Page 21 of Confessions of a Virgin on a Dating App
“You know, you didn’t have to throwtwoinfinite combos in that deck,” he hissed at Chris.
“Of course I did. What’s the fun of opening a $20 card out of a pack and not playing it?”
A hot trickle of anticipation seared through my veins. The game had lasted about an hour, meaning that I needed to head out and make my way to the video game bar.
“You’re dropping again?” Devin looked confused as I gave him the news.
“Yup. Remove me from the pairings please.”
Devin stopped typing on his computer keyboard, glancing me up and down with his blue-green eyes. A chill crept up my neck as I realized he was studying my outfit—a maroon dress with a black woven belt and velvety grey ankle-length boots. I had been showing up to the shop in dresses more often lately, since they were comfortableand didn’t irritate my stomach during my bad periods. But today I looked especially dressed up.
He knew something was off.
“It’s only been one round,” he continued. “You sure?”
Irritation bubbled in my stomach again as my fingernails dug half-moons into my palms. Devin was my friend, and I appreciated his concern, but he was starting to get on my nerves.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I had to force myself to not hiss my words. “I’ll be here on Sunday forC&Cthough. I’ll see you then!”
I spun around and sped out the front door before Devin had the chance to respond.
Just like before, Tristan was waiting for me when I arrived.
He swiveled around on his barstool, greeting me with an enthusiastic wave and a flash of his brilliantly white teeth. Once I reached the bar, he stood up to give me a hug, one far warmer and longer than the one during our first meetup.
He was even bold enough to place a quick peck on my cheek, which made me break out in a silly, infatuated grin.
As I took a seat, I peered around at my surroundings.Joystickswas a small, cozy establishment tucked into a strip mall near Universal Studios. It was a far drive for me, but I didn’t mind since I was fond of the place. Cassidy and Aaron had dragged me there a few times, and while I typically didn’t drink, I enjoyed playing lots of retro video games in the dark, quirky, neon-light-filled space.
“I’m so glad we came here tonight,” Tristan grinned, rubbing his palms together. “My dad used to take me to old-school arcades when I was a kid. It reminded himof his childhood, and he was a master atGalaga. He used to get on the scoreboard at every arcade we visited.”
I noticed Tristan was talking about his dad in the past tense, but I knew we weren’t far along in our relationship, and I didn’t want to pry. Instead, I studied the drink menu, searching for the beer with the lowest alcohol content.
We placed our orders and chatted while we waited for our drinks. Tristan asked me how my week went, and I used that question to tell him all about my job at the publishing company. He was fascinated, and I even confessed to him out of my far-flung dreams: to one day write my own book.
“What genre would you write?” he asked.
“I like romance,” I shrugged. “Whether contemporary or fantasy. I just need an idea for a good story.”
“I bet you’ll find it,” Tristan smiled. “Admittedly, I need to read more. I used to devour books like crazy as a kid, but ever since college I’ve completely given up on them.”
“That happens to a lot of us,” I reassured him. “I quit reading for a while, too. I think it’s because of smartphones and social media. But since I read so much for work, I made it a habit to buy more books. And once I dove into fantasy romances, I couldn’t put them down.”
Our drinks arrived, and Tristan took a big, satisfied gulp of his beer while I took a hesitant sip of mine. It was sweet, with a hint of orange, and wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as the cheap stuff kids used to sneak onto my college campus. I took another sip, knowing it wouldn’t be long until the dizzying burn of intoxication seeped into my bloodstream.
I set my beer on the counter. I hated being a lightweight.
We spent the next few hours diving deeper into our personal lives, discussing our jobs, families, and friends over several rounds ofSuper Smash Bros. While our characters beat the crap out of each other, I told him more aboutCritical Games and its regulars, Chris, Aaron, and of course, my best friend Cassidy.
But I decided to leave Devin off the list. The thought of adding him sent anxiety crawling up the back of my throat.
Eventually, Tristan decided he’d had enough ofSuper Smash Bros.,and he pulled me over to the vintage arcade cabinets to show off hisGalagaskills. The buttons rattled beneath his fingers as he pressed them at lightning speed, his gaze locked on the old CRT monitor screen like a predator stalking its prey. He really was good at the game, picking off all the aliens while nimbly weaving through the maze of enemy fire. I’d been watching him for nearly thirty minutes when his ship blew up for a third and final time.
“Argh,” he groaned, slapping a palm against the arcade console. But his white-toothed grin immediately lit up his face when he realized he’d made it onto the scoreboard.
“Hell yeah!” he laughed as he loggedTRKinto the computer.
I asked if those were his initials, and he nodded.
