Page 68 of Level Up for Love

Chapter

Nineteen

“Can you stay for a sec, Reagan?” Wesley asks.

I pause in gathering my things. “What’s up?”

I catch Mona’s gaze; she smirks, then tosses her head toward Shay. Oh, hell. I assume she means they’ll ride together. They follow after Colin and Arthur, who are arguing good-naturedly about a divisive D&D character build.

Wesley waits until the door snicks shut behind Mona before he speaks. “I wanted to ask you for a favor, for NEWT.” He pauses. “And maybe for some help with skeletons, too.”

“More skeleton circles?”

“Not quite.”

He gestures toward the table, which is bare of the usual battle map we display during combat sessions. Wesley often uses an assortment of miniature figurines and toy-sized environmental obstacles to help us picture where our characters stand in relation to the enemies. “I only have a handful of skeletons, and there’s a chance I may need more for next week’s session.”

“Should we be worried?” I tease.

“Nah.” He looks at me, and I swear I see a hint of pride creasing the corners of his eyes. “Sindra’s plan is foolproof.”

It is absolutely not—it’s borderline insane—but I tried to take his advice this time. I tried to lean in to what I thought Sindra would want to do.

For better or worse, it turns out she’s not so risk averse as I thought.

I circle the table and prop myself on its edge, looking down my shoulder at where Wesley still sits. “What do you need help with for NEWT?”

Wesley laces his fingers on the table, just a few inches shy of my thigh. “I have an idea that could be advantageous for both of us.”

He’s always used this dangle method. I’ve seen him employ it on professors and other students and also in D&D, to tease people and make them intrigued. You hear a rustle in the bushes to your left, he’d say in-game. Or, There’s a large ornate chest tucked into the corner of the room.

What else is there to do but investigate?

I’ve long suspected that he likes using this strategy on me the most, because I can never help myself. I can’t leave a stone unturned, even if it’s a trap.

But I can grumble about it.

“I don’t need whatever you’re offering to win,” I say airily.

“Probably not, but it wouldn’t hurt.”

“If you’re asking for my help, just say so.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw, and his eyes go a little hard; it’s the same knee-jerk reaction I have to all of his challenges, mirrored on his face. But then he takes a breath and admits, “I do need your help, actually.”

I have the sudden urge to sweep his hair aside and see where he’s hit his head.

“Really?”

“Really, really.” He’s not smiling, but I hear it in his voice all the same. “I want you to play.”

“It’s not enough that I’m already playing one of your games?” I tease despite my flare of curiosity.

“You’re enjoying it, too,” he reminds me. “But no. I want your feedback on this game.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never made a game like this,” he says. “Not since college. And you’re incredible at them.” He stands and curls two fingers around my wrist. “I can’t program like you can, Reagan. You’re a fucking wizard at it.”