And crap, how much had they overheard? I was hardly ashamed of what I’d been doing with Conrad, but I also wasn’t ready for the inevitable teasing. The last thing I wanted was anyone—Payton included—to diminish this fragile thing we’d found, like having some rare flower and not wanting it stomped on before I had a chance to properly enjoy it.
From the way Payton smiled—a slow, feline grin—the teasing seemed imminent, and my back muscles tightened.
“So, Conrad, dude, is this what you meant by the trip being ‘okay’? Anything else you’d like to share?”
“Nah.” He stayed put, smile far more impish than Payton’s. I hadn’t known that they’d already run into each other. And that Conrad had apparently minimized the trip. Not that I wanted him shouting an announcement from the rafters, but I also didn’t like the idea that maybe he had wanted to keep this secret and was now simply blustering, doing that thing he did where he acted like he didn’t care.
“You know, all that advice about keeping enemies close is bunk, right?” Payton plopped down next to us.
“We’re not enemies,” I snapped, even though I wasn’t so sure. Was that what we’d been? Were we still? Enemies who slept together and made each other laugh and…
Heck. I just didn’t know, and that made me vaguely nauseated. Payton diminishing what we had would be awful, but Conrad doing so was just untenable.
“Well, not now.” Payton had a knowing laugh. “Clearly. And now I want to hear all about this trip. I might hate road trips myself, but yours sounds plenty intriguing and possibly worth the waste of all that time sitting.”
“Not sure I’d call it wasted time.” Conrad’s voice was almost bored-sounding, and it grated, making my skin itch with the uncertainty of not knowing what he was thinking.
“I need to get back over to the tournament space.” My tone was far too pissy, but I was having a hard time reining it in.
“Okay.” Conrad sat up. “You want me to walk over with you?”
“I’m fine. You guys catch up.” I tried to sound casual, but it probably came out too stiff and formal. “I’ll take your trash.”
“Thanks.” Conrad gave me a look I couldn’t quite make out, concern maybe, but he didn’t follow me when I hurried away with our paper lunch baskets.
Because I’d fudged how quickly I needed to check in for my next round, I had a few minutes to kill, so I ended up browsing the vendors closest to the tournament room and listening in on a panel of popular vloggers and streamers.
“I’m not really like that,” one guy was saying. “I’m nothing like my stream, actually. It’s just a persona. But the viewers love it, so I keep it up.”
Huh. Conrad around other people was like that—a persona. The fun-loving, care-about-nothing joker. Life of the party. But that wasn’t really him. The him I’d gotten to know was different. Deeper. More complicated. Cared far more than I ever would have given him credit for. But was that a persona too? One he’d adopted to get along with me on the trip, but no closer to his true self? I didn’t want to think that. I wanted to believe I knew the real Conrad, that I knew parts of him Payton and others would never see.
Feeling slightly guilty for how I’d left things, I pulled out my phone, but he’d already beat me to a message.
Good luck this afternoon! I begged off going out with Payton tonight. Sorry if they made you uncomfortable. Would rather get food with you anyway. Play for our dinner again? Meet you in our room after your last round?
I was unreasonably pleased that he’d turned down partying with Payton. And even though he wasn’t wrong—I was uncomfortable and doubting everything—he was still the person I most wanted to see at the end of the day.
Will see you there, I typed. And sorry for leaving fast. No playing for our dinner—we’re not likely to get lucky twice.
His response was quick. Oh, I think *someone* is bound to get lucky tonight…
Even with no one around me, I could still feel myself blushing, fingers clumsy as I replied. Accurate. But still no playing the slots. Save your luck for the tournament floor.
Then it really was time for me to play, time for me to block everything out, including the promise of alone time with Conrad later and my earlier discomfort too.
“Do you want headphones?” asked an older woman in a red MOC West Volunteer shirt as I checked in for the round. Her gray braid and slight British accent didn’t quite fit in the glitzy Vegas surroundings or with the younger demographics of the con. “Your next round has been chosen for streaming. The commentators will try to be unobtrusive, but a lot of players like the noise-canceling headphones to block out the camerapeople and such.”