Cocky

Chapter 8 Gameplay #2

I’m normally a work-from-home loyalist with the matching Teams calls in oversized hoodies and meetings from my bed but with award season creeping closer and storyboards piling up for the new game concept, I’ve been forcing myself to show my face more often.

Unfortunately, my face is betraying me today.

“You look—” she pauses, squints, head tilting like she’s assessing a dodgy wire, “—tired.”

I wince. I know she’s phrasing it as kindly as possible.

“Great,” I deadpan. “That’s exactly the vibe I was going for.”

She snorts. “Rough night?”

“You could say that.”

“Bad date?”

“Worse,” I correct, dropping my bag with a dull thud and shrugging out of my jacket. “Za’s brother.”

Her eyes light up immediately. “The sexy rugby player?”

“Football,” I say automatically. “Not rugby.”

“Yeah. Right.” She waves a hand.

“And he’s not sexy.”

Tasha lets out a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “Yeah. Right.”

I turn my monitor on, the screen illuminating my reflection just enough to catch the hesitation I don’t want her to see. Because if I’m being honest with myself—and I hate being honest with myself—he was…“sexy”.

Annoyingly so.

Bleh.

“Anyway,” I say a little too quickly, waving a hand , “he’s been crashing at our place. Eating my food. Breathing my air. Acting like he owns the place. It’s aggravating.”

Tasha hums. “So you hate him.”

“Deeply.”

“Does he know that?”

I scoff. “I’m sure anyone living on our floor knows that. I spend so much hours yelling at him I’m surprised we don’t get put out.”

I sink into my chair, rolling it closer to my desk, fingers already itching to ground myself in work.

Mouse.

Keyboard.

Something productive.

Something that doesn’t talk back.

I don’t have time for this. Being a Black woman in gaming is already a circus. Being a plus-size immigrant Black woman who codes her own engines and designs her own mechanics?

Forget it.

No one sees the work. They only see the package it comes in.

It’s wild, really.

I can build entire worlds from scratch with real-time rendering, adaptive storylines, complex emotional arcs and still I’m the one people are skeptical about.

The one they talk over during panels.

The one they assume is the “marketing girl” or “social media manager.”

The one they hand a participation trophy to and expect her to smile cute for pictures.

“But none of that matters,” I add. “Because I have work to do. So if you’ll excuse me—”

“Maybe he wants to fuck you.”

I freeze.

“Pardon?” I swivel in my chair slowly, staring at her.

Tasha shrugs, entirely unbothered. “I can see it. Bugging you gets you talking to him, and yelling at him probably gets him hard. Maybe that’s his thing and you hating him turns him on.”

“Tasha,” I warn. “Please keep your disgusting thoughts to yourself.”

“Come on, Frank. Don’t act like you can’t sense it. You’re a professional at luring in men who worship you.”

“Not anymore,” I snap. “I learned my lesson from that group chat.”

“Oh,” she winces. “Right. That.”

“Yes. That.” I turn back to my screen, jaw tight. “I’ve put the messy games behind me. And my best friend’s brother is the messiest game of them all. So I’m focusing on my job. And these awards.”

“Booooo,” she says immediately.

I glance at her, then groan. Now I know exactly where I picked that up and why Jabari hates it so much.

But that’s just Tasha; my co-CEO, co-founder, and co-pain-in-my-ass.

We started our little indie game studio straight out of uni. Built it from nothing but long nights, cheap coffee, and stubborn, childish ambition. She handles the business side of things, like investors, press, and all that corporate bullshit.

I handle the creative. You know, the shit that matters.

We balance each other out pretty well, and she’s like a sister.

Just not Zaza-level sister.

“Speaking of work. How’s the storyboard coming?” she asks, sliding into the chair beside mine.

“Painful,” I reply. “I don’t know what’s missing.”

“If you don’t know, how do you know it’s missing?”

I shrug, “Instinct.”

“Oh, please,” Tasha laughs, even though I was being dead serious. “Relax, you’ve done good work. Just give it time.”

“Time?” I go back to my screen. “We don’t ever have enough time.”

She spins in my spare chair, eyeing the open code on my second monitor. “I know, but— You ever think we’ll actually take a break? Like… have normal lives again?”

I snort. “Define normal.”

“Hobbies, sleep, relationships with men who make more than us and don’t communicate exclusively in Discord DMs.”

Huh.

“Can’t say that’s on my bingo card.”

She laughs, then leans forward in her chair. “Speaking of taking breaks… let’s get high tonight.”

I blink. Once. Slowly.

“That’s a wild start to a sentence.”

“Let me finish,” she says quickly, already grinning. “So… my cousin’s in town.”

“Oh fuck no.”

“Come on,” Tasha whines. “She’s here visiting her dad and just wants a night out. She has a new strainnnn.”

“Okay,” I say calmly. “So go out.”

“I want you to come. She likes you.”

“And Za?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“She doesn’t smoke,” Tasha shrugs. “Plus… they have history.”

I stare at her. “And Za doesn’t like her, so why would I go?”

“You need a night out, babe,” she says, softening just a touch. “You’ve been hunched over that screen all week. When was the last time you touched grass?”

“If your definition of touching grass is pushing me to take questionable drugs from your even questionabler cousin,” I deadpan, “you’re mental.”

She bursts out laughing, full-bodied, head thrown back. “There she is! I missed cheeky Frankie. Come get high with us.”

I roll my eyes, but I can feel the smile tugging at my mouth. “Look, I appreciate the invite, but I’ve got streams tonight. Plus, if I leave this for too long, I’ll lose my flow.”

“Bullshit, Francine,” she says immediately. “You’re just in that damn pity-party vibe because of that group chat.”

“So what?” I shoot back. “Let me grieve. Six booty calls? A whole football team has had lesser losses.”

She pauses, then nods like I’ve made a compelling argument. “You know what.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna call her.”

“No—Tasha—”

She’s already halfway across my desk before I can stop her.

“Tasha—no,” I warn, but she’s got one hand on my mouse and the other shoving my chair aside with her hip.

“Oh relax,” she says, swatting my hand away as I try to reclaim my keyboard. “We’re calling her.”

“This is my computer!”

“And she’s my cousin,” she fires back, clicking furiously.

We end up in a brief, ridiculous tug-of-war—me trying to close Facetime, her prying it back open, both of us hissing insults under our breath like feral siblings. Somewhere in the chaos, she hits video call.

The screen rings.

“Traitor,” I mutter. “I’m calling HR.”

“We are HR, stupid.”

The call connects.

“Hey, Mantis!” Tasha beams, immediately crowding the camera.

“Oi! Posh Tash!” a voice shouts back, accented and loud and unmistakably amused. “Is that you, Francine?”

I sigh, straighten my posture, and lean into frame like a reluctant celebrity. “Hello, Mantis.”

“Look at her,” Mantis grins. “All professional. You coming out tonight?”

So these two planned this.

I open my mouth to refuse automatically, but Tasha pinches my arm under the desk.

“Maybe,” I say carefully.

“Maybe,” Tasha echoes loudly.

Mantis lights up. “That’s basically a yes.”

“It’s literally not,” I argue. “I have work. Responsibilities.”

“Boo,” both of them say at the same time.

I glare at the screen. “You’re ganging up on me.”

Mantis leans closer to her camera. “Come out. One drink at the club. One smoke of a new strain. You’ll survive.”

I hesitate, then sigh. “Fine. But I’m talking to Zaza first. And if she says it’s not cool, I’m not going.”

Mantis groans dramatically and it makes me wonder what really is the issue between them. “Ugh. Fine. Go consult the council.”

She starts to move her phone, and I squint at the background behind her with her messy flat, warm lighting, and a framed photo on the wall.

My brain clicks into place.

“I know that guy,” I say slowly. “In your photo. The big one with the locs and tattoos. He stayed in London a few years ago. Theodore, I think?”

Mantis freezes. “…You know Theo? How?”

“Did you fuck him?” Tasha asks.

“Uck! Girl no!”

“So where do you know him from?”

“Back when I was in uni. I think he took a break from school and was ‘finding himself’ or whatever. Weird. He was super into veganism, always asking me about it and my tattoos. I even introduced him to Ciro.”

“Oh my god,” Tasha gasps. “I love Ciro! I can’t believe he moved to Italy. Best dick I ever had.”

“Ew,” Mantis and I say in perfect unison.

Mantis recovers first. “Anyway. Me and Tee are cool. Same friend group since I went to college in Georgia. Actually, we’re all going on a trip soon. For a wedding.”

“Aww,” I smile. “Is it him and his girlfriend? I saw him post her on Instagram. They’re so cute together.”

Mantis’s face shifts. Just slightly.

“No,” she says. “They, um… broke up.”

I blink.

What.

The.

Fuck.

“Huh?!”

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “Like two years ago now.”

I stare at the screen, genuinely offended on their behalf.

“What kind of sick person would create a universe where those two aren’t together?”

Mantis sighs. “Girl, trust me—I hate that they aren’t together too.”

I lean back in my chair, shaking my head.

The world truly makes no sense.

“We can debrief tonight,” Tasha offers. “I don’t know these people but I love drama.”

I groan, rubbing my temples. “Of course you do.”

I pull my phone from my pocket and step away from the desk, leaving the cousins to get into their catch up because obviously I wasn’t going to work anymore.

Rain streaks down the glass of the window in the empty hallway, blurring the city into soft gray lines.

I tap Zaza’s name before I can overthink it.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” she says. “What’s up?”

“So,” I start carefully, “hypothetically… how would you feel about me going out tonight with Tasha and her cousin?”

There’s a pause.

“…Which cousin?”

“Mantis.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“Frankie,” Zaza sighs, already tired. “Why would you even consider that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I say. “But there’s weed involved, so.”

“Yeah. That tracks,” Zaza mutters on the other end of the line. “Look. It’s not that I don’t want you to go out. I just—Mantis is strange.”

“Tuh. That’s rich coming from you, theatre kid,” I say, leaning against the window.

“Oh, fuck off,” Za snaps. “You know I’m right.”

“Is this about the spider thing?”

“OF COURSE IT’S THE SPIDER THING.”

I wince, pulling the phone slightly away from my ear. “Oh boy.”

Why did I even ask?

“What kind of psycho releases spiders in a packed room?” she demands. “And one landed in my drink. The girl didn’t even have the decency to apologize! I don’t care if it was a protest on the theatre. My lemon drop was innocent.”

“…Okay,” I concede, massaging my ear canal. “You’ve got a point.”

“Exactly.” Her voice settles into something resolute. “Which is why I’m staying home. You go, have fun, smoke responsibly, and don’t end up in another group chat situation or an insect in your drink.”

My laughter dies instantly. “Wow. Low blow.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You are. Spiders aren’t insects.”

“…I’m hanging up now.”

“Goodbye, Chinaza.” I grin again.

“Goodbye, harlot.”

I hang up before she can add anything else then I slide my phone back into my pocket.

Truth is, part of me’s relieved she’s not coming. Zaza doesn’t smoke anyway, and she’d spend the whole night nursing her lemon drop, judging us silently from a corner like an auntie.

A sudden cheer erupts down the hall.

I frown, curiosity winning, and wander toward the break room. Half the teams’ gathered around the TVwith their controllers abandoned and coffees forgotten.

On the screen, a football match replays its final moments.

The banner at the bottom reads:

NOVIS WINS.

The reporter’s voice cuts through the room.

“Novis is looking stronger this season with Titan on board. Many are wondering if he really will be the one to take them to of relegation and all the way to the championship.”

I stop just short of the doorway.

Titan.

My eyes track the screen automatically, landing on him—sweaty, grinning, teammates slapping his shoulders. I fold my arms, scoffing under my breath.

Great.

Now. Even at work, I can’t escape him.