Smolder and I talk all the time, almost every day, but it’s always stuff related to the game… or to me.
Never him.
He knows about my classes and my dream to become a video game designer. He knows about my parents’ divorce and he’s even helped me through some dark times over the months we’ve known each other, letting me escape with him so I didn’t have to think about my failed forays into the dating world.
“The boys my age are so immature,” I told him one day as we sat on the edge of a ruined planet system and watched a star cough up its final solar flare. “I wish I could find someone older, more experienced, someone, who could take the lead…”
As hints go, it wasn’t exactly subtle. But it’s so much easier to be forthright in the game when I don’t have to worry about my sweaty palms and my blushing cheeks giving me away.
Smolder soon changed the subject, and that was that.
Does that mean he’s not really forty-three? Did he lie to me?
“Gen,” he says now, pulling me back to the present.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because unless I’m crazy, I think we’ve got something here. Something real. I’ve tried to avoid asking you.”
“Why?” I ask again, fiercer this time.
I imagine his features becoming taut, his eyes hazy as he stares at the computer screen. What color are his eyes? Does he have a beard or is he clean shaven? Does he have a wife, a girlfriend?
Too many questions. It makes my head throb.
“ I know what you’re thinking. I could be an ax murderer. It’s difficult out there for a young woman. So many pricks trying to take advantage of you. But I can’t put it off any longer. I want to meet, Gen.”
Sweat slides down my temples, my whole body feeling suddenly sticky. Insanely, a strong instinct takes hold of me, willing me to accept his offer. A voice screams at me to do it, that he could be the man of my dreams.
“I don’t look like this in real life,” I murmur. “I don’t sound like this. I’m nothing like Genevieve.”
He chuckles. It comes out funny-sounding from Smolder, and for about the millionth time I wonder what his real laughter sounds like. “You think I look like this in real life?”
“Well, no,” I admit. “But it’s not the same. You’ve chosen a weird little monster as your avatar… no offense.”
He laughs. “None taken.”
“So whatever you look like, it’s going to be an improvement. But I can only go down from this. Trust me, you wouldn’t be as interested if you saw me.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
My mouth is dry, my lips drier. Part of me wants to scream yes, but the rest of me wants to shut this down and end the game.
I can’t think about meeting him. The nerves would choke me.
I tried dating after Jess, my best friend, encouraged me, but it was always so awkward, the conversations stilted and forced, nothing like with Smolder.
“I’m sorry. But no.”
“Gen.” His voice trembles. “I can’t stop thinking about seeing you. It’s driving me mad.”
I gasp. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I’ve never lied to you.”
“Neither have I.”
“So clearly the age gap doesn’t bother you.” There’s a joking edge in his voice, and I wonder if the real him is smiling right now. “At least judging from those not-so-subtle hints you’ve been dropping…”
I giggle. “Yeah, fine. Maybe I did drop a few here and there. But it’s not the age gap. It’s…”
It’s me. It’s the look of disappointment that will surely reshape his features when he sees me.
“Tell me your name, your real name,” I murmur.
He pauses and then sighs. “I’m sorry, Gen. But I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Another pause, and then he curses. “I’m sorry. I have to go. It’s work. Think about what I said.”
He blinks out of existence.
I grip the edge of my desk and sit back, letting out a series of frenetic breaths. I’ve dreamed of this moment countless times over the past half-year, but now I can’t even contemplate it.
No matter what he says, he wouldn’t feel the same if he saw me.
I can never compete with Genevieve.
The very idea of meeting him makes my stomach swirl with anxiety.
Chapter Two
Maxton
“Got carried away with your toy?” Steve jokes as we walk down the hallway toward the conference room to take the call with the Chinese counterpart of the company.
I smirk at my best friend and my business partner.
I’ve known Steve for a decade and a half and he’s always felt comfortable giving me crap in a friendly way, which is one of the reasons I like him so much. He’s around my age, but bald and short, with a perpetual grin on his face.
“I call it market research,” I tell him. “No one knows who I am in there. It lets me experience the game from the consumers’ perspective.”