She's Got Game Read online

  “No, I never stay at the conference hotels.” He stood, a whoosh of bar air replacing the enticing scent of his aftershave as he moved to the other side of the table. My first instinct was to lean forward, to continue to breathe him in, but that made no sense. I needed to get myself together. “If you want to leave now that your friends are gone, I get it.”

  Part of me did. But his comment intrigued me. And the waitress brought our desserts, giving me reason to hang out for another few minutes, at least. “Why don’t you stay at conference hotels? All the fame too much for you? Do stalkers track you down? I’d think you’d like the attention, Mr. Can’t-Stop-Texting.”

  He chuckled, his ears turning pink. “Nothing nearly that interesting. I’m allergic to the detergent used by most chains. The sheets, towels, and bathrobes all give me hives. It’s easier to stay elsewhere than bring my own.”

  “That sucks. Allergies can be tough, especially when other people don’t get it.” I didn’t elaborate. This guy wasn’t likely to feed me peanut M&Ms, so he didn’t need to know. “So where are you staying?”

  “Home, for now. I live in Cambridge. For local conferences, I commute. Otherwise, I book a room share. Being able to rent someone’s condo for a weekend changed my life.”

  “Mine, too.” He tilted his head at me, but said nothing. Begrudgingly, I added, “I’m a travel blogger.”

  “And you review room shares?”

  “Usually not, but I use them to get a feel of each city.” My mouth had taken over my brain. I didn’t know why I was still talking to my number one competition, but couldn’t stop. That’s what I got for chugging my first glass of wine. “The places have so much more character. You’ll never find a rooftop garden in your average conference hotel, and room shares are usually cheap if you take time to find a good deal.”

  “Combining work and pleasure. Smart. Where are you staying now?”

  “With my dad. I grew up in Southie.”

  The words reminded me that, another man waited to spend time with me. Coming to the bar to catch up with my best friends was one thing. Staying out to flirt with my rival because he wanted to add me to his string of admirers was another. His phone still buzzed like he was a pimp or drug dealer, which left me wondering why people seemed so desperate to get ahold of him. But I didn’t need to stick around to find out. The apple crisp was gone, and so was my reason for staying.

  “Actually, I’m sorry to do this,” I said, “but I have to go. I didn’t realize how late it was, and Dad will be waiting for me.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Sorry I almost killed you earlier.”

  “Yeah…sorry about…” My face grew warm, and I gestured helplessly at his clothes when words failed me.

  “It’s okay. If things work out between us, think what a great story we’ll have to tell the grandkids.”

  Something about his tone sent the tiniest of thrills through me. I snorted before dropping a twenty on the table to cover my drinks. “That’s a great line, but I don’t date gamers.”

  * * * *

  When I got home, Dad sat in his leather Barcalounger, parked in front of the TV with a video game controller in his hands. Lost in the virtual world on the screen, he didn’t hear me come in, so I took a moment to study him. Something about Holly’s “Daddy McHotcakes” comment at the bar stuck with me.

  As a little kid, all adults seemed the same age (that vague, undefined “old”), so I never paid attention to how my dad compared to the other kids’ parents. It was only when my fifth-grade best friend’s father turned forty that I stopped to do the math. Dad didn’t turn forty until my final year of grad school; Mom was long gone by then. Objectively, he looked pretty good for his age. He still had a full head of hair, and only started dying his grays a couple of years ago. The lines around his eyes started to show up when he smiled, but they gave him character.

  A pang hit me. Dad gave up his entire life to take care of me, and he never took time for himself. After Mom left, he taught me his love of all things game-related: board games, puzzles, video games. It was something the two of us shared, tucked away from the world at home. He threw himself into raising me, determined to give me the best life possible since he couldn’t give me two parents.

  I’d hoped when I moved out he’d find his own life, maybe start dating again. But instead, many of his evenings wound up like this. Games, take out, a phone call to the daughter. Sometimes he went out with friends, usually other gamers, but he was largely a homebody. I was the last person to begrudge anyone their right to play games and be happy, especially my father, but he deserved so much more. He could’ve ditched me when Mom got pregnant, could’ve left her to raise me alone or pushed for adoption. Instead, he dropped out of high school, got a job, and they got married as soon as they turned eighteen. Pictures showed two-year-old me dancing in the aisle in front of the very amused justice of the peace.

  In retrospect, getting married so young was probably a mistake, but Dad never complained about his choices. Not even when Mom moved out two weeks after he finished putting her through medical school. I hadn’t gotten so much as a birthday card from her since. Poor Dad. But we were better off without her.

  When I waved my arms, Dad looked up from his game and paused it, removing his headset. He jumped up to wrap me in a hug. “Queen Guinevere! It’s always a pleasure to serve you, your Majesty. How was your tournament?”

  I giggled at the old nickname. “Good! I’m in second place. Ready to kick butt tomorrow so I can move on to the next level, win the grand prize, and pay off the debt I owe you. Then you can finally promote one of the guys to manager and take a much-needed vacation.”

  He waved one hand. “Don’t worry about me. The shop and I are fine.”

  “Sure you are. The shop will also be fine with someone else in charge once in a while. And you can be fine in Europe, eating croissants and sipping espresso with me.”

  “You should save your money.”

  To be honest, he was right. I loved my job, and some good sponsors helped cover expenses, but the blog didn’t make much. I got more from my YouTube channel, but nothing to write home about. If I couldn’t attract new supporters or get bigger sponsors in the next few months, I’d be pounding the pavement and living in my old bedroom permanently. But Dad came first. I could pay him back, take him out, and still supplement my income for a month or two while I figured things out.

  “Tell you what. I promise to save my money and not pay for the trip if you promise to come with me. But you still need to let me help with the shop.”

  A couple of years ago, I’d accidentally driven into the back wall while learning to drive stick shift. Dad said it was his fault as the teacher, but I’d been distracted after getting eliminated from a tournament earlier that day. Entirely my fault, because I’d been overly focused on what my competitors were doing instead of playing my own game.

  Either way, the accident caused thousands of dollars in damage. Insurance used a loophole in the contract to refuse to pay. The guy hired to fix it ripped Dad off, making it cost twice as much to repair. He hadn’t accepted any money from me because I’d still been in school, but he struggled to make the loan payments each month. I needed to win this tournament to finally pay him back. After all he’d given me, it was the least I could do.

  He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “Come on. Won’t it be nice to have extra money in your pocket? When was your last vacation? Don’t bother answering, I know. You’ve been working seven days a week forever. We’re doing this. You did an excellent job raising me. Now it’s time to relax. Maybe find a nice woman and give me a little brother or sister.”

  He snorted. “You want a baby in your life, start thinking about your own. I’ve raised a perfect child. I’m done.”

  “Don’t you get lonely?”

  “How? I’m surrounded by people: you and your friends when yo
u’re here, the guys at work when you’re not, my online gaming group, the poker group, the three grannies on this block who want to fix me up with their daughters…” At my exasperated look, he stood and pulled me into a hug. “I know you think I gave up everything to raise you, but I’m good. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. No regrets, okay?”

  “I love you. You can’t stop me from doing nice things for you.” Before he could protest further, I started stacking dirty dishes and carried them into the kitchen. “If you didn’t want me to take care of you, guess you should’ve raised me to be heartless. But no regrets, right?”

  Takeout containers and beer cans filled the kitchen trash, but the small house was fairly clean. A sea of plastic containers buried the refrigerator shelves. Other than his high-calorie, low-nutrient diet, Dad was doing pretty well, but I still worried about him. He worked so hard.

  When I was a kid, he was an assistant in a garage, first sweeping the floors then learning to fix the cars. After Mom left, he took the test to get his GED. He refused to use the money his parents left him to go to college, insisting on funding my Harvard education instead. But he’d taken some classes, learned computers, and stayed on top of the industry. Now he owned two garages, including the one where he started. He hired some great people to help, but the work still took a lot out of him, and I knew he worried about money. Helping him pay off a big debt would go a long way toward thanking him for all he’d done for me.

  Tomorrow, after the tournament, I resolved to sign him up for online dating. He needed someone–or several someones–to spend time with, even casually. It was too late to start an argument. For now, it was enough to give him a hug and kiss, tell him I loved him, and head to bed.

  After all, I had a tournament to win in the morning.

  Chapter 3

  Day two of the tournament officially kicked off at nine o’clock the next morning. Most games took about an hour, including set-up and putting them away. Each round used the same predetermined, randomly-chosen game design for all games, but it still took time for volunteers to put the games together. For once, the trains ran smoothly, and I arrived at eight-thirty.

  To my surprise, when I entered the room, the games already lay spread across the tables. Cody stood near the center of the room, talking to John. Part of me wanted to go over there, find out what they were talking about, make sure Cody wasn’t pumping for tips. The rest of me realized that when you won the same tournament four years in a row, you got to know the people working it. Explorers of Islay depended about fifteen percent on luck, seventy-five percent on strategy, and ten percent on what the other players did. To get this far, Cody would have to know strategy already, and the rest was beyond his control. Nothing John said would make a difference.

  Besides, the queasiness in the pit of my stomach suggested it was time to get something to eat before we started. Better to steer clear of Cody until my ridiculous attraction abated and grab a protein shake.

  The match-ups for the first games were posted on the main door. Four games. The top player from each table won a seat in the second round. Then we moved onto the quarter-final round in New York. I recognized the names of a couple of my opponents, but none of them worried me. If things went the way I expected, I’d face off against Cody in the final game. Hopefully with Holly. One of us needed to beat him. He had to learn he couldn’t flash that gorgeous smile at any girl and have her swoon at his feet.

  At the beginning, women made up about ten percent of the competitors. But at this point it was me, Holly, and a girl who had to be eighteen per tournament rules but looked like she was in junior high. There would be more women in other cities, hopefully, but Boston only started with a handful. Most got eliminated yesterday.

  Seats were predetermined by a random draw, an unfortunate procedure that left me staring at the back of Cody’s head for the entire first game. I refused to let it faze me. He winked at me before he sat at his table, but I flipped my braids over my shoulders and ignored him. Not that he noticed, with his back to me.

  At this point, the competition intensified. About half the players stopped trading barbs over the course of the morning. Some started refusing to trade resources–a frustrating strategy that once led to me refusing to play with my dad for an entire week. And it was rarely a winning tactic. If I wanted to piss off my opponents, I’d refuse to trade, but only after I’d secured my spot at the quarter finals. All four players in the final game would move on. Performance in that game mattered only for bragging rights and total points, which affected starting position in the next round.

  A couple of hours later, I plopped into my seat at the final table. Another random draw placed me across from Holly. Her bangs covered her eyes, making it difficult to read her expression. For a moment, I thought about undoing my braids so I could also hide behind my hair.

  Cody and a guy a few years older than us filled the rest of our small table. Apparently, Tyler got knocked out at some point, because he was nowhere in sight. I hadn’t played him all morning. The air rushed out of the room when Cody settled beside me, so close his cologne made me sneeze. I preferred the body wash from the night before. Maybe he wore an obnoxious scent to distract the other players. Plenty of players would take any advantage they could get, and Cody might be one of them

  Determined to ignore him, I studied my final opponent, who sat to my left. He fit the basic gamer profile: nearly translucent skin, funny t-shirt, long beard, minimal small talk. I’d seen him around, but didn’t know his name. Same as Tyler, before yesterday—which suddenly made me wonder why I’d never met Cody. Holly had mentioned that he transferred his registration from Florida, but we still went to enough gaming events that we should’ve run into him somewhere.

  “When did you move here?” I asked while they set up the final game.

  “A few months ago. Why?”

  “I’ve never seen you around.”

  “Curious what you’ve been missing out on all this time?” He flashed a grin at me.

  Ick. If only he could bottle his attitude, he’d be a millionaire. “Or wondering what unfortunate glitch in the universe dropped you in my path.”

  “Ouch. You wound me.” He didn’t look the slightest bit wounded. “But yeah, I moved to Boston at the beginning of the year. I grew up near Orlando. We’d only have met if you made it to the Finals. Which I guess you didn’t. Tough luck.”

  My back teeth ground together. This jerk didn’t need to know I’d made it to the Finals twice, but lack of funds and summer school obligations kept me home. Not this year, though. I had my blog, my sponsors, and a shiny new master’s degree. I’d make it to Las Vegas or die trying.

  Ignoring him, I turned to the guy on the left and introduced myself.

  “Tom,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Same. How long have you been doing this tournament?”

  “Three years. I’ve seen you before. You?”

  “Five. Congratulations on making it this far.” Tossing my head, I smirked back at Cody, who studied the board as if the secrets to the meaning of life lay upon it. Clearly listening, and badly pretending he wasn’t.

  Across the table, Holly coughed. “Gwen, if you’re done trying to make Cody jealous, maybe we could start the game?”

  That was Holly: no bullshit.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “From what I saw last night, Cody’s got plenty of women to pick from. He doesn’t need me to fawn all over him, too.”

  Tom chuckled, and Cody’s face turned red. If I had a mirror, mine likely matched.

  “I don’t know about that,” Cody drawled. “I like my groupies, but you’re the only girl I know with hair the color of carrots.”

  A cough interrupted me before I could reply. I’d been so distracted, I completely missed John standing beside our table, arm raised to signal the start of the final game.

  Now
that he had everyone’s attention, John dropped his arm, and everyone’s focus shifted.

  Holly rolled first: a three. Ouch. She wouldn’t be going first. Cody rolled a seven, and I got a ten. The triumphant smile fell off my face when Tom’s dice hit the table. The first landed solidly, showing clearly a six. The second rolled, and I held my breath watching it trail across the table. It finally came to a stop, the top side displaying six pips. Double sixes.

  Tom starting the game meant I’d play fourth. I tried to hide my disappointment. Starting player got to pick the single best place to build their initial structures, and often squeaked out a win by virtue of getting to go first and therefore take more turns than other players. At least my position gave me a minor strategical advantage: I’d place my first set of tokens last, but my second set first.

  Starting player chose from multiple good options, but Tom had plenty of time to study the layout while waiting for the game to start. He played quickly and surely. Holly followed with no hesitation. Good. People who took forever to make a move drove me up the wall.

  When Cody leaned forward to place his pieces, his knee brushed mine under the table. A jolt went through me. I tried to ignore it, but the slight smirk on his lips told me he noticed. No idea if he felt the same thing I did. He took his time, studying the board as if playing for the first time, the hand holding his pieces hovering above the board. Trying to psyche me out, most likely. I didn’t care where he went: three great spots remained on the board, and I’d get two no matter what he did. Still, the seconds ticked by, his knee still on my leg, which grew warmer by the second. I wondered if he was waiting to play until I moved away, in a bizarre game of chicken. Or maybe he didn’t even notice.

  One way to find out. With a stretch and a yawn, I shifted my chair ever so slightly in his direction. When I leaned forward to peer at the board, the side of my boob grazed against his arm. I left it there, working my lower lip with my teeth, the very picture of indecision. Cody coughed slightly, but didn’t move. He definitely noticed. I glanced at him, and our eyes locked.