Alden was silent a moment, which I appreciated because it meant he was actually thinking. Finally he nodded. “It’s yours.”
“Thanks, man. Think I’m going to play with it this weekend, and then maybe give it to Jasper for his deck. I feel weird keeping it.”
“The odds of getting such a rare are so minute that you shouldn’t feel guilty. And if it enables you to win, then you should play it. Winning is the whole point, right? Logically, you’d be silly to pass the card up.”
I wasn’t so sure I agreed with him about winning being the whole point, not any longer, not after everything that had went down between us, not after he’d shown me so much more than the game. But I nodded because the rest of what he said made sense, and if winning was still his most important thing, then far be from me to get all sappy and emo.
“Okay. I’ll use it.” I stretched so I could give him a fast kiss. “Thanks. Did you score anything worth keeping?”
His face went soft, more tender than I’d ever seen it. “Maybe,” he whispered, and I knew from the gravity in his tone that he didn’t mean the cards, so I kissed him again, long and slow and sweet. I tried to use my mouth to tell him that he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Maybe we’d both already won.
* * *
It was easy to feel like a winner up in the confines of our hotel room, and much less so on the convention floor. We walked over to the convention center together, but Alden’s first match started before mine, so we separated near the entrance. He headed to the cavernous tournament play space which had a sea of tables, all occupied by players huddled over their cards, rules judges circulating around, scorekeepers hovering. This was the real deal, not another day at a local game store with friendly play, and my stomach flopped around just watching Alden head off to check in.
Alone and more than a little adrift, I set a phone alarm reminder for the start of my round, then wandered around the event. Even with the early hour, artist alley with all the handmade merch from card artists and accessory crafters was crowded with shoppers. The vendor space was similarly packed, people haggling over card prices and trying to level up for upcoming games. Casual players were everywhere—on the hallway floors, on benches, in designated play spaces for pickup games and different nontournament formats, and even in stairwells. It wouldn’t have been too hard for me to find a play group, meet some new people, and get a warm-up round in. And ordinarily that’s exactly what I would have done.
Yet something kept me at a distance. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that Alden had turned me into an introvert, but whether it was nerves over the coming competition or a lesser need for interaction than usual, I hung back. Various panels were getting started in the smaller rooms lining the long hallway, but none grabbed my attention. Cosplayers and Odyssey celebrities like the big streamers posed for pictures, but so far no one had recognized me from Gamer Grandpa.
“Conrad!” Oops. Maybe I’d had that thought prematurely as I heard a familiar voice calling my name. I whirled to find Payton striding down the hall toward me. They looked like some space-age emissary in a long cotton tunic with a flat collar and wooden toggle buttons over slim-fitting pants, long hair gleaming in the morning sunshine filtering in through the skylights. Not cosplay as much as Payton doing Payton-things in their inimitable style.
“Hey.” We weren’t hugging sort of friends, but we traded handshakes and shoulder claps. “You made it!”
“I did. Flight got in yesterday, and I thought about texting, but then I got dragged off to this club…” From Payton’s dreamy smile, I gathered the dragging had hardly been against their will.
“It’s okay. Good to see you. You got your schedule of matches?”
“Yeah.” Payton shrugged. “I’m honestly hoping to not advance though. I want to party tonight with a clear conscience and not have to worry about playing tomorrow. I’ll leave the nail-biting to you and Alden. Speaking of, tell me all about the trip. How many times did you almost kill the poor dude?”
Oh man. I should have been ready for this question. But I totally wasn’t. How was the trip, indeed. Awesome. Life-altering. Exhausting. Emotionally draining. Sexy as hell. Special. All the adjectives in the world crammed into my brain, but none made it to my tongue.
“It was okay.” Rather than meet their eyes, I studied one of the many giant posters hanging from the ceiling advertising upcoming Odyssey products.
“Just okay?” Payton’s refined eyebrows went up. “Tell me he doesn’t drive with that same pole up his ass that he plays with. God, I’m sympathizing with you just picturing all the rules he must have made you follow.”