champion.”

  “That’s because you’ve never played against me.” The parting shot had the desired effect in that it made him pause for a second. He shook his head, grinning, which left me dying to wipe the smug look off his face.

  So that was the guy I needed to beat. He apparently thought charming the other players gave him an advantage. Little did he know, I’d had plenty of experience with silver-tongued gamers who relied on their good looks to get girls. They didn’t impress me. Our interaction only made me more determined to hand Cody his ass in a game.


  With a small smile, I tugged at my t-shirt, bringing the v-neck a bit lower. My boobs couldn’t compete with Holly’s, but I could give him something to look at. Then I shook my long hair out of its braid and pressed my lips together to redden them. Two could play Cody’s game. But only one of us would win, and it was going to be me.

  * * * *

  Eight hours later, my plan to distract C. McKay with my big brown eyes, lustrous red hair, and heaving bosoms utterly failed. He might be looking, but he sat three tables away, so I’d never know. Either way, he didn’t have much of a view through the sea of people. Glancing at him took too much attention away from the board in front of me, and I couldn’t afford the distraction.

  The game was fairly simple. Players rolled a pair of dice, then collected cards with different “resources” on them. The resources could be discarded to build various structures. A bad roll could result in losing cards, and the first player who got to ten points won. Simple, yet it required concentration and strategy. Most players couldn’t get the resources they needed without trading with other players, but you had to be careful not to trade someone the final resource they needed to beat you. No matter how well you strategized, an unfortunate roll could ruin your plans. That random element was one of the reasons I continued to play. It was possible to win every game. But things sometimes went wrong.

  For the tournament, every player received a score from one to four at the end of each game. After lunch, anyone with a total score of eight or less went home, and the rest of us repeated the process with five more games. Tomorrow, the top sixteen players would return for two more games–one elimination round and one final to determine the champion. Four players would move on to the next tier, regional finals in New York. Including me, if I had anything to say about it. Then I’d play in the quarter-finals in Charlotte, the semi-finals in Chicago, and the final competition in Las Vegas.

  I won the first two games. In the third game, I found myself sitting across from the guy Cody had been talking to earlier: Tyler. He wasn’t nearly as big a flirt as his friend, thankfully. He was a good player, though. It took all my concentration to come in one point behind him after a long, intense game.