We needed you last night.
Accusatory, grammatically perfect, and so very like him. I sigh, slipping the phone back into my pocket without replying, condemning him to the unread pile with the slew of other messages.
They all reached out last night, trying to cajole me into going online, but I’m irrationally angry at them still.
Yes, I know I’m overreacting, and I should behappythat my cover is safe and they didn’t recognise me, but we’ve been gaming together for years. Years! And they didn’t even—
I press the pen into the paper so hard that my next tick makes a savage rip through the box.
“Careful,” a familiar voice warns. “Trying to find a pen around here is nearly impossible.”
I look back and find Emma standing there, hand on one hip, as she eyes me with amusement. Unlike me, she’s immaculately put together, makeup on point, and wearing a floaty teal romper that stands out amidst the sea of black shirts almost as much as my unicorn hoodie does.
“I blame the hangover,” I mutter. “Plus, shouldn’t this whole process be digitised? Who uses paper and ink nowadays?”
The wardrobe mistress snorts. “Oh, I’d love to hear you tell Sully that.” Her smile fades, becoming one of fond exasperation. “Seriously, don’t even try. I’ve been nagging him since I joined the tour, but that old goat will not learn new tricks.”
“Noted,” I reply.
“As for the hangover…” She moves closer, rummaging in her purse, and pulls out two luminous energy drinks. “I snagged these from the vending machine. Figured you’d need one after last night.”
I grimace, accepting the bottle and flicking open the cap to down it. “Was I that bad?”
Emma smiles. “Well, your giggle fit was definitely an icebreaker.”
If there is a god, please don’t let Man find out about that…
“In my defence, it wasn’t intentional,” I mumble. “I kinda… got carried away.”
My phone chimes again, this time with Arlo’sribbitfollowed quickly by Dodger’ssqueeeal.
“You gonna answer that?” Emma asks, frowning.
I sigh. “No. I’m mad at them.”
The other woman quirks the corner of her lip sympathetically. “Is it those boys you were cursing out last night?”
I did that?
Shit. Disaster control, now.
Berating myself five different ways, I shrug as nonchalantly as possible. “How much did I drink, exactly?”
“Enough,” Emma admits, her smile returning. “Don’t worry. You didn’t say anything too embarrassing, though you did keep ranting about how people are never as cool in real life as they are in games.”
I let my head fall back and groan. “Just forget I ever said that, please? Besides, I’m here to work, and…”
The loudest, most obnoxious, girly giggle I’ve ever heard in my life interrupts us, and I trail off. Craning my neck, I struggle to work out where the sound is coming from. Jeez, I thought I pulled off a good airhead act, but that is either grade-A acting. or the woman in question has been cursed with the world’s most unfortunate laugh.
Then her fake tits come into view, and I realise it’s neither of those options. Just as quickly, I curse myself for being judgemental. Maybe she really loves metal… and the girl behind her… and the girl after—Jesus! How many are there?
Damn it, Darcy. Women policing other women’s sexuality is a tool of the patriarchy. We’ve got to be better than this.
“Ugh…” Emma echoes my thoughts. “I know they make a shit ton from VIP ticket sales, but sometimes the VIPs are just…”
“I’m sure she has a wonderful personality,” I grind out, watching not one—but four—metal-barbies assemble, complete with leather corsets, bright neon space buns, platform boots, and tiny rah-rah skirts. “Or… donates to charities that save drowning kittens or… something.”
Emma bursts out laughing. “Oh, we’re going to be best friends. You can counter my judgemental bitchiness with your strained positivity.”
