Page 21 of Forbidden Game

“You tried that last month,” Jackson reminds me. “Only gave you three hours, and she added five hours to your streaming quote.”

“Ugh, I’m one strike away from a tech lockdown myself,” Aleks groans. “I need to do that stupid photo shoot next week to wipe my slate clean.”

“The one for Wyreless?” I ask.

“Fuck. I still need to do that one, too.” Aleks runs a tattooed hand down his face. “High Wire doesn’t sound so bad anymore. Might as well cut my losses early and get drunk.”

An ungodly screech comes from Jackson’s laptop, and I match it with a yelp of my own. My head automatically jerks to his screen, and I spot a skeletal-looking creature with melting skin gracing his monitor in 4K. Fucking lovely.

“Turn that thing off,” I growl.

Jackson laughs but turns his monitor off. “All right, all right.” He crosses his arms across his chest, his thick biceps bulging. “Let’s not get on Sydney’s shit list any more than necessary. Why don’t we order in tonight and play a couple of rounds of Smash?”

I grin. “Loser’s penalty?”

“The Aprilia?” Aleks smirks.

“We’re not betting the Aprilia during a game of Smash.” I may bet dumb shit but not that dumb. “Plus, the Aprilia is already in play, remember? Whoever wins the next Hottest Streamer of the Year gets it.”

Aleks has been eyeing my motorcycle for the last four years, ever since I had it shipped over. But no matter how many times I put it up as collateral for one of our bets, he has yet to win it.

He thinks it’s cursed.

Right now, the Aprilia is sitting as the reward for whoever ranks higher on next year’s Hottest Steamer list that Gamer Weekly publishes. Aleks seems confident he will win again, but now that he’s scored himself a bird, I think the odds tip more in my favor. I really don’t want to lose it since it’s a vintage model, but I can always buy something else to replace it in my collection come worst case scenario. It would give me an excuse to head out to the track and test drive.

“I don’t even want the Aprilia,” Jackson sighs. “Why can’t we just bet something simple?”

“Because that’s no fun.”

“Whoever loses pays for dinner,” he pushes.

Jackson sucks at bets. Mostly because he is a sore loser. Out of the three of us, he is the most competitive, but he is so competitive that he refuses to play unless he knows he has a good chance of winning. When it comes to Smash, it’s a pretty even playing field between the three of us, but Jackson does have a higher likelihood of losing in the long run.

“I’m fine with dinner.” Aleks shrugs.

I roll my eyes. “Fine, loser buys dinner.”

We all shake hands on it, but when Jackson goes to let go, I grip his hand harder and give him a broad smile. “I’m ordering from Silver Fish, by the way.”

Jackson gives me a deadpan expression as Aleks snorts at the name of the top omakase restaurant in California, run by the renowned Chef Takisawa.

“Silver Fish sounds delicious,” Aleks muses. “I’ve really been craving a forty-dollar sushi roll; it will go great with the twenty-dollar miso soup and thirty-dollar edamame.”

“Seriously, English.” Jackson quirks an eyebrow.

“I thought you loved sushi,” I innocently reply.

“I do, but that place is stupid expensive.”

“Then I guess you’re gonna have to win.”

“You’re on.”

***

Aleks elbows me, and my character almost goes slipping off the platform, plunging to its death.

“That’s fucking cheating!” I yell, smashing my thumb down on the A button repeatedly.

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