Match Game: A Fake Dating Hockey Romance

3. Lydia

“Uh, it’s fine. Good.” I stammer. I’m reeling over how smooth and silky PianoPuck18’s voice is. It makes my insides tingle in a sensual way that I’ve never experienced before. I clench in my chair at how much of this is affecting me right now. You don’t even know his real name, Lydia. What if he’s a serial killer?

“Do you have your character ready?”

“Yeah, as ready as I’ll ever be,” I laugh. “Just warning you, I don’t play as much as I used to. My rank this season is abysmal. Work has been extra stressful this past month, and, to be honest, I only logged on today because I was so fed up with work that I needed to play.”

Typically, I play with Kristian, but when I asked her to play last minute, I got turned down because she was on a date. The only reason I even logged on was that I needed to get my mind off of Jared and how he made me feel like absolute trash. To not think about how badly I’m doing my job. The thought occurred to play solo, but I don’t love it because I don’t have a strong grip on Offense. I guess deciding to play co-op worked out because PianoPuck has been nice to me so far. He already reassured me that he wouldn’t be toxic because of my performance. I’ll still feel bad if I make a mistake and cost us the game, but it seems like he’s in a similar situation as me: playing just for fun, just to get our minds off things.

“That’s okay. I am not someone who is going to be yelling at the computer if we lose. I just enjoy the game.”

PianoPuck selects his go-to player, Alliana, and we both hit the “ready up” button. The game loads for a beat, and we are teleported to the Forbidden Woods.

“Tough map to start with,” PianoPuck notes.

“Yeah.” The Forbidden Woods is graded as a “Super Hard” map among the randomly selected ones in the game. Besides the defenses that each player brings with them to fortify their base, the map is splattered with in-game NPCs that are randomly deployed to scare the players as they make it to the other team’s area. And they’re strong. I would feel so ashamed if I died to a freaking NPC instead of a player on the opposing team.

“I hate those little goblins that spawn randomly on this map. They move so quickly that it’s hard to kill them. And they multiply? Like, give us a break!”

“Right?” PianoPuck chuckles. His deep laugh is sensual, sounding smooth, almost butter-like in my headphones. I inhale a sharp breath, picturing a face. Maybe he’s gruff like Pedro Pascal. And then the sparks go off in my nerves, starting from my fingers down my spine and ending up down there, where heat begins to pool. From what? A freaking laugh?

“We’ll be okay though. You have level 25 minions. And a level 10 rifle? Are you sure you haven’t played this game in a while?”

“Okay, to be fair, I did play for five hours straight one day and compromised my sleep schedule, but would you believe me if I told you that I used to regularly get Level 200 every season? And those minions were like Level 55.”

“Shit,” he says. “That is really impressive. When was that?”

“I was part of the Esports Club in college. So, as part of being in the club, we’d participate in tournaments with other schools. We weren’t, like, winning championships every single time, but we did get one tournament win, and we each took home, like, five hundred dollars, which was the best thing that could’ve happened to me as a broke college student.”

“That’s really cool,” he says as we reach our first wave of demon goblins.

“Shit,” he mutters. His character is shooting arrows as fast as they can reload, and it’s taking a few arrows to obliterate each one. “These goblins are not making it easy.”

“Here.” I try to deploy some more of my minions when they’re ready. I hit one of the keys so they could use one of their special powers to do more damage. “That...should...do the trick,” I say, feverishly clicking my mouse to send each one to his rescue.

They successfully obliterate the goblins, and we sigh in relief.

“Good job,” he says. “Those minions of yours really helped me out there.”

“I’m glad.” I feel my face start to get warm. I know that he’s not complimenting me directly, but I feel proud of myself. I don’t know the last time that happened. With all the people wanting to tell me I’m not doing the right thing at work, this small thing means so much.

“I kind of wish I participated in some sort of esports club in college. But I feel like it was so new that people didn’t really know how big it would become. Like, did you know people are being recruited on scholarship to play esports?”

I want to be like, “Of course I do!” because it’s something I’m actively working towards. But if I tell him that I work in esports, will he think the same way as the other men I work with think? I’m starting to get comfortable with this guy, even if I barely know anything about him, and I don’t want that to sour if he shares that “esports is a man’s world and women don’t belong” bullshit mindset.

So instead, I softly utter a “yes” and try to act all nonplussed about the idea. “Maybe that would’ve gotten me to actually work hard on something if it meant I could get a scholarship for it. I like the idea, though. Give some more money to esports and less to those stuck-up, self-entitled athletes.”

He lets out a forced laugh, and I wonder if I struck a nerve. Was he an athlete in college? Shit, I might’ve soured this myself.

“Sorry,” I blurt. “That might have been offensive. I don’t know if you were an athlete in college. I was just talking about the athletes at my school. You probably went to a different school than I did, so you probably weren’t a self-entitled athlete. I mean, you definitely don’t radiate those vibes—”

“Liddy,” he says, stopping me, and my eyes widen, staring at the screen. No one calls me that anymore, and when I hear it coming from his mouth, it makes my heart beat faster. “It’s okay. I’m not offended. I was an athlete in college and definitely fooled around a little bit because I thought I was the king of the university. But I’m happy if money gets put into esports if it means that there are more chances for people to show off their skills to an audience, same as any other athlete would.”

“Okay,” I sigh, relieved. “I don’t think you could ever be a mean person. If you used to be, well, you’ve definitely changed for the better.”

“Thank you,” he says. “My job requires me to be in front of people a lot, which can be really touchy for someone who’s grown up being an introverted gamer his whole life. So I try to stay in people’s good graces whenever I’m talking because...if I don’t, then it’ll be tough to bounce back professionally.”

“That sounds rough,” I tell him. “But I get it.” What’s the harm in telling him anyway? Especially now that I accidentally offended him by shitting on athletes, which he was in college. “My job is actually in collegiate esports. I’m the director of a brand new esports league back at my alma mater, and I love it, but my colleagues want wins. In big tournaments. And I have to put on a happy face about everything because it’s such a foreign concept to these older people who are alumni that we’re trying to get money from. They ask questions like, ‘Is this really a sport?’ and say things like, ‘Kids shouldn’t be spending so much time on their computers.’ I wish I could throw a computer at their face.” I mutter, gripping my mouse so hard it almost breaks in half.

He chuckles. “But you can’t because...”

“Then they’re never going to give money to our program. And I’d probably lose my job.”

“Well, that’s really cool. Being the first director, that is,” he says. “You mentioned that you started playing tonight because your job was stressful. Was there something specific that was going on that triggered the stress?”

I feel a warmth flood over me, like invisible arms wrapping around my torso. All because someone’s kind enough to ask how I’m feeling. It’s wild how much hearing someone’s voice is pushing all the red flags out of my mind. So what if I don’t know what he looks like or if he lives in another country? I’m ready to spill my life story to this guy.

“There’s one esports coach who might have a shot at bringing us a title, but God, he is so entitled. He always condescends to me for everything I do. He does not believe that I can do my job well. Maybe because I’m a woman. Maybe because I’m not a pro player. He’s never said. But he doesn’t want to accept that I’ve directed a team before and know what needs to be done operationally. He doesn’t see me in meetings with these alumni and the freaking president to make people aware of who we are. It’s a lot of give for very little take.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says before yelling that there’s a minion from the opposing team sprinting right towards us.

“Die minion!” He screams, and I laugh to myself.

“Do you want help?”

“No,” he says through gritted teeth. “I am...a big...strong angel. I don’t need no support. This time, at least. I think we’re approaching their base.”

I hover my mouse to zoom out the map in the corner of the game. We’re more than halfway through the map. The other team has tried to get forward, but they keep getting stopped by the barrier I’ve made that has a griffin defending it and successfully killing them and so they’ve had to keep starting back at the beginning each time.

“We’re close,” I tell him. “And they keep getting caught up by the griffin I put near our small tower. They’re not even close to our home tower.”

“Gotta love those griffins,” he says. “I don’t see any other minions. I’m guessing we’re safe, but I think they might have fortified their home tower more, which makes getting there a piece of cake.”

“Well, I still have a lot of heals. So I think we’ll be fine.” I reassure him. Anything can happen, like we might completely fall prey to their strong defense, but when I taste victory on my lips, I feel a rush where my senses become heightened, and I feel almost invincible.

“You can’t beat me fuckers!” I shout into my monitor like these computer-generated monsters can actually understand and hear my attempt at a menacing voice.

“I think we will be, too,” PianoPuck replies to my earlier comment. “I haven’t played this game a lot, let alone with someone I don’t know, but I’mhaving a fun time.”

“I am, too.” I’m having so much fun that I want to play with him again. I don’t want to go to sleep without knowing more about the man than just his username.

We approach the opposing team’s other tower, and I start to survey the area. As I had predicted, the entire area is fortified with strong Level 10 minions. We’re not in range yet for them to come attack us, so it gives us a moment to think about our game plan.

“Okay, we made it. What do you think we should do?”

“Do you think we should split up?” He asks.

I gasp and cover my mouth. I don’t want to think about leaving his side, even though this is just a game, and I barely know him. It aches for a moment; I’ve been having such a good time with this man without even knowing what he looks like or how he acts in real life. I’d even go on a date with him based on this interaction alone. But maybe he’s nice in the game and a jerk in real life. This is all truly just a simulation, and I want to stay in the bubble so I don’t need to face the reality that we’ll probably never meet in person.

“Uh, I don’t know,” I say, hoping to mask my reaction.

“Maybe it’ll be better if we do? I can try and storm the tower, and you can take care of the minions. Of course, if you need help, then let me know and I’ll come and give you a hand. The last thing I want to do is leave you hanging.”

“Sure,” I croak. The ticking clock stares me in the face, and the excitement I’m trying to feel because we’re so close to winning is conflicting with the sadness that we’re so close to not playing with one another anymore.

“You got this,” he tells me. “I believe in you!”

“Thanks,” I tell him. That belief might just be enough to get me through these pesky minions.

We split up, and I start moving forward, towards the swarm of minions. I try not to get overwhelmed because there are so many of them. My tactic is to go slowly, killing each of them one by one and taking breaks to heal if I need to, but I can’t let them crowd me. If I try to take a little health off each of them, one at a time, then they’ll all simultaneously die.

I start taking one, two, three down, and I feel good about my progress. I don’t need to heal up because these minions are more on the weak side.

“Hey, Liddy,” PianoPuck calls for me over the mic. “I need your help around the tower. The other team is here and they’ve got some strong weapons. I can’t do this on my own. I’m starting to lose health.”

“Okay, I’m coming right now. Hang on.” I break away from the minions and rush to the tower, where I see PianoPuck shooting arrows, fighting for his life against the two characters on the opposing team. He’s got a shield around him that is temporarily doing its job, but his health bar is at about 50%.

“Shit,” I mutter. The players themselves are arguably the toughest part of the match we’ve faced tonight. Their Offense is a rifle shooter named Artemis, who is shooting bullets a mile a minute, and their Support is dropping bombs around us. I’m spending more time avoiding them than I should be.

“I have my ultimate. If we can get them together, it’ll do a lot of damage. Have you used yours yet?”

“No,” he tells me. “But it seems like now is as good a time as any to use it.”

“We just need to get them in one place, or else it’s not going to work. Do you think you can lure them to us?”

“Well, considering they want to kill us, I don’t think getting them in one spot together is going to be a problem.”

“I just want to make sure!” I tell him. “Victory is so close, I can taste it.” I wonder if his lips taste as sweet as the victory we’re about to have. “We’ve come so far. We can’t blow it now.”

“You’re right. Alright, I’m heading near them. My shield’s down and everything. I don’t know if they can tell that we’re trying to lure them over, but they are coming towards me. Now, get over here, and we can use our alt. Hurry, the Artemis one is about to reload.”

I rush over and countdown for us to deploy our ultimate move. Once I yell, “One!” I press the key and together, our powers successfully drain their health. All that PianoPuck needs to do is shoot a few arrows, and we successfully get the other team down so that I can run over to their tower and shoot it down.

The “Victory” banner lights up on the screen, and I squeal in delight.

“Oh my god, we did it! We did it! We won!”

“Mostly thanks to you,” he notes when our stats come up, and it shows that I made a whopping ten out of thirteen kills. “You basically carried us the entire game.”

“Oh.” I feel bad that I had done so much of the work. I mean, he played, too, but I definitely took charge of a few of those monsters. Maybe I should have shared more of the work instead of hogging it all to myself.

“Sorry,” I add. “I didn’t mean to hog all the kills. Hopefully, you’ll still get a lot of XP to help you level up?”

“Hey, why are you apologizing? You did an amazing job. You should be proud of how good you did.”

“I just feel bad that I might’ve not allowed you to level up and get some more XP. I just want you to feel like you had fun.”

His voice is light. “This is the most fun I’ve had playing a game in a long time. So, thank you.”

Alright, here it goes. We’re going to do a scary thing, and we’re going to ask if he wants to play again. It’s not a date. It’s simply making plans to play games. As two...platonic people that play games together.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “I had a lot of fun too. I’d love to do this again. Would you mind if we shared each other’s Discords? So we can chat and plan another time to play?”

“Uhhh...”

Shit, I went too far. “Sorry, I know it’s a lot to ask. But I don’t want this to be a one-and-done kind of gameplay.”

“No, no. Me neither. I just, I have a busy schedule. So, my chances to play can be pretty slim. But it seems I might be free this...Saturday? If you are?”

I respond so fast. “I am. Same time?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. My Discord username is the same as here. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Sounds good. Have a good night, Puck.”

“Puck?”

“You know, like your name. And the character from Midsummer Night’s Dream. If you know your Shakespeare.”

“Barely. But yeah, I kind of remember Puck. I like that. Night, Liddy.”

He logs off from voice chat, and I look at my phone. It’s way past my bedtime, but I’m too giddy to go to sleep. I feel like I’m in grade school again, like those times when you get a valentine from a crush, even though they’re forced to give it to everyone in the class. It’s a small thing, but it puts a grin on my face. I’ve made plans to meet someone, even if it’s just online and through voice chat. A minuscule thing that is making me fall into a deep hole, and I’m scared I won’t be able to find a way out.