And the thought of Dylan thinking he can look at her without paying for every second he made her feel small?
Like she’s just some “girl player” with decent stats and a hot voice. I crack my knuckles and lean in. Let him underestimate her, I fucking dare him. I want him to walk in thinking she’s still that version of herself. Makes it easier when I rip that illusion out from under him.
The sign up screen flashes. I don’t even think before entering the info. Gamer tag, history, stream ID, rank certification. Masked competitor clause, checked. They’ll approve it. They always do. I’m still Ghost, even if I’ve been silent for awhile. Even if I spent the last few months pretending I didn’t miss the rush. The chaos, kill streaks, the fucking control.
Footsteps on the stairs and I minimize the page out of instinct because Carter’s annoying when he’s smug. A soft knockhits the door followed by the creak of it opening without me answering.
“Dude,” I spin my chair to face him. “You ever going to learn about privacy?”
He leans against the doorframe with a granola bar in his hand. “Just checking in. Thought you might’ve burned down your desk by now.”
“Not yet,” I say, spinning my chair back around to my pc. “But give me time.”
He steps inside, eyeing my screen. “Tournament application?”
“Submitted.”
He whistles. “That was fast.”
“What can I say, rage is usually an effective motivator.”
He walks closer, squinting at the monitor. “You list your tag as Ghost?”
I nod.
“And they’ll know it’syou?”
“Oh, they’ll fucking know.”
He gives a low laugh and taps the desk. “I still think this is a good call.”
“I’m not doing it for you.”
“I know.”
I meet his eyes, trying to keep the loudest thought inside. It doesn’t work. “She’s mine to ruin,” I say, mouth twitching. “Not his.”
Carter rolls his eyes. “That’s healthy.”
I smirk. “Fuck off.” He should realize I’ve already gone too far to pretend this is anything close to normal.
He turns to leave, but stops halfway out the door. “She’s gonna lose her shit when she sees your name in the tournament.”
“Good.” I want her to react, doesn’t matter how. Anger, shock, that sharp little desperate bite in her voice when she’s pissed. I just want to be the reason for it.
Then he’s gone, and I’m left with a glowing confirmation screen. By the time I go live, my inbox already has three messages from mods asking if the rumors are true. I ignore all of them, let them sweat. The second my stream boots up, the chat pops off like I flipped a detonator.
[Chat Log:]
mod_goblin:HE’S BACK HE’S BACK
Ec_hoe3:someone go check on haven
fps4life:is the mask making a return or do we get your face this time?
ghostsimp696:daddy?
I snort, dragging my headset into place and rolling my shoulders. “Relax,” I chuckle. “You’re not special enough to get a face reveal.”
