Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Cat
If there’s one thing that can solve all my problems, it’s a well-made doughnut. I’m in my happy place, sitting cross-legged in front of a box of dozen under the knotted boughs of a cottonwood, when Rosalie returns with two fresh coffees.
“Oh good, you didn’t start without me.”
“And because of that, I’m out of willpower for the rest of the week. You’re welcome,” I say, going in for a bite of the apple cider fritter.
“It’s hard to start the week on such a high note,” Rosalie agrees. “It can’t be anything but downhill from here.”
“Sorry, can’t hear you. I’ve died and gone to brioche heaven.”
We nosh without exchanging anything other than groans of appreciation until we’ve both tried everything but the box. With my hangover firmly in the background, I brush off my hands and take a sip of my coffee. The hot, bitter liquid warms me down to my core, staving off some of the mid-October chill. I hover my nose over the lid and breathe in the steam.
“You busy next weekend?”
Rocking forward on my hips, I take the last of the chai doughnut stuffed with pear jam. My eyes roll back in ecstasy. Screw games writing, I’m becoming a doughnut chef. A doughnutier?
“Cat?”
“Uh, no, not busy,” I say. “Why?”
Rosalie doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she rummages around in her purse and pulls out a square of hard plastic attached to a lanyard. After tossing it in my lap, she helps herself to the rest of the pumpkin spice old-fashioned. “My colleague gave me a VIP badge to IAX in Vegas. I can’t make it, but if you can get yourself on a plane, it’s all yours.”
“Seriously?” My eyes go wide, and I almost tip over my coffee in my haste to pick up the badge. “Holy crap, Ros, do you know how much these things are worth?”
“A lot?” she guesses.
“There are people selling kidneys online to get one of these!”
“Ew, don’t tell me that. I once saw a frat boy at Coachella drop five hundred dollars on an IV drip of salt water and electrolytes because he couldn’t be bothered to suck down a Gatorade. I don’t need to know all the ways humanity can waste money.”
“It’s not a waste of money,” I insist. “IAX is the biggest gaming convention in North America after San Diego Comic-Con. People make a living off of predicting what games will be announced at it, and—”
Rosalie presses a sticky finger to my lips. “Shh, Cat. You’re gonna go and tell me all about it when you get back, but in the meantime, I’m good with a simple ‘Thank you.’ ”
“Thanks, Ros,” I say when she draws her hand away. “You’re the best.”
“I know.” Rosalie clears her throat. “Also—”
My mind’s already elsewhere, combing through my closet at home to see if I have a cosplay I can recycle in time for IAX.
“Come with me to Mandy’s party in two weeks?”
A record scratch interrupts all my higher-order functions. I blink at Rosalie. “You mean the Tri Sigma reunion?” In the past month, I’ve received something like ten emails from Mandy Morrison, my Biggie from my sorority days, asking me if I’d like to attend the thirty-some-person get-together at the McBride Teahouse at the end of October. (Palutena knows why there are so many of us Tri Sigs in the area.) Thus far, I’ve managed to keep myself from writing back that I’d sooner gouge my eyes out with a spork.
“I know we don’t like Mandy,” Rosalie interrupts, her eyes wide and pleading. “But—”
“Don’t like her?” I say, incredulous. “Ros, I hate Mandy. I almost didn’t move to Colorado despite how many game studios are based out of here because I couldn’t fathom living in the same state as her. Do you know how much she made my life in college a living hell?” Rosalie grimaces, likely recalling the time Mandy stole my Garrus body pillow and pretended to make out with it in front of the whole house. So what if I have a blue birdlike alien body pillow? I like cuddling. And if I’m going to cuddle with an inanimate object, it might as well feature the sexy-yet-fully-armored, romanceable sharpshooter from Mass Effect .
“Please?” Rosalie presses. “You don’t have to stay for the entire time. I just … Mandy called me the other day saying something about needing my help organizing the event. Apparently, she’s in a new relationship with some dude named Bruno or Brody or something who takes up all her time, making it impossible for her to coordinate the silent auction we usually run at our reunions. But it’s plus-ones welcome!” she adds before remembering who she’s talking to and deflating. “If, you know, you start dating someone for real.”
Sighing, I contemplate standing my ground, but Rosalie just offered me a ticket to one of the hottest events for gamers this side of the Atlantic. I let my chin dip down toward my chest in assent. “Only because I love you. And because you’re getting me into IAX.”
“Thank you,” Rosalie says, leaning in to peck me on the forehead. “Seriously. I’m not sure what I’d do without you there.”
“Probably talk to your husband,” I suggest.
Making a face, Rosalie drains the last of her coffee. “You’re better.”
I roll my eyes. Studying the IAX badge in my lap, I wonder if anyone else from Heartrender will be there. Especially anyone with overstyled hair and dark eyes.