Roll Against Regret (3d20) (2 page)

I hated Mondays. I didn’t use to be one of those people who dreaded the end of Sunday night. Being a data analyst wasn’t for everyone, but I was good at my job, and up until a few months ago, I’d liked the people and the culture at work.

I grabbed a Styrofoam cup from the break-room counter, filled it with coffee, and tried to force the sleepy fog from my brain. It didn’t help that I’d been up past midnight with Jackson. The memory was enough to warm my skin and send a pleasant jolt through me. That was almost better than coffee. I poured milk and enough sugar in my drink to jump-start a small engine. When I turned to head back to my desk, I almost collided with a coworker. “Sorry about that,” I said.

Ryan didn’t return my smile. His narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips, and stepped around me.

The fact the interaction was status quo these days didn’t stop my mood from sinking a notch. “See you around,” I called over my shoulder, trying to keep the cheer in my voice.

I sank into my desk chair with a sigh. A few months ago, before I met Jackson, I’d made a big mistake—or a string of them—and I was still paying the price. I brought it on myself, and karma was exacting its fee. Which was the entire reason I needed to make things right. Ryan wasn’t making it easy. Not that I blamed him.

I’d dated one of the managers. It had been a stupid decision for a lot of reasons, but Mark Kitner was all the suave, seductive things I thought I wanted to sweep me off my feet. Mark had used our relationship to convince me to do a little bit of after-hours work for him. I hadn’t thought it was a big deal at the time, until I realized he had me sabotaging Ryan’s job. I was furious, told Mark we were through, and cut him out of my personal life.

Too bad doing the same at work wasn’t an option, unless I found a new job.

I’d tried to apologize to Ryan, but he’d blown me off and said the damage was done. I didn’t blame him for being pissed, so I tried not to push the issue.

“Got a minute?” Tasha stood on the other side of my chest-high cubicle, a manila folder in her hand. “It’s about Zedophap.”

The account I’d unwittingly stolen from Ryan. It’s not that we made more based on the clients we worked with or anything, but the work I’d done had made him look bad. Tasha was the project manager, and knew the truth of the entire debacle. She’d brought it all to light. Fortunately, she’d forgiven me. It surprised me, since I was pretty sure she and Ryan were an item—or the closest friends ever—but I wasn’t complaining.

I pressed the lingering unpleasantness of Monday to the back of my mind. “Sure. What’s up?”

She handed me the folder. “I don’t know why I can’t do this over email, but Kitner…” She blew a red curl off her forehead. I envied her hair. My straight blond locks were so blah in comparison. “Anyway. These are all the data documents the records say you’ve got going for Zedophap. Can you give them a look, and fill in any missing or out-of-date information with printouts?”

I frowned and grabbed the paperwork from her. “I’m sure it’s right. I’ve put everything in the document system. Won’t this throw the versioning out of sync?”

She twisted her mouth and rolled her eyes. “It won’t, once you go back into the system and update everything. Don’t hate me. This wasn’t my decision.”

“Update from the printouts?”

“Yes.” She met my gaze. “Welcome to the busywork side of being on Kitner’s shit list.”

Elders, that man was a childish asshole. “Got it. Due date?”

“It’s critical.” She drew out the word ‘critical’ and smothered it with sarcasm.

Of course it was. Because the snide looks, silent treatment, and whispers behind my back weren’t enough. I swallowed the bitter response. I’d brought this on myself. “I’m on it.”

“Thanks.” Tasha sounded sincere. “I’ll take the heat off you wherever I can.”

****

I stepped into the familiar coffee shop, and the scent of fresh roast washed over me. Jackson already sat at a table in the back. He grinned the moment I approached, and met me halfway to the booth. He wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed me hard. “You look drained.”

“I’m better now.” I dropped into the seat across from him, and pushed the day to the back of my mind. “I’m not late, am I?” Now that work was behind me, I was free to focus my thoughts on meeting Dark. The nervous anticipation sliding through me combined with memories of the fantasy I shared with Jackson last night.

“Dark called about thirty seconds before you walked in. He took the wrong exit, had to loop back, and got stuck in rush hour. He’s going to call when he gets closer, and I’ll go out and make sure he can find the place.”

The little cafe was tucked away in a strip mall that looked all but deserted from the main road. Basically, unless someone knew it was there, they wouldn’t look. I had no idea how they stayed in business, but they managed.

Jackson raked his fingers through his hair, dragging the combed and ordered blond into a mess of spikes. He loved his job as a trade broker, but hated the dress code. I wasn’t surprised he’d shed his tie already—it was probably in his car—and undone the top two buttons on his shirt. He reached across the table, covered my hand, and stroked his thumb over my knuckles. “Was work that bad?”

“Same as usual.”

“Sorry to hear it.” A heavy-metal bass riff drifted from his phone, and he grabbed it with his free hand. “It’s Dark. Back in a few.” He kissed me on the cheek, before striding toward the front door.

I fiddled with my phone, and then dropped it back in my purse. It would only take them a minute or two, and it felt rude to be staring at a digital screen when they came back. Besides, nervous energy hummed inside. Sure, I knew more about Dark than I did about most people I saw every day. He’d been by our side in game, not just for raiding parties, but for personal crap as well. Offering an ear. Occasionally asking for one. In a way, I was worried this meeting would ruin that. I’d hate to lose a friend because the medium changed.

“Look who I found.” Jackson’s voice startled me and dragged me back to the now.

I looked up, and my nervous laugh died on my lips. I stared into an eerily familiar pair of gorgeous brown eyes. My vocal chords refused to form words.

Recognition shone on his face, too. His gaze locked on mine.

“This is Zoe—ZaneyPixie,” Jackson said.

It was him. Bad choices aside in life, dating, and work, he was the only thing about my past I truly regretted, no matter how much I told myself to move past it. I forced a weak smile to the surface. This explained why his voice sounded so familiar in game. “Hi, Carter.”

“Carter? Really?” Jackson gave a short bark of a laugh, and dropped onto the bench next to me. “What are the odds?”

He never sat on the same side of the table as me when there were bench seats. This was just because there was a third person. It had nothing to do with possessiveness or jealousy, or the fact I’d told him about large portions of my past. I was just overthinking… everything. My mind kicked into overdrive the moment I saw Carter.

“City of two million, and she and I both still live here? I’d say a million to one.” Carter slid into the seat across from us. Unlike Jackson’s, his shoulders were broad, and his chest defined enough to do justice to his fitted T-shirt. His dark hair was longer than I remembered, and pulled into a ponytail. “You know who I am, so the advantage is yours.”

I dragged my gaze away. I wouldn’t stare. “This is Jackson.” I spit the words out, not sure where my mind was going, or if my mouth could keep up. “He’s my…” Boyfriend. The word stuck in my throat. What was wrong with me?

“Your velvet-voiced wolf in sheep’s clothing. I get that.” Carter’s gaze raked over Jackson. “At least you’ve still got good taste in men.”

Heat flooded my skin, though I wasn’t sure if it was arousal or embarrassment. Both, probably. Regret, and knowing Carter still lived in the same city, meant I’d played out a lot of awkward scenarios in my head about what would happen if he and Jackson ever met. Not a single of those involved one hitting on the other. Though Carter was the only other guy I’d ever met who was as open about his bisexuality as Jackson. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.

“I could say the same.” Jackson’s tone was light and friendly. He intertwined his fingers with mine and shifted his weight on the bench, putting us closer together. “Don’t worry. She only says good things about you.”

Carter clenched his jaw, then relaxed it again so quickly I thought maybe I’d imagined it. An easy smile slid back into place. “You’ve got one up on me. She’s never told me anything about you.”

Was the air getting thicker, or was it my imagination? “Should we get coffee, since we’re here?” I asked.

“Good call. My treat.” Carter stood. “It’s late, so vanilla steamer for you.” He glanced at me for a second, before turning to Jackson. “And you?”

“Double shot Americano.”

“Be right back.” Carter turned away.

Jackson draped an arm around my waist, and trailed his nose up the side of my neck. “Do you want to go?” His whisper caressed my ear.

I leaned into him. This was ridiculous. I wasn’t going to fall into whimpering and hiding behind niceties. I couldn’t change my decisions from back then, but I still liked the life we had now. There was no reason to destroy that. I rested my hand on his thigh and squeezed. “I’m good. We’re good. Aren’t we?”

“Always, I hope.” He nipped my shoulder with his teeth.

Carter returned a few minutes later and set our drinks in front of us. “Apparently, I don’t know as much about the two of you as I thought.” The creeping animosity had vanished from his voice, and his tone was casual now. “Where’d you meet? How’d you fall in love? Is the ink as new as it looks?”

My hand flew to the tattoo on my neck, and I rubbed the line with my thumb. “Online. It just kind of happened. And if it looks like it’s still healing, then yes.”

Carter leaned his head back, exhaled loudly, and then focused on us again. “You look happy.”

“We are.” I didn’t want to be mean, but honesty was important.

“What did she tell you?” Carter asked Jackson.

My pulse kicked to a painful trot. I’d been as straightforward as I could, and I trusted Jackson, but that didn’t stop trepidation from galloping through me over his answer.

“Said you were the love of her life when she was in her early twenties.” An edge lined Jackson’s voice. He cleared his throat. “That you wanted an open relationship, to invite other people in, but only if she was willing. That you promised not to pressure her into anything she wasn’t ready for.”

That was almost an exact summary of what I’d told Jackson. So why didn’t hearing it take the edge off my mood?

“Did she tell you why she left?”

“I’m right here. You could ask me.” I winced at the irritation in my voice. I hadn’t meant to snap, but the third person thing was crawling under my skin.

“I could”—Carter looked at me—“but I already have a pretty good idea what you said. Sweet, honest, self-sacrificing Zoe. I remember. I wanted to know what he’d say.”

“So, she really left you so she wouldn’t get in your way?” Jackson asked.

“Yup.” Carter reached across the table, nudged my fingers away from my drink, and slid his hand under mine.

A shock of familiarity flooded me, tingling in my gut. I pushed the memories aside.

“We’re cool now, right? It was a long time ago. We were still finding ourselves. I forgave you already.” His jaw worked up and down, as if he wanted to say something else, but he snapped his mouth shut.

At his reassurance, some of my tension evaporated. I squeezed his hand before pulling away. “Yeah, we’re fine now.”

“Good.” He slouched a few inches in his seat, and his smile looked more casual and genuine. “Wow. Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Right?” Jackson laughed. His grip on my hand eased, but he didn’t let go. “I’m just glad we cleared the air.”

“Absolutely,” Carter said. “Though I am curious what it took to strip your filters off, Zoe. I knew Pixie sounded like you, but the things that came out of her mouth… Not that I’m complaining. Just curious.”

I tried to squash my embarrassment. Letting go in a virtual world, or around someone I trusted not to judge me, was one thing. Owning up to the foul language and innuendo in real life was something I was still adjusting to. I nodded at Jackson. “Someone helped me shed a few inhibitions.”

Carter’s smile wavered. “That’s great.”

This conversation needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere that didn’t focus on my life then versus now. Somewhere neutral. “So what are you doing these days? What’s DarkAnge1 into?”

“Besides spending my nights playing games?” He wasn’t completely relaxed, but he was getting there. Even all these years later, I saw it in the tilt of his head and the angle of his back. “Contract work, mostly. Still play guitar when I’m not screwing around online. I’m even with a local band. We do gigs occasionally.”

The waver of tension in the air dissipated during the next few hours. Somewhere along the way, the guys started tossing random questions back and forth at each other. I wasn’t sure if it was more game or a bizarre kind of challenge, but it was fun.

“Your turn.” Jackson had finished his coffee over an hour ago, but still tapped the empty cup back and forth.

Carter furrowed his brow for a moment. “Who’s your favorite Avenger?” He looked at me. “You first.”

“I don’t know.” I was familiar with the franchise. They just all had their own good and not-so-good qualities. “If I have to pick? Tony Stark.”

Carter smirked, and Jackson stopped knocking his cup around, a frown shadowing over his face before disappearing. “I’m actually not picking, unlike some people.” The teasing was back in Jackson’s voice.

“That’s not an answer, it’s a cop-out,” Carter said.

I enjoyed the banter. It was similar to in-game, and it was pleasant to see them getting along so well.

Jackson’s sigh was exaggerated. “Tom Hiddleston.”

“Loki isn’t an Avenger.”

I felt a bit like I was watching a verbal tennis match.

“I didn’t say Loki. God, that accent. I’d go gay for that.”

Carter laughed. “That implies you’re straight now.”

“Busted.” There was no embarrassment in Jackson’s retort. He draped his arm around my shoulders. “Though, there’s no way I’m giving up this amazing woman so I get a quickie, even if it’s from Tom Hiddleston. But that doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about sucking him off.”

“I think that’s fair,” Carter said.

“Your question, you have to answer now. Favorite Avenger.”

“Since the two of you are going all physical attraction”—Carter pursed his lips in exaggerated concentration—“Steve Rogers.”

“Chris Evans?”

“You suck at this. I said Avenger, not actor. Steve Rogers is a sexy package of wholesome American beauty.” Carter raked his gaze over Jackson. “Blond, tall, good looks, and completely corruptible. I’d give him something worth kneeling for.”

The blunt conversation had me flushed with embarrassment. Hearing them talk like this over chat was one thing, but in person put it on an entirely new level. I guess I hadn’t expected the conversation to still be so direct. “The two of you are crass.” I made sure to keep the teasing in my voice. I didn’t want them to stop, even if it was a bit over the top.

“And you’re not complaining.” Carter turned his attention back to me. “Tony Stark, really?”

“I’m with him on this,” Jackson said. “The dude is all ego.”

“And a lot of brains. And confidence—completely hot.” Neither of the men I was sitting with had any issues with either of those. “And secure enough in his masculinity that he lets the woman he loves run his company. Because he’s completely incompetent about it.”

Jackson squeezed my fingers. “I think she’s got a good point.”

“Of course you do. She goes home with you at the end of the night.” A strain crept into Carter’s voice.

The conversation shifted, and the miniature bump of tension vanished. As we wound things up for the evening, I felt better about the past than I had…ever. The coffee shop employees had to shoo us out at closing time. We laughed and joked on the way to our cars, and then said our good nights.

Jackson hung over his car door. “Stop by my apartment tomorrow. I’ll text you the address. The three of us will play in the same room, no headsets. Zoe’s staying the night anyway.”

“So, you’re not living together?” Carter’s expression became an emotionless mask.

“We’ve only been together two months,” I said in lieu of an explanation. “Two good months, but still.”

“Really.” Carter’s tone went flat. “Two months, and he’s changed you this much? Kind of wish I knew his secret.”

My gut sank. So much for things going smoothly. I didn’t know how to respond.

“Tomorrow night it is, then.” Carter slid into his car, started the engine, and pulled out without waiting for a response.