He huffed a laugh. It looked a lot like delight he tried to wrestle into something cooler. “Fine. I will warn Rowan. He guards the campaign like his life depends on it.”
“Tell him I bring good vibes and terrible dice rolls,” I said.
“Perfect. We can statistically model how often you ruin everything,” Bennet said. “For science.”
My chest squeezed. I wanted to lean in and bump my shoulder against his, maybe a little more than that. Instead, I nodded toward his house. “Get home safe, Professor.”
“Good night, Jason,” he said quietly.
He turned and walked down the street. The wind caught his jacket and tugged at the hem. He pushed his hands into his pockets and hunched against the cold. I stood where I was, watching him grow smaller.
Warmth spread through my ribs, slow and deep, like the afterglow of a good run. It felt nothing like the rush of scoring. Softer. Stranger. More dangerous.
I didn’t know what to do with it. I only knew it wouldn’t go away because I told it to.
Bennet reached the Thinkers’ House and disappeared inside. I sighed, shifting the duffel on my shoulder, and finally turned toward my own front door.
Fine. If my brain wanted a side quest so badly, it could have one.
On Friday, I would dust off Dud the Cave Troll, walk down this same street, and knock on the Thinkers’ door.
CHAPTER SIX
bennet
I glancedat the door for the millionth time, then forced my gaze back to the living room. The fire crackled in the fireplace, and the round table was placed near it. We had three kinds of snacks in bowls around the table, custom-designed dice packed inside a satin pouch, loads of paperwork regarding our characters, and a large map I’d made for this session.
I was the resident mapmaker around here, thanks to a crash course I’d taken in high school when I was bored with geography. I’d been sure I could ace the thing without studying, which turned out to be true. The print shop on campus had a huge range of options for quality printing and large sizes, and the Thinkers’ House was proud of its large, glossy maps.
I was proud of them. Sue me.
Rowan was the DM, as usual, and he had several scripts printed out as well as a dog-eared notebookwith pages falling out. He took notes during each game to better reference all that happened while we played.
It was a lot of work, but if you’re not getting it by now, we took Dungeons and Dragons seriously.
My gaze darted to the door again, and I nearly cursed at myself aloud. Why was I still anticipating something to happen? I’d known all along that Jason would flake tonight. He’d invited himself, but he’d had no intentions of going through with it.
I’d told him that I would let Rowan know, and I’d meant it. I’d meant it until I opened my mouth to tell Rowan we might have a guest from the Bel House joining us, then I heard how ridiculous that sounded, and I shut my mouth. And good thing I did because I would look like a fool now.
Jason was popular, attractive, mostly shirtless, and not like us. Hanging out with my crowd was beneath him, no matter how many times he said these stereotypes were outdated. Case in point, he didn’t show up.
I didn’t even hold it against him. He was a party-type, constantly texting people throughout our sessions, arranging dates, chuckling at messages, and plotting a war against the Kappa Gamma Beta house with his blond, blue-eyed friend and housemate.
The fact that I still felt thistug at my heart, this simmering, frustrating heat inside my chest, was entirely my fault and my fault alone. Not every guy who wore a smile so lightly and brushed his hand against mine so carelessly had a secret plan. In fact, nearly none of them did.
I wiped my hands against my pants and got busy with the last couple of bowls of snacks. I carried them to the gaming table and made sure everything was set up correctly.
We had our usual four chairs set, but there were more chairs around the long dining table by the windows. I chided myself for running that mental check. We didn’t need more chairs.
“That door’s really speaking to you tonight,” Rowan said.
I frowned and realized I thought I had seen a shadow move in the small glass piece in the front door. It was nothing. “It’s telling me you should mind your own business.”
Rowan snorted. “Less telepathy and more get-into-your-character, Paladin,” he said.
I blinked and pulled the usual chair for myself, facing away from the door. Better. It would be tougher to keep looking over my shoulder in stupid anticipation. I might even forget all about Jason once Rowan started doing voices and accents of various magical and sentient objects. His clinking voice for a bag of golden coins that developed a sarcastic sense of humor was one of the group’s favorites.
Jake and Andrew flanked me, and Rowan sat across from me, his back to the fireplace, warm light dancing behind his mop of red hair. He sorted the papers before him and reached into the bowl of salted nuts, taking a fistful. “Alright, boys,” he said, picking up nuts one by one from his palm and tossing them into the air tocatch with his mouth. “We’re nearing the Grieving Tower of a Thousand Skulls.” He narrowed his eyes at the map, tilting his head as his imagination began to do its magic. “Black clouds are gathering, thickening oppressively low in a lightless sky. The Grieving Tower looms tall before you as you stand on the cracked earth and jagged rocks. A sound. You think you can hear it. Is it…a doorbell?” The last word, he sighed as his concentration broke, and we all turned to the door. “Come in,” yelled Rowan, the de facto boss of everything tonight.