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  And, further away from the door he'd entered through, he recognized the blinks and flashes of the tech area. Jaw set, heart thumping with a cocktail of nerves and excitement, he headed that way.

  Wes passed a few tables promoting apps. The competition, he thought to himself, sure that HordeGuru would hold its own. He also saw a booth demoing a VR video gaming headset, and even a table displaying what their signage claimed was a robot that could fly like a bird.

  There it was -- table sixty-four. It was just a white fold-up table and a single folding chair in an eight by eight foot area ringed by black curtains, but it was his. Wes set his box on the floor next to the table and got to work.

  It only took a few minutes to arrange the table with a fan of brochures, a stack of business cards, and the computer and spare phone he'd demo his app on, plus a small sign printed with the name of his app secured to the table's front.

  Wes stepped before the table to admire his handiwork. It didn't look bad -- but he noticed how his booth lacked a visual appeal that other tables did not. He had no banners, only one phone for prospective users to try the app on, not even a damn tablecloth -- and a quick scan of the immediate vicinity told him that he was the only one who didn't.

  Shit, he thought, heart sinking. Had he already screwed up his first con representing HordeGuru? Shit.

  Stashing the empty box under the table, Wes sank into the chair, excitement draining away and leaving a sour sort of melancholy resting in the pit of his belly. He hoped his inattention to the design of his booth didn't hurt HordeGuru's performance at the con -- or even its reputation. If not, it was going to be a long, lonely weekend.

  His prediction was not wrong. Halfway through the day, barely a dozen people had lingered by Wes’s table, much less really considered what he had to offer. Neighboring tables, on the other hand, continued to see a steady flood of con-goers.

  He raked a hand through his hair, briefly massaging his scalp with muscular fingers.

  Now you know for next time, he told himself for what felt like the hundredth time that day. You’re learning by experience. Next time you’ll turn up all the stronger because of today.

  Wes wondered when he’d start to believe the mantra.

  His personal phone buzzed in his pocket. With nothing at the con to distract him, he slipped it from his pocket.

  A text from his buddy, Oliver, glowed up at him.

  How’s it going? his friend’s message read.

  With deft fingers, Wes typed back, Nowhere, and fast.

  Oliver’s reply was instant. Shit. I’m sorry. Wanna chat about it?

  Wes surveyed his surroundings. There were exactly zero people heading to see HordeGuru — although there were a decent amount of folks avoiding eye contact with him.

  Great.

  Stepping to the rear of his booth, Wes dialed Oliver’s number and held the phone to his ear.

  It only rang once before his friend answered.

  “Hey man,” came Oliver’s voice. “Not going so well, huh?”

  “Not exactly.” Wes described how he’d failed to bring any window dressings for his booth, and the check-in woman who had been so skeptical of his wardrobe choices.

  “Ouch.” Wes could practically hear Oliver’s wince. “What happened? It’s not like you haven’t been to cons before. You know the vibe.”

  Oliver knew con culture too. He and Wes had connected years ago while playing Overhorde, teaming up online for months. When they’d realized that they were local to each other, they’d decided to meet. Their digital friendship had easily transitioned to the real world, and they’d been tight ever since.

  Not only a fellow game geek, Oliver was a computer engineer. He spent his days designing complex software for the military while dreaming of one day founding his own startup and programming tech for civilians instead of what he called “the war machine of doom.”

  So he knew his stuff when it came to conventions, computers, and all things nerd.

  “I don’t know,” Wes answered, flexing his jaw for a moment. “You’re right, I know what cons are like. But I think my law side took over.” He paused as a handful of teenage boys began to approach his table, then veered away. “I wanted to make a good impression.”

  “At least now you know what not to do for next time.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

  “Sorry, man, that really sucks. But keep your chin up, okay?” Oliver said.

  Wes gave a wry smile. “My chin up? What are you, a Hallmark greeting card?”

  “Hey, do you want me to cheer you up or not, dude?” Oliver’s voice was good-natured.

  “Uh, definitely cheer me up. I’m doing a great job of beating myself up all on my own.”

  “Then put that handsome chin of yours all the way up, my man, and try to have some fun, okay?”

  “Some fun failing?”

  “Nah, some good old fashioned con fun. After you’re done failing.” Wes could tell Oliver was trying to keep the hitch of amusement out of his own voice, and almost succeeding. “Go visit the other booths, check out the cosplay contest, test some demos. Hey, maybe even try to pick up chicks.”

  Wes couldn’t help but laugh. “Pick up chicks? Do you know me at all?”

  “Okay, a chick.”

  “My question stands.”

  “You never know,” Oliver insisted. “Bet you just haven’t met the right lady. Yet.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I’ll meet her here.”

  Oliver groaned. “I’ll say it again, and then I have to get back to work — you never know.”

  “Fine,” said Wes, certain his friend was dead wrong. “Go write some code.”

  “You know I will.”

  “And — thanks,” Wes added, the tightness in his chest already easing thanks to their conversation.

  “Anytime, anytime,” Oliver said breezily before ending the call.

  Wes wondered if maybe it was time to make some changes in his approach to women. He had his reasons for not wanting to “pick up chicks,” in Oliver’s words. But he’d also never had the relationship he’d hoped for. Perhaps a shift was needed.

  He shook his head as if to clear it as a lone woman approached his booth. She had a dark tangled mane and carried a clipboard and a half-empty cup of beer. She brushed a fingertip over the HordeGuru demo phone, leaning down to peer at the screen, and Wes smiled. Maybe all wasn’t lost at this con after all.

  He stepped closer to be available if she had any questions, trying to catch a look at her face.

  4

  Ana

  Ana dodged a herd of Sailor Moon cosplayers huddling in the event center's foyer and ducked into the presenter's area. She had her clipboard tucked under her arm, ready for a day of scouting the latest games, holding a pen like it was a defense against the throngs of people.

  God, she hated crowds. And MNC was crowded. She would've relished the chance to stroll along the makeshift corridors, perusing what each booth had to offer, but that was a pipe dream with all the con-goers packing the aisles.

  She squeezed between a tall, sweaty-looking young man wearing a tee that read "Clever Girl" and a scantily clad Princess Leia, slave girl edition, eager to get a glimpse at a booth showing off the newest character in one of her favorite games, Overhorde.

  "Sorry," she muttered when she accidentally elbowed the Clever Girl guy in the ribs.

  "No problem," he returned, doing a double-take when he spied her clipboard. "Going analog, are we?" He arched a wildly sprouting brow.

  "Yeah," she said, eyes on the booth monitor displaying the new character's specs. It looked like the character would be something of a mix between sniper and DPS. She glanced at the guy in time to catch his eyes raking over her body.

  "You know, if you want to join the digital age, I can help," he said, voice growing heavy with innuendo.

  Ana sighed. This kind of dude. Again. She took a deep breath and turned away from the booth's display to face him squar
e on. "Oh yeah? And how exactly would you do that?"

  His mouth widened in surprise, but only for a moment, the expression quickly replaced by a snide smile. "I can show you . . . privately."

  "Let me guess. You have something for me in your pants?" She fought an urge to bare her teeth at him like a feral animal.

  His sneer grew. "How'd you know?"

  She loosed a barking laugh. "Lucky guess." As if you're even close to being the first greasy nerd to clumsily, grossly proposition me, she added silently.

  "So you want a piece of this, babe?" He stepped closer, something she hadn't known could be possible in such already close quarters. She could smell stale soda on his breath. She stepped back and bumped into Leia, who yelped.

  "Sorry," she tossed over her shoulder, heart suddenly in her throat. The back of her neck felt hot, too hot, wedged between all these strangers.

  The Clever Girl guy was waiting, eyes bright, expectant.

  "Thanks," she said, hoping the wry edge she cut into her voice would communicate her extreme disinterest, "but no thanks." She began to sidle away, telling herself she'd come back to check out the Overhorde character's specs later.

  "Why?" she heard him blurt after her, and she shivered at the indignant anger blossoming in the single syllable.

  "Not my type," she said, shoving her way through the crowd, breath coming too fast, desperate to be away from this man.

  But he followed, con-goers easily parting for him in her wake. "And what's your type exactly, bitch?" He spat the words, and she could practically feel his spit shower down over her.

  Something in her belly hardened, and she spun on her heel, stabbing her pen at his chest. "You want to know my type?" The words were a hiss, and he had to lower his head to hear her. "My type is a man with an ounce of civility, of respect for me and -- and yeah, I know this is going to blow your mind -- for all women, and," she paused, sizing him up and down, "a guy with class. With style. With game. Which you, my dear dime-a-dozen douchebag, have exactly none of."

  He opened his mouth, retort ready, but she cut him off.

  "And if you utter another syllable to me," she said, voice low, dangerous, "I will report you to security and have you removed from this event."

  He snorted. "Why would they listen to you?"

  "Because I am a respected community member and also a regular attendee at this conference. They know me, and know I don't do bullshit. You, on the other hand, are clearly made of bullshit." He winced, and Ana took a sour pleasure in inflicting the slight.

  "And who the hell do you think you are?"

  "Owner of Bandwidth, the best damn gaming shop in this city. Now, if you'll please excuse me, get out of my face, you basement-dwelling bottom feeder."

  He actually took a step back, jostling the people behind him, and their protest seemed enough to jolt him out of his hyper focus on Ana. "Yeah, whatever, bitch," he muttered, but the fire had gone out of him, and he almost lazily turned back to the Overhorde exhibit.

  Ana spun on her heel and pushed her way through the crowd, heading in the opposite direction. She didn't know where she was going, and didn't care. Just anywhere but were he was. Just away.

  She was no n00b. She knew exactly what to expect from a vast portion of these events' male attendees. And yet they still managed to catch her by surprise, every damn time.

  It was enough to make her want to swear off men entirely.

  And yet there was this small but stubborn part of her that longed -- she rolled her eyes at herself -- for love. For romance. For flowers and fireworks and a hand to hold and a body to warm with her own at night. Fingers touching her most intimate places, cradling her gently, landing fiery kisses on her neck.

  She wanted it so badly that it was almost physically painful.

  Sure, she'd had her share of trysts, but it was never serious, and always just to scratch her sexual itches. They were fun, but just like candy didn't satisfy a growling belly, her serial romps did nothing to soothe that part of her that ached for the real deal.

  But she'd never had reason to believe it existed. And she very much doubted that she'd find love at this conference.

  Lindsey had told her to have fun this weekend. But she didn't want fun. She wanted something real and deep. Fat chance that she'd run into something even close to that here.

  Suddenly Ana knew exactly where she wanted to go -- the bar. Quickly checking the map at the back of her clipboard to make sure that it was still in the same place as last year, she strode off to get herself a drink.

  Twenty minutes and half a beer later, Ana toted her half-empty plastic cup from the bar back to the presenter area, clipboard tucked under her arm once again, pen slid into the back pocket of her jeans.

  Squeezing through the throngs of people clogging the maze of the con's aisles was a great deal more enjoyable with a bit of a buzz, she discovered. She still saw the eyebrows raised at her clipboard, and the snide male gazes glued to her breasts and backside. But now she didn't mind. Or really, she was better able to not give a shit about the leering cretins.

  A table bare of everything except a stack of business cards, brochures, and a couple of demo devices caught her eye and she made her way there, if only because the con-goers weren't thick around it.

  Ana quickly scanned the table's offerings. The booth was promoting an app for one of her favorite games, she realized.

  "This looks really good," she murmured, setting her drink on the edge of the table to jot a few notes on the clipboard. "How does --" she consulted the business cards "--HordeGuru compare to the current stat aggregators already out and well-used by players?"

  "Because," came the rich voice of the guy manning the table, "HordeGuru is not a stat aggregator -- it's a tutorial aggregator. Think instant access to the best rated tutorials out there."

  Ana raised her brows, nodding, impressed. "That is unique." She lifted her head to meet the eyes of the man -- it felt like a bolt of fire seared through her from head to heels, cutting through the beer buzz.

  She knew him. From high school. Those blue eyes, so startlingly clear yet warm -- she couldn't have forgotten them even if she'd tried.

  He'd been star football player of her high school class -- for whom she'd fostered a secret crush. Secret because what was more laughable than the idea of the hot jock getting together with the avowed and awkward nerd girl?

  By his own widened eyes and opening mouth, Ana guessed that he recognized her, too.

  "You're Ana, right?" he said, confirming her suspicions.

  "Yeah." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm surprised you remembered."

  "I have a good memory." He pointed to himself. "Wes. From --"

  "Yeah," she said, hating that her voice sounded breathless. "From high school."

  Why was her heart thundering against the inside of her rib cage? So what if her teenage crush had unexpectedly, miraculously joined her world of nerdery? He was probably just like all the other guys here -- by and large misogynistic dumbasses.

  He grinned. "It's so cool running into you here. I'm glad to see a familiar face, actually."

  Ana frowned. Familiar face? She hadn't known that he'd even been aware of her existence, much less familiar with her.

  At the same time, some detached part of her brain piped up, I'd like to get familiar with what's under his clothes.

  Scowling at herself, she pushed the thought away. But she couldn't stop her eyes from scrolling over his pristine suit and tie. And she certainly couldn't deny how the sight of his eyes crinkling up at the corners as he smiled at her made her belly feel like it was filled with sunlight.

  "It's my first time presenting my app," he was saying. He gestured at his mostly bare booth with a wry smile. "Such a newbie, right?"

  "Uh, right." Ana grabbed her drink, hating that her pulse refused to get the message that there was no way in hell meeting Wes here was a good thing, or that there was any chance of her realizing her teenage wet dreams. "Um, good luck this weekend."
r />   She turned on her heel and, ignoring the surprised and -- she could hardly believe it -- hurt look washing over Wes's face, fled. She swiftly lost herself in the crowd, feeling the safety of its obscuring cloak draw around her.

  5

  Wes

  That evening Wes slipped into the crowded conference bar, squinting against the party lights flashing through the darkened room, music blasting from the DJ's booth. He made for the nearest bar. It had been a long day without much interest in his app, and he was in need of libations.

  "What'll you have?" the stocky bartender shouted over the thumping din of music.

  "Just a beer. Any beer."

  The man nodded. "I got you." He turned away for a moment, then returned with a plastic cup foaming with amber liquid.

  "Thanks." Wes took a sip, wiping the foam from his upper lip, and slid some cash across the bar.

  He turned toward the partying con attendees, half of them in costume, most of the rest scantily clad, and almost all of them moving to the music, drinks in hand.

  Loosening his tie, he strolled around the edge of the room, taking in the gyrating bodies and scent of sweat mixed with alcohol. The bass of the music rode the buzz of his beer and pulsed deep in his veins.

  His thoughts turned to Ana. He hadn't seen her since high school, had barely even thought of her, but today's meeting had very much awakened his memories.

  Even though he'd ostensibly been one of the most popular, sought-after guys in their school, he'd been jealous of her. His football teammates made fun of her, the geek as an obvious target, but Wes had thought she was so brave to unapologetically embrace who she was -- especially in the face of opposition. As he'd kowtowed to his parents' wishes and applied to colleges that would lead him to law school, he'd wondered if he had what it took to shake off their expectations and be himself. Like Ana.

  To be honest, her confidence was attractive -- very attractive. She'd been the object of more than one of his teenage dreams. And today, seeing how she'd grown even more into herself, Wes suspected that she might be showing up in his fantasies again.