Jack: This redesign has sprawled into a dungeon with multiple levels—more like a raid, honestly—and multiple new caves for the role players. It’s a lot.
Dakota: You work too hard.
I look at myself in the mirror again. Screw it. If he can’t take tiny little black pinpricks on my exposed legs, is there even a shot at a real relationship?
Dakota: I’m coming down now.
CHAPTER 22
JACKSON
When she answers the door in shorts and a T, no bra, I almost lose it. She’ll never stop having this effect on me, instant lust, hunger, physicalneed. I almost drop the photo album that’s tucked under my arm.
“Are you trying to drive me nuts?” I say, sweeping one arm around her waist and pulling her in for a hug.
She clings to my neck and presses her lips against mine. I return with added pressure, passion boiling through me. My body responding. Hard. Fast.
I take a step back, smirking when she gives me a knowing smile. Light in her eyes, despite the emotion clinging to her. She takes my hand and leads me toward the staircase.
The doorman nods to us as we walk by him. Another failure point. What if he says something? Did he recognize me? I’m getting tired of this. But I’m not going to push her.
If it blows up, it blows up. We’ll deal with the aftershocks together.
Her apartment is as adorably nerdy as I expected it to be. She’s got two Stormtroopers standing guard on both sides of a display cabinet with figurines from our physical media line. I approach, looking at the Empire’s Fall pieces, the goblins, the elves, the spell weavers, the demons, and dozens of other fantasy creatures.
“It’s like looking at the past twenty years of my life,” I say in wonder.
“Your game has touched so many people,” she says warmly, laying her head against my arm as we study the pieces.
“What class did Noah play?” I ask.
“He was a fighter right until the end,” she says, sounding pleased I asked.
“So—a warrior?”
“Of course,” she says. She nods at the album under my arm. “Did you just happen to have that in the office?”
“It’s always there,” I reply. “It’s where I spend most of my time, so it makes sense.”
“Thirsty?”
“Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
We sit in her living room, which has two medieval-style tapestries hanging from its tall walls. I take a sip of OJ then place it on aGame of Thronescoaster, Tyrion looking smug and satisfied before I cover his face.
“Can I see?” she asks, gesturing at the album again.
I swallow. Almost don’t tell her… but I have to. “I’ve never shown these to anyone else. Not even Pete.”
“He’s your closest friend?”
“My only friend,” I reply honestly. “Somewhere along the way, I think I even pushed him away. When the bottom line replaced the passion, and money started corrupting everything.” I shake my head. “Listen to me—people would kill to have what I have.”
“Maybe if they didn’t know the full extent of it,” she murmurs.
I move closer to her, her legs brushing mine. I stare at her tempting thighs for too long, struggling to be a gentleman, to maintain control. I’m not here to jump her bones but to offer emotional support.
“I should’ve shaved, I know,” she mutters.