Chapter 5
DAKOTA
“Oh my God,” I murmur, pacing in front of my laptop, his image filling the screen.
“What?” Mara asks on speaker.
“He sent it,” I tell my oldest friend. “A picture of himself. But he’s covering his face.”
“What does he look like?” Her voice full of curiosity.
I sit on the couch and lean forward. My body feels like it’s on fire.
He’s shirtless, low light bouncing off his chiseled abs, making his pecs look rock-hard and huge.
The piece of paper mostly covers his face, but I can see his chin, square, with a little dimple in the middle.
A very light smattering of dark stubble.
“Dakota?” Mara yells.
“Hot,” I admit. “Really hot. And the drawing of the hands looks real. No mistakes. The paper looks like it belongs in the image.”
“Be careful,” Mara warns. “It could still be fake. You never know these days.”
I swallow, pressing my thighs together. There’s a needy tugging in my core, my nub rubbing with extra friction against my underwear. My entrance flutters as I move my gaze from his abs to a preview of his jawline.
“It’s… odd, right? Sending something like this so fast?”
“It’s better than an unsolicited dick pic,” Mara jokes.
“Ha, that’s what I said to him, too.”
“How do you feel about it?” she asks. “Forget about what you think you should feel.”
I stare at his abs. At that chin I’ve seen in so many interviews. There are articles gushing about the dimple in his chin.
Mara, I think this is Jackson Cross.
But the words are insane just thinking them. Saying them would be next level.
“Hot,” I whisper.
I can hear Mara’s smile in her tone. She’s always encouraging me to date more, to put myself out there. My usual answer is that I use all my energy in my streams. By the time I’m done, I’m too exhausted to even think about real-life connections. But now, that feels like an excuse.
“Then message him back!” Mara says encouragingly. “But be careful! I’ve got to go, hon. Love you.”
“Love you,” I reply.
DakkyDuck: This could still be fake. It’s possible to fake anything these days.
TheRealCreator: I would never pretend to be someone I’m not. Especially not to trick a woman online. That’s just fucked. I never do anything like this.
DakkyDuck: Why the secrecy, then?
TheRealCreator: I have to be careful.
DakkyDuck: Jeez, Creator. Anybody would think you’re Jackson Cross or something.
A long pause. A minute, then two. I put my phone down next to my laptop and stare at the screen, at the V-shaped muscles that disappear into his sweatpants, at the hard ridges of his abs. I’m getting hot, borderline breathless.
I will myself to calm down. Slow my breaths. Maybe a byproduct of going so long without dating is that now my attraction is going into overdrive.
Or I’m letting myself believe a crazy dream. Maybe this is a clever scammer pretending to be Jackson Cross.
TheRealCreator: If I were Jackson, you’d understand why I couldn’t explicitly tell you over a message.
DakkyDuck: Why’s that? Maybe I’m not as clever as you seem to think.
TheRealCreator: I can’t be seen giving special treatment. Plus, there’s the power imbalance, Dakota. A CEO and a streamer who exclusively plays that CEO’s game… That’s the sort of stuff headlines are made of.
DakkyDuck: Do you think I’m going to run through the streets, singing your name, bragging about this? I just want to know who I’m speaking with.
It’s like I can feel his apprehension through the phone.
DakkyDuck: I know what you’re risking. I could spin this into you being some creepy CEO using your position of power. I get that. But newsflash, stranger. I’m capable of making my own decisions… even if they end up being mistakes.
TheRealCreator: You just said it yourself, Dakota. The reason I have to be cautious. When you called me a stranger.
He’s right. We are strangers. But I’m almost certain this is Jackson Cross, and the almost knowing is killing me.
DakkyDuck: Are you going to make me go online and compare your picture with one of Jackson at the beach?
TheRealCreator: Are you sure you can’t conjure those up from memory?
I smile, spreading my hands across my middle. Slow down, Dakota. He’s being evasive. It’s true. But surely he would be evasive if it were Jackson. A scammer might be evasive too though.
He’s right. Those photos of Jackson Cross taken at a private beach, his intense features aimed in an angry glare at the camera… both middle fingers raised, looking savage and muscular and pissed in a somehow magnetic way.
I search for the pictures, put them side-by-side with the photo that Creator sent me.
DakkyDuck: You both have a small scar at the bottom of your stomach.
TheRealCreator: Lots of people have had appendix operations.
DakkyDuck: So, you’re saying you’re NOT him?
Three dots appear, meaning he’s typing a message, then they vanish. I close my eyes, massaging my forehead. I’m letting this go too far. I’m sounding desperate.
DakkyDuck: You’re probably just some clever computer guy. But now I’ve made it obvious that I want you to be Jackson, so you’ll use your clever-computer-guy skills to send me more Photoshopped images.
TheRealCreator: You want me to be Jackson, huh?
I swallow. Tense. Buzzing all over with energy I can’t control.
DakkyDuck: I’m going now.
I stare at the image, at his hard body, at the quickly but well-drawn hands.
TheRealCreator: Fair enough, beautiful. Just know something before you do. I’m not trying to trick you. And I’d never hurt you.
I close my laptop. Too hard. Probably almost break it. But that’s too much too fast. He’d never hurt me—meaning there’s an ever in there somewhere. Which means: he needs to chill. And so do I.
Yeah, good luck, Dakota…
Every time I close my eyes, I see him. I see Jackson and the image Creator sent me, his hard body, the smirk Jackson Cross aims at photographers sometimes, like there’s a secret hidden in his eyes…
My body grows hot just thinking about his hard body. I roll over, blankets tangling between my legs, clinging to me.
When sleep finally comes, it tosses me into vivid, steamy dreams. Creator is standing over my bed, holding the piece of paper in front of his face, his manhood firmly outlined in his sweatpants, thick and ready.
He slowly lowers the paper, revealing Jackson’s face, his piercing green eyes staring down at me in hunger.
“I know you want it to be me,” he growls, leaning down. “I know you’ve dreamed of us together before…”
“I haven’t,” I whimper.
“You can’t lie now, beautiful…”
Suddenly, his hands are all over my body. Gliding up my leg. Pressing down on my core. His breath is hot on my neck, tickling all over my body, teasing me. He palms my breasts and slides between my legs, groaning like he’s been waiting to do this ever since he first laid eyes on me.
“I’ve been waiting longer,” I moan. “I’ve been waiting for years…”
When I wake, I rush into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, hoping to wash away some of the insanity.
I haven’t got a crush on Jackson Cross, mainly because I’m thirty years old and don’t get crushes anymore.
But if this is Jackson, then yeah, it’s going to get me hot. Fiery hot. Hell-hot.
I’m back on stream, getting ready to watch a press conference that Halcyon only announced this morning.
When the feed fades in, I keep my face a natural mask. Jackson is sitting at a table alone, making the furniture look tiny. He’s clean-shaven, emphasizing that handsome chin dimple and his powerful square jaw.
When he looks at the camera, I feel like he’s looking directly at me.
“Good morning, loyal gamers,” Jackson says. “Firstly, let me start how I always do… by thanking everyone of you for your continued support as Empire’s Fall continues to develop and grow. Now, the tricky part…”
He smiles ruefully and stares right at me.
Chill, chill…
Someone in my chat has to start the negativity.
itsBigBilly: He’s such a wannabe heartthrob.
And I think about banning them. Jackson Cross’s public image has hinted at him wanting the attention he gets. Yet he always looks uncomfortable if an interviewer brings up the hottest man alive stuff.
“I know many of you think I’m just a clever computer guy,” Jackson goes on, and a tingle shimmers over me.
In another window, I bring up the conversation with Creator. That’s what I called him last night! A clever computer guy.
“But now you’ve made it obvious you want something more from the Cove,” he goes on. “So, I’ll use my clever-computer-guy skills to work on this issue day and night. Citizens of the Empire—you have my word.”
My mouth falls open as I compare his words with the messages. There’s no way it’s a coincidence. It’s word-for-word what I wrote last night.
“Wherever you are,” he goes on. “You deserve the best from your favorite game. And that’s what we’re determined to deliver.
Whether you’re in Canada or Mexico, England or Spain, Italy, Australia, or New Zealand.
And, of course, our largest player base, here in the US.
We thank you all. From California to Virginia, from Texas to North…
” He pauses, looks at the camera. His voice grows huskier.
I’m not imagining this, am I? “Dakota, we thank you. Please, stick with us. We’re working day and night! ”
I bite down, heart pounding hard, as the feed fades to black.
My chat is lighting up. Asking if the screen is frozen. Asking for my opinion. Wanting to know why I’m just sitting here with a shocked look on my face.
I quickly snap back into on mode. “Well, that was light on specifics,” I murmur. “But it’s good to know they’re aware of the issues, at least!”
Inside?
I’m a battlefield of want and doubt, with a layer of heated rebellion underneath it all. If he wants to play games, I can do that too.
With a wicked smile, I focus on one message out of the sea of viewers filling the chat log.
“Do I think he’s hot?” I murmur, tapping my chin.
“Um, you know what? I know I’m in the minority here.
But I have to say, I’ve never seen it. When it comes to men, I’m much more interested in what they have to say, how they talk to a lady, if it goes beyond compliments and empty platitudes… than just looks.”
I look directly at the camera. Wicked smile in place. Knowing he might see this later when I upload the clip to my channel.