I reach out and touch the joystick. The card reader that takes a card swipe blinks purple and says “credit accepted.” On the screen, the words, “two player,” flickers. Oh. So, he’s playing remotely.
My heart sinks. It was silly to assume he’d be here. Up to this point, our relationship has been purely online. Otto_Bot’s success relies on him being anonymous and hidden. He wouldn’t reveal himself now. It’s too dangerous.
I blow out a puff of air. “Alright,” I say, stepping closer. “Prepare to get schooled, Otto_Bot.”
“Don’t be so certain,” a deep voice behind me says.
I whirl, my heart jumping into my throat, and slam back against the machine.
“Easy,” he says, his arms going out as if to steady me, but I flinch away.
“Who the hell are you?” I demand, my eyes wide.
I’ve never seen this man before in my life, but there’s something. . . almost familiar about him. He’s tall, taller than I am, and relatively lean. His hair is chaotically messy, but not unkempt, as if it were a style choice. Dressed in dark jeans and a Pink Floyd t-shirt, he hardly looks threatening, but anyone who can’t see the danger in his eyes would be foolish. When he grins at me and the light catches on his gold-rimmed glasses, it only ups the danger. Despite that, he’s ridiculously pretty. Like, soft grey eyes and long dirty blonde lashes pretty. The man has cheekbones that could cut glass.
“Don’t be so jumpy, Boba_Juliette,” he laughs. “You’re safe here.”
My eyes widen. “What. . . You’re. . .”
He shrugs and gestures to the Pacman console. “So, how about this schooling you mentioned?”
I just stare at him, so he shoots me another lopsided grin and grabs the other joystick, his shoulder bumping against mine. I turn back and take the other joystick, mostly because I don’t know what else to do. What do you say to someone you’ve only ever talked to online and developed a sort of relationship with?
“Do I. . .” I begin, and trail off. But then the game starts and so I have to focus on that. It’s been a long time since I’ve played Pacman, but I still do okay. It’s not a difficult game, so I just gobble all the things I can. The words, “Level Complete,” flash across the screen and I manage to find my words. “What do I call you now?” I ask, my voice raspy. “Otto_Bot seems rude now that I can see your face.”
The next level starts, and we focus on that for a few minutes. We complete that level, and he lets go of the joystick to turn to me. I face him completely and suddenly realize just how close we are. This man knows absolutely everything about me, but I realize I don’t even know his real name. I don’t know anything about him except that he’s a cyber mercenary.
He reaches up and presses his hand against my jaw. His hand is warm, and I find myself leaning against his palm, my eyes on his.
“I’ve imagined touching you for so long,” he murmurs, his eyes dipping to my lips. “I shouldn’t have shown up here. It’s dangerous for someone like me. I’m on the CIA’s and FBI’s wanted lists like ten times.”
“Why did you?” I ask. The next level starts, but neither one of us is looking at the screen. The ghosts head for our Pacmans and the little death sound plays as they take us both out.
“I couldn’t deny myself any longer,” he admits. “Ever since I watched you stroke yourself for me, I haven’t been able to think of anything else.”
I flush, reminded again of the scene a few days ago. It was easy to be sensual when he wasn’t standing in front of me. Now, I feel almost shy.
“So, you brought me to the arcade,” I say. It’s not really a question, more like a way to fill the silence.
“So, I brought you to the arcade,” he repeats with a grin. His thumb strokes along my cheek. “We’re the only ones here. We have free rein of the place. No workers.”
I narrow my eyes. “Does the arcade know they’re letting us borrow it?”
He shrugs. “It’s usually closed right about now. But don’t worry. I’ve properly compensated the owners. Nice family.”
I snort. “You know, you and Dagen aren’t much different.”
His long fingers move down my neck and curl around it, immediately making my smile fade. I’m not afraid of him, but maybe I should be. Maybe I was wrong to trust him. When his fingers squeeze gently, I stare into his eyes, my own fingers spasming in confusion whether I should remove his hand or not.
“Did you think we were all saints?” he asks, genuine curiosity in his eyes.
“Did I think that the billionaire, the hitman, and the cyber mercenary are saints?” I ask sarcastically. “Safe to say I’m not an idiot.”
“And yet here you are, my hand around your neck,” he murmurs. His fingers tighten as if to prove his point. “Do you think anyone would hear you scream in here?”
I reach up and curl my fingers around his, but he doesn’t loosen his hold. “I’m not sure I like this game.”
His expression turns saccharine. “What’s the matter, Ava? I thought you liked games?”
