But I had to remind myself that a relationship with someone like Adam would be impossible. I would not allow myself to entertain that dream. On the outside, he seemed perfect. But on the inside, he was a man, just like all the rest of them. And they couldn’t be trusted.

Once home, I checked my messages. Heath had called, instructing me to call him the minute I got home. Alex had left two, demanding the chisme immediately. I glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight so I opted out of calling.

Instead, I wandered the apartment—cleaned a few dishes, picked up my study guide and threw it down just as quickly. Going to bed didn’t even cross my thoughts. I knew it would only lead to hours of tossing and turning.

I was too wound up by the thoughts of Adam’s hands and the delicious sensations they had awoken in me. Of the memory of his voice commanding me to come to climax, to say his name. Shivers slithered all through me at the memory.

So I did what I always do when I couldn’t sleep. I logged on to the game to while away a few hours. Heath had not logged in, nor had my other two game buddies, Persephone or FallenOne. Fallen hadn’t been on since the last time we’d played together, three weeks before. An hour later when I was about to log off, my in-game message screen flashed.

*Magnus tells you, “Why are you still awake?”

Magnus. The one and only. I ran a command to find out Magnus’s class and level. /whois Magnus

The game obediently told me: Magnus is a level 75 Fire Mage. Because of course he was a Fire Mage. Fire Mages were the most overtly powerful character class in the game. They had the element of fire at their command, could throw fireballs and command flame to dance on the heads of their enemies, or burn them slowly down with heat damage. I bit my lip, trying not to giggle at the irony—the thought of his hot hands still burned in my memory. How appropriate.

*You tell Magnus, “A Fire Mage? Really? No wonder you have magic hands.”

*Magnus tells you, “At your service.”

*You tell Magnus, “It begs the question…what are *you* doing up so late? Working still?”

*Magnus tells you, “Turn on your headset.”

*You tell Magnus, “It doesn’t work right. Makes the game lag when I’m on voice.”

*Magnus tells you, “How are you playing on that ancient rig of yours?”

*You tell Magnus, “Don’t insult my Franken-puter, the trusty little box that could.”

*Magnus tells you, “Get some sleep or you are going to be exhausted tomorrow. I want you well rested.”

A thrill of anticipation sliced through me. Tomorrow would finally be the night.

*You tell Magnus, “Bossy. I was just about to log off. Enough lag for tonight.”

*Magnus tells you, “I’ll pick you up at 11 sharp.”

I lay down with a nice, dry study book to lull me to sleep, trying hard to get my mind off of all that would happen the next day. It took an hour, but it finally worked.

Chapter Eight

Adam appeared at my door at exactly eleven a.m. Somehow I knew he’d be the type to be ultra-prompt, despite his tardiness at our first meeting. He wore khakis, white deck shoes and a casual button-down, short-sleeved shirt. And, of course, those same sexy designer shades.

He had his ubiquitous cell phone in one hand and a cardboard box under his arm. I jerked open the door. “I’ll be right out. Wait here.” I said, leaving the door ajar to grab my backpack from my room.

When I got back, he was standing in the middle of my living room, opening up the box. Of course.

“Dude, what are you doing? The place is a mess. I told you to wait outside.”

“Is it?” he said, sounding preoccupied. “I hadn’t noticed.”

I swatted his hard arm with the back of my hand, stunned that it felt like smacking my knuckles against a rock. “Very funny. What the heck are you doing?”

“Your rig is a piece of shit.”

“Thank you,” I answered acerbically.

“I had this lying around. Figured you could use a loaner.”

He pulled out a sleek new laptop that immediately made my heart palpitate with toy-lust. It was ultrathin, made from a matte dark metal.

“What…? What do you mean ‘loaner’?”

He spoke slowly, as if to a toddler. “I mean that I lend it to you and you use it for a while and then you give it back to me when you no longer need it.”

I made a face at him. As if I’d give that luscious thing back. Like, ever. He’d just opened it up and booted it. It was already loaded with everything. The palpitations turned into out-and-out fluttering. My God. It was a work of art. It was a gamer’s rig, fully tricked out with all the essentials and a seventeen-inch high-definition screen that was as clear as looking through a window.