Dirty Games

Chapter Two

"Will I be streaming any games after my shift?" I repeat the question typed on the screen from one of my fans and I shove the joystick forward with my thumb. "No, I've got a lot to do. Plus the pizza girl is here and who knows, maybe I'll get lucky with her. If so, it'll be the first time in months I've hooked up without the use of an iPhone app."

Everyone laughs and talks shit. One of the fans says something crude about my sex life. Which is nonexistent because I work all the fucking time, but I pretend otherwise for the guys online. The fans.

I laugh into the microphone attached to the headset and smirk for the camera that broadcasts my every move. "Yeah, I do get lucky a lot. I'm a lucky motherfucker."

It's a typical Wednesday night. I've got the console in my hands, the headphones over my ears and now, a half hour before my shift ends, the explosion. Not an in-game one. A real life explosion.

I'm in the final raid of the night in World of Warcraft when she walks in.

Catalina. I used to call her Cata.

In the last few years, I've tried to forget her name and her face. But her presence in my house is like a bomb in the form of a five-foot-two-inch bombshell with wavy, white-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Not to mention a mouth that I dream of, one that's left me with the dirtiest memories any guy could want or need.

It only takes the blink of an eye to know she's still every bit as gorgeous as when I last saw her five years ago. Trying to keep my composure, my eyes race back to the TV screen, and I attempt to finish the raid with my team.

What's the saying from the old black-and-white movie my grandma used to make me watch? Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine...

My thumb fumbles because I'm shaking. Someone on another team attacks when I fail to turn a corner into a dungeon. Other players shout, their voices echoing in the headphones, and they jeer when they see Cata on the camera that also captures me playing the game.

What the fuck, man?

Oh, come on!

This raid's screwed now. Who's that girl? She's HAWT.

I look at her a second time. Her eyes, which are huge and skittish, make my chest hurt. Her flimsy blue T-shirt is wet and clings to her breasts. My skin feels tingly, like it always does right before I get an erection, because that's the effect she's always had on me, and I guess, always will.

A barrage of loud explosions roars in the background as we stare at each other. From the corner of my eye, I see my  avatar gurgle and gasp a cartoon death.

Cata's mute as a butterfly.

"Shit, I've been killed," I say softly. Rising, I toss the console onto the sofa, which is littered with protein bar wrappers, water bottles and, inexplicably, an orange plastic sword. I pull off the headset and throw it down on the cushion alongside all the other crap.

"Diego." Her voice is flat.

"Cata." My heart speeds up as I step toward her, feeling the magnetic pull that hasn't faded over time. Overwhelmed with memories, I watch her take a step backward. As if she's scared. As if I hurt her.

I guess I did. But she hurt me, too. Which is probably why we haven't spoken in five years. That and my lack of communication skills. I'm better online than real life. I can somehow express myself playing video games, but when I'm around people — especially women — I often say the wrong things. Or I don't say enough. Or something. I usually can't figure out why I'm so inept. Maybe it's because I'm a guy.

Cata was the one person who understood me, but I ultimately said the wrong things to her, too.

But now that we're in the same room, all bets are off. At least for me, the pain has vanished faster than a level 32 spell in World of Warcraft. Liam and Sawyer would probably say I'm weak and pussy-whipped, but they don't know how much I've wanted this moment to leap from my fantasies and into real life.

"Catalina," I say softly, and her eyes grow wider. Less angry.

I'm a foot away from her, closer than I've been in years. My hands jam into my shorts pockets as if they know better than my brain that they shouldn't touch her. Her eyes falter and lower to my chest, and my gaze follows.

"Oh, um. Sorry." I had thrown on a white-button down over my shorts but had fastened only the bottom three buttons. I quickly close a few more, not wanting her to see that I'm still wearing the long silver ball chain and the pendant she gave me years ago. I raise my eyes to see her licking her bottom lip. Her legs are bare and pale. Smooth and soft. They look even paler because she's wearing little black shorts. God, I always loved her skin. Are those raindrops on her ankles? I almost groan out loud and try not to stare.

I can practically feel the testosterone surging through my body as I stand there. She's my ideal woman. Surely there's something biological or psychological in my feelings. Maybe because we were childhood friends. Or because she was my first love. My only love. There have only been a few women since her, but none as memorable as her. Only Cata occupies a chamber in my heart. All the chambers, truthfully, and two main arteries.

"Do I get a hug?"

She shrugs, which both annoys and angers me because I want us to immediately be exactly like we used to. Fun. Easy. Hot for each other.

"I'm not sure you deserve one." Her voice has an edge. "But, hi. It's good to see you. I guess."

She steps toward me, and I take that as a sign. I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around her. I can't help it. She smells like pizza and perfection.

Letting her go was the biggest mistake of my life, now that she's back, I swear it's not going to happen again.

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Thank you for reading my book! What do you think of Diego so far?

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