Page 22 of Game Over

I was one of those hideously annoying, blissfully in love people who felt everything that their partner did was perfect. The honeymoon phase had to end at some point, I was sure. But for the time being? I was delightfully surprised it’d lasted this long. The worst part about being the annoying person who was grossly in love? You never wanted to stop.

Jesse swung our hands as we made our way towards the door of the barcade I’d found after a quick search online, situated on the far end of a spooky-as-hell strip mall.

Half arcade. Half bar. The half-decent chance that the tetanus you caught here would kill you and you could use the lawyers next door to sue before they moved you to the funeral home at the far end of the building. What wasn’t to like?

Jesse grabbed the blacked-out door as the wind kicked up, rustling my skirt. I instinctively released his hand to catch it, stepping into the glowing gloom of the arcade with several long blinks, trying to get my eyes to adjust in comparison to the sunlight outside.

A few spare streaks of sunlight fought their way through the chipping paint on the glass door, the space deceptively nice in comparison to the bonafide murder motel vibes of the facade of the building.

I’d picked it because it was far enough from downtown that I hoped it wouldn’t be too busy, especially since they had a full section of VR shooting games. I figured we’d want to spend more time playing than waiting this way.

Plus, it was the exact sort of thing that I needed to get my blood pumping and forget all about my nerves—and the high stakes—of this totally casual hangout.

Do or die. Impress the best friend or consider myself history.

The bar wasn’t dark, per se. But it wasn’t exact light either—matte black painted walls soaking up the lights from the various cabinets that filled the warehouse-sized room, their lights glittering and sounds popping as they tried to entice players forward to try their luck at beating high scores.

I wasn’t much of a vintage cabinet girl, preferring more modern games with updated graphics and quicker reaction times. Well, unless you counted pinball.

I fuckinglovedpinball.

“Jesse!” A deep, husky voice called, making my head turn.

“Charlie!”

I smelled him before I saw him, decadently buttery with a heavy wash of sweet fruitiness. Blueberry pie.

Deliciously heady and too strong in my sensitive nose.

A whine tried to claw its way out of my throat, thighs pressing together as my body placed the scent before my mind, hindbrain pushing to the front in a demand.

Familiar, dark chocolatey eyes met mine, his strong jawline half obscured as Jesse pulled the alpha into a hug.

I would’ve recognized him anywhere.

The alpha that’d haunted my deepest, most secret fantasies for the last year.

The one who’d taken my virginity and my number only to ghost me.

Mr. Heat Hotel.

Fuck.

Jesse hitmy chest with a soft thud, strong arms circling my middle for a tight squeeze I returned just as eagerly.

My eyes hunted, as if by their own accord, for the girl that walked in with him. The absence of her scent was as much of a draw as if I was met with cloying sweetness.

Big, brown eyes that I’d recognize anywhere.

Full, plush lips that I could remember with crystal clarity wrapped around my cock.

Tara. The omega I’d dreamed of since the moment I’d left her waiting in that hotel room.

Fuck.

“I talk to you,like, every day,” Charlie chuckled nervously, giving my back an awkward pat as we pulled away.

It was almost comforting that he was as nervous to meet Tara as she was to meet him. The light smile he always wore, more of a twitch upward of his lips than anything else, put me at ease even with the anxious edge to his gaze.

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