Bringing the straws to my lips, the subtle scent of the whisky drifts under the mask. My body begins to warm at the rich scent. I take a sip and recognition hits me instantly as the smooth liquid slides over my tongue. The spice heats up my throat, and a slight burn travels through my nose. It all amplifies the intoxicating feeling Stevie’s mere presence has created.
“Mac 12,” I say, appreciation and satisfaction in my voice at her choice. “Oaked.”
“You seemed like a Macallan kind of guy.” She shrugs.
I give her another once-over. At first glance, one might mistake her as just another high-class server. A more dedicated observer would be able to catalogue the glistening gems in her ears, the red soles of her heels, the practiced smile. She knows her shit because she was raised to know the best.
“Anyone with taste is a Macallan person.”
She snorts lightly. “You’re not helping your case.”
“Fine. So, what kind of guy does that make me?”
Her lip quirks up, teasing me.
“A guy who knows what he wants, what he likes,” she leans her hip on the table, “but is patient. He waits until it is the right time to strike.”
Fuck. I want to grip that hip and twist her onto my lap again. But there are still too many eyes on our table. We don’t do these events often, but when we do, we are careful about who we interact with and for how long. Even Sydney only attends events as necessary because of the backlash she receives. Although, she would attend every event with us if we didn’t stop her. She says she doesn’t care—that it’s part of the job—but no one is immune to online bullying, and we can handle ourselves.
“Do you know what I want right now, Stevie?”
It’s the first time I’ve called her by her name, and I see the surprise light up on her face.
“What?” Her eyes narrow, but there is a hint of mischief in them.
I stand up and, even though she is in heels, I still have a solid four inches on her. I place my hand on the table next to her hip and lean forward, caging her between my body and the table.
“I want to reach my hand under that dress and feel how ready you are for me.”
Her eyes darken for a moment before she schools her features. “Are you always this forward with women you’ve just met?”
“Only the ones who seem like they can handle my games.”
“And what if I don’t want to play?”
A soft chuckle rolls out before I can stop it, and she uses that moment to quickly move out from under my grasp. “Well, if there isn’t anything else I can get for you,” she reaches for the tray of champagne, “I have to continue making my rounds.” She walks away without waiting for a response. I watch her go, tracking her swaying hips as they glide through the mingling patrons. My jaw ticks as other men let their gaze linger on her, like they have a chance.
It bothers me. I don’t come to these events to chase women. I just use them as an easy release. And yet, I want to hunt down this little dove until I can cage her for my own.
Why her?
“You know, she seems kind of familiar.” I twist to see Parker has successfully downed two of his three champagnes.
“Familiar in an I-think-we’ve-fucked-before way or in a she-might-be-a-groupie way?” Jackson’s cosmo is empty, but he won’t reach for another drink tonight. He has a self-imposed one-drink maximum rule when we go out to events. Which is useful because Parker has a self-imposed no-max drink rule, even though he requires an obscene amount of champagne to get drunk. I think all those rich-boy parties over the years made him basically immune to champagne.
“You better hope it’s not option A.” I growl.
“Wouldn’t be the first time we shared a bird.” Parker has the nerve to shoot finger guns at me. “But, no, neither of those options. I can’t place it. Maybe she has a sibling or something.”
I nod my head but turn back to the crowd. With ease, I spot her chatting up a table of female streamers as she hands them more champagne.
“You promised Sydney no sexual acts of any kind at the event.” Jackson can be a real killjoy when he wants to be.
“Technically, Syd was referring to fellow streamers or industry professionals.”
“Literally, her words were anyone at the VSAs.” I drag my eyes away from Stevie and scowl at him. “I can feel you pouting through the mask.”
“I’m scowling.”
“Same shit.”
I’m about to argue back when music blasts through the speakers and the overhead voice announces, “Welcome to the eighth annual Vazer Stream Awards.” I lean back in my seat as everyone starts to applaud. “Please welcome your host for tonight’s show, Adrian Castellanos!”
I watch as Adrian jogs onto the stage, sporting his white mask—which has been defunct for a few years now. Castle’s face reveal is still one of the most-viewed reveals online; people lost their shit. Probably because the fucker looks like he stepped out of an Armani catalogue, you couldn’t be mad about that. Adrian started uploading videos online a few years before I did, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I looked up to him quite a bit. We used to play together a bunch, but it fizzled out as he started sticking to just first-person shooters.
I grab my drink and take another sip, the burn comforting me for what is going to be a long night ahead.
FOUR
* * *
ALEKS
“I’m going to kill Sydney.”
When Syd mentioned that I had to accept the Golden Vazer Award, she failed to mention that there were other awards the group and I had been nominated for. Which I probably would have known if I bothered to look anything up. I’ve had to go on stage twice in the last hour and have yet to accept that damn Golden award.
Is it sick that The System won Best Content Organization? Yeah. Is it cool that I won Best Death Valley Role-Play? Yeah. Still, I would’ve been just as happy to accept them from my couch at home than here on stage. Instead, I’ve had to pull speeches out of my ass.
“Pretty sure murdering our publicist isn’t in our best interest.” Jackson nudges me.
“Pretty sure murdering you isn’t in my best interest either, but I still dream about it.”
“Love you, too.”
I go to take a sip of my whiskey only to remember I finished it about three awards ago. I keep meaning to order a new one, but I’m waiting until Stevie makes her way back over during one of the breaks so I can order it from her.
“And the nominees for Best Speedrunner are CreepyPillows, EnglishCoffee, KyleOdd, JustAGame, and OnlyVan.”
“I don’t even care if I win this year so long as Creep doesn’t.” Parker huffs.
“You just hate that he’s the Australian version of you.” I taunt.
“No,” Parker crosses his arms, “I just hate that he won Best Speedrunner at the Streamzies awards last year after I beat his time in Dreadlander in my livestream.”
I don’t bother reminding him that what they really care about are the times recorded in live tournaments versus streams. It’s an even touchier subject. He can’t even play in tournaments because of the mask.
“And the winner for Best Speedrunner is…JustAGame!”