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I took him into that room. I got down on my knees.Iwanted it to go further.
If he hadn’t figured out who I was, then I would have let him do...anything.
“Where does this go?” Tina holds up a folding display stand. The convention is officially over and we’re packing up our booth.
“Uh...” I scan the area. It looks like a tornado has blown through. “See if you can jam it into the bag with the big banners.”
“Can do.” Tina is still dressed in her costume from the day, aperfectreplica of Jill Valentine from theResident Evilfranchise. The video game, obviously. Not the appalling movies they keep churning out. “How do you think it went?”
I sigh and lean against one of the tables, exhaustion seeping into my bones. “I guess I should have expected there would be some resistance after how the last release went. But...man, people are brutal.”
Tina nods. “Yep. I swear, I think online review culture is making everyone an expert in their own heads. They upload one video to YouTube and suddenly they know everything.”
“Exactly.” I try to shake off the dejected feeling and focus on the positives. “Maybe the people that come to these conventions aretooin the know about the community opinion.”
“What do you mean?” Tina blows a loose strand of black hair out of her face. We’re both hot and sweaty from being under the bright lights all day.
“I mean...loadsof people play board games, right? It’s come back into fashion, so there will be plenty of people looking to buy a new game but they might have nothing to do with the gaming community.” I tap a finger to my chin. “In fact, I’d say that audience is probably larger than those who attend the convention and review online. There are plenty of people who just want to play the game and aren’t interested in following us on socials or hearing what some industry ‘expert’ has to say on our product.”
“You think we should forget about social media?” Tina swings her head toward where Artie stands a few feet away, chatting with another vendor. “Don’t tell Artie you said that.”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” But an idea is forming in my head. It’s a little fuzzy and not very detailed, but it’s there. “We need social media, I know that. And we need to engage the community. But we also need to think bigoutsidethe community. Something more...mainstream, maybe.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know yet. What I do know is that we need to go beyond the community bubble.” I hoist a box onto the trestle table and start packing up all the swag we brought with us—branded pens and USB keys and other tech bits and bobs with our company logo. “I’ll know the opportunity when I see it.”
At that moment, I look up, drawn by the prickle of someone watching me. Rowan. He’s standing in front of our booth, a green “staff” lanyard hanging around his neck. That explains how he got in here after everything was closed.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. I sound pricklier than I feel—because looking at him makes me want to melt into a puddle andthatpisses me off.
He’s wearing a white T-shirt and faded blue jeans, a tan belt highlights his trim waist and a pair of cool sneakers stop him from looking too neat and tidy. His jaw is coated in a generous dusting of dark brown stubble, which I haven’t seen too much before. Usually, he’s clean-shaven. I can’t help remembering the soft sound of his groan as I took him into my mouth.
“I thought you might need this.” He pulls the lanyard over his head and hands it to me. I take it, being very careful not to let our fingers brush because it’s already hard enough to quiet the horny thoughts swirling in my brainwithoutphysical contact.
“Thanks.”
I glance at Tina, who isdefinitelyeavesdropping on our conversation. My team would drop dead from shock if they knew what I’d done. I feel my cheeks burning. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being the centre of attention.
“Uh, Tina, why don’t you take Artie and load those boxes into the van?” I say in my best definitely-not-thinking-about-blow-jobs voice. Thankfully, I can trust my team to read the room. The two of them vacate the premises, leaving me alone with Rowan. “Why did youreallycome here? You could have put the lanyard in my mailbox.”
Rowan rakes a hand through his dark hair and the motion strikes me as a little self-deprecating. “We have some unfinished business.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” I cock my head. “I thought it was called blue balls.”
He comes forward and I’m glad for the table between us, because the closer he gets, the stronger his pull is, and Idon’tneed any encouragement.
“I was referring to the tour.” He plants his hands on the table and I flash back to when he had them planted against the door on either side of my head. “I thought you were going to show me the ropes.”
Don’t make a rope-related dick joke. Don’t make a rope-related dick joke...
“Too late, show’s over.” I gesture to the rapidly emptying room. The event management company will shoo us out soon so they can start dismantling the booths and lighting. “Nothing to see here now.”
“I want to know more about your game.” He stands there stubbornly. What point is he trying to prove?
“Why?” I wrinkle my nose. “And why come here when you could have knocked on my door?”
He raises a brow. “Would you have answered?”
