Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
HogDocKev: But no worries either way, man. Thanks for the marmalade.
The moment I hit Send on the final message, I stared at my chat window and snorted. Thanks for the marmalade? Jesus Christ. I was officially the biggest dork in Tennessee. Hopefully Smitty didn’t expect too much suaveness from his friends.
But I also felt good and strong. Like my impulsive choice had been the right one.
“Sire?” Henry Cavill said smoothly, rescuing me from my thoughts. “You asked to be informed when HogMasterHux next signed in to the game. He’s undertaken the Rooster Domination Quest, level three.”
My heart skipped a beat, then began pounding in frantic double time.
Huxley. Shit. He was clearly serious about qualifying for the Conqueror’s Tournament, and he was for damn sure gonna have something to say when he found out I’d just entered into an unexpected alliance.
In fact, I thought, feeling the ghost of his fingers on my upper arms and the heat of his gaze, he was going to lose his ever-loving mind.
And I was looking forward to it.
6
HUX
HogDocKev: There’s a 100k pip prize we can split.
HogDocKev: And I think it would be a lot of fun.
HogDocKev: And I really admire the way you play. I think I could learn a lot from you.
HogDocKev: But no worries either way, man. Thanks for the marmalade.
I read through the messages on my SmittyKitty Horn for the forty-fifth time since they’d come through an hour ago, trying to make them make sense.
Kevin Rogers wanted to form an alliance in the Conqueror’s Tournament with a barely ranked newbie?
Yeah, no. I still didn’t get it. What the fuck was he thinking?
Why hadn’t he asked his stupid asshole e-boyfriend? Hell, why hadn’t he asked me, especially now that we were working together?
“Whoa! Dude, you’re dying!” Elvo leaned into my space and pointed at my monitor, which was hooked up to my other Horn—my HogMasterHux Horn. On the screen, my avatar was attempting to catch and subdue as many enchanted roosters as possible to complete my quest… or at least he had been until Kev’s texts had come through and distracted me. Now, HogMasterHux was crouching in the middle of a chicken pen with his hands over his head, getting pecked by overly aggressive poultry and rapidly losing health points.
“Shit.” I powered off Smitty’s Horn, tucked it back into my pocket to deal with another day, and zeroed in on the game—the mission—that should have been my sole focus. I pulled a handful of charmed corn from my pocket and got to work. In short order, the screen flashed, and golden eggs fell like rain to celebrate my win.
“Ah, now I get it!” Elvo said admiringly. “You were just playing dead to lull the roosters into a false sense of security, weren’t you? You had those cocks eating out of your hand.” He shoved my shoulder before he walked away, “I shouldn’t have doubted you. You’re the master, after all.”
“Yeah.” I smiled wanly. “I try.”
A message popped up on my screen.
HogDocKev: What the heck was that duck and cover move? LMAO.
HogDocKev: Rodrigo and I have so many questions.
I closed my eyes and shook my head, unable to stop the smile pulling at my lips.
Of course Kev knew it hadn’t been an intentional move and hadn’t hesitated to call me on it. It was annoying… and also weirdly comforting.
HogMasterHux: Lies, Kevin! Rodrigo never judges me.
HogDocKev: Rodrigo thinks it’s ridiculous that you’re going all out to qualify for the tournament when I’m already almost qualified.
HogDocKev: Why can’t you trust me, Hux?
My smile fell away, and I quickly disconnected from the game so I could begin running some more in-depth searches on known cartel associates.
Kev was wrong. My insistence on qualifying for the tournament myself had nothing to do with trust and everything to do with protecting him. Protecting him from having to participate in an in-person tournament when even talking about it this afternoon had made him look a little peaky… and protecting him from learning the truth about the “newbie” player he’d just asked to form an alliance.
I fucking hated deception. Ever since Marc Pine had pretended to be my friend back in high school, only to lie to our coach about who removed all the showerheads from the locker room during Prank Week and get me kicked off the team, I’d vowed to be aboveboard in all my friendships, and I had. And while I wouldn’t say Kev and I were friends precisely—what did you call someone you wanted to kiss the shit out of but also strangle? What was the word for a person you understood so well, in some ways, that it was like you were the same person, but who also confused the crap out of you in other ways, with the twisty turns of his brilliant, terrifying, mystifying brain?—that didn’t matter.