Conventionally Yours (True Colors 1) - Page 79

As I set up the camera, Alden’s worries from the diner finally caught up to me, got into my head. What if our viewers would be able to tell? How weird would that be? But wouldn’t it be worse to go back to sniping at each other like usual, trash talk and all that, and ruin this fragile new thing between us?

Hell. I just didn’t know. And I could tell he was struggling similarly because we fell into a ridiculously stilted conversation, both of us playing fake-nice until I was about to go nuts and drag Alden outside to remind us both who we really were.

“Which deck are you playing?” Alden asked as he arranged our play mats, tone similar to my mom asking other ladies at a fancy luncheon whether they wanted a tea refill.

“Not sure, and you don’t need to do that. I can get my own stuff out.” I sounded way too chipper, but I couldn’t seem to rein it in.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” the suddenly social and sunny Alden pod-person replied. “The sun is coming in over here, so I took this seat so it won’t be in your eyes. Maybe you want to play one of your aggro ones? Make it a fast game?”

Him suggesting that I could play the sort of aggressive, free-wheeling style he hated was a major clue that things had taken a turn for Weirdsville, population us.

“Nah. Not feeling very aggro. No need to bring out all my best burn spells before Vegas.” Hitting him repeatedly with direct damage to his life total just didn’t appeal to me right then. “Why don’t you play your time-winder deck? You always seem to have such fun with that one.”

“Yes, but you’ve never beaten it. I want a fair game. Would you like to play one of my other decks perhaps? Your choice?”

“My decks are fine.” My voice tightened up. I definitely did not need a pity victory. But I remained reluctant to fight on camera, or even in person, really. “But thank you. I think I’ll play my frog soldiers. Old favorite. You can go first, no need to roll for it.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Where’s the fire in your veins, boy?” the owner asked me as I took my seat across from Alden. “You don’t let the opponent go first if you don’t have to. Get in there and give us a good game.”

But I didn’t want a good game, just one that got me out of this store and back to Alden with what little time we had left before MOC West ruined everything. Because if this was hard, being at the tournament was going to be nine million times harder, playing where the stakes actually mattered, where we both still wanted the same thing, and where no amount of politeness was going to save this fragile thing we’d built.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Alden

Conrad was playing like crap. But to be fair, so was I. However, for the first time, I found his mistakes far more distressing than my own. One of the things I’d always secretly admired about Conrad was his threat assessment—his ability to know what was the biggest risk to him and address that risk with single-minded intensity until the next big obstacle cropped up. I relied more on sequencing—combinations of cards and complex plays that didn’t respond to what the other player was doing as much as simply setting myself up as a unstoppable foe through the correct series of actions.

I never would have told him prior to this week, but Conrad was the best player I knew at improvisation, and even after years and years of playing, I didn’t always see the board the way Conrad did. At his best, it was like he was a mind reader, like he knew exactly what card I was going to play before I played it. Sometimes before I even drew it.

But that day, Conrad played with all the insight of a garden gnome. It didn’t help that the owner of the store was watching us with avid eyes, vulture-ready to feast on whoever lost with more of his commentary. He kept giving each of us unhelpful advice—telling Conrad to be more aggressive when his main issue seemed to be muddled thinking and telling me to use defensive strategies that weren’t even in my deck.

Because both of us seemed reluctant to go in for the kill, the game dragged on far longer than it needed to. I didn’t want to stomp Conrad though. For the first time, maybe ever, I had something I liked more than Odyssey. Him. Us. The private moments we’d shared. And I’d take losing if it meant getting closer later. After all, this was a throwaway game, not even likely to yield usable footage, not with the owner getting in the frame and making his commentary by talking over us.

Tags: Annabeth Albert True Colors Romance
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