Page 1 of Pro Gamer's Aim

Chapter one

Chapter 1

Samantha

Most of my day is spent listening to dogs bark. Not the two-legged variety, but the ones with four legs, fur, anal glands, and tails that smear shit everywhere.

To be fair, they're adorable and give great kisses. But my day is still spent listening to them bark. Or, in the case of the glorious wooly husky side-eyeing me, singing the songs of his people. All the songs of his people. Including songs that haven't been invented yet.

"Come on, Glacier," I coo, waving a stick of chicken jerky (for dogs, to clarify—not the human kind) at him, moving from right to left as he jerks his head around to avoid direct line of sight. "I know you hate having your paw pads trimmed, but they were kind of turning into dirty mop heads. And I clip your nails for your own good, you know."

He huffs and turns his entire body away, facing the corner of his crate in grim determination to ignore me for the rest of his natural life. Or at least until he decides he needs to go potty.

Giving up, I toss the treat into his crate and close the door. "Have at it, big guy. I'll go clean up your little furnado and make a new husky out of it. P.S., you look fabulous."

He whine-grumbles at me, but I'm already gone, ducking back into the grooming room. It's always a team effort to de-fur the place after a husky blow-out, but honestly, it's not that awful. I'd rather clean the fur than deal with a snapping Maltese. Besides, I always carry ear protection.

"Hey, bestie."

I grin when my fellow groomer Max pokes his head in. "Hey, Max. We still on tonight? Fair warning, I might turn off voice. My ears are done after Glacier's singing."

Max laughs, that big, booming laugh that echoes around the room, belying his shorter-than-normal stature and neon rainbow hair. I love his nose ring chained to a piercing below his bottom lip, even though I've never been brave enough for something like that myself. Most days he doesn't wear it because of the dogs, but today must be special. "You always have an excuse. I'm telling you, you'll do better if you patch in to voice chat. And you won't have to get assaulted by Amy in the morning when she yells at you on Monday for the five thousand things you did wrong because you weren't in chat listening."

I flip him off halfheartedly. He's right, of course. Amy (his sister, our boss, and my best friend since I was like, eight) has always been an avid gamer. Somehow I got roped into buying a whole PlayStation in order to play a free game with them—still not sure how that logic worked on me. Now the only two people I regularly talk to in real life are the same two I play online games with most nights.

When I break it down like that, my life seems kind of sad and lacking. Hmm, that's depressing.

To be fair, I do occasionally call my mom and brother. Sometimes I even make small talk with cashiers when I have things delivered. And I have to speak to our clients now and then too, so it's not like I'm a total recluse.

Oh, and my landlord texts me if I leave my trash can at the curb too long after pickup.

Okay, my social life is basically nonexistent outside of this shooty-murder battle royale fortress game I play with my two friends most nights. The same two friends I see at work all day, and often don't even voice chat with half the time because Amy tends to rage, and Max can be... bossy.

Don't get me wrong, they're fun. We have a blast playing together. But after talking to them at the shop all day, it's easier to have my cute avatar ping enemies with little symbols so they know what's up. Sure, it would be better if I could say "Sniper in the hotel lobby," but they usually figure it out.

"You know how it is," I finally say, playfully brooming my fur pile towards Max's feet. "Besides, I always have to mute for screaming anyway." Which is true, I do yell a lot.

He snorts and kicks the fur back at me. "And you know we don't care. Screaming comes with the game. Oh, right. Amy texted that we need to lock up tonight because she's running late, but she should be online by six or seven."

No longer playing fur-chicken with his feet, I continue the sweep-up with more vigor when I remember that it's almost four and we're ready to close. I have a poodle mix crate drying the rest of the way, the snappy Maltese from earlier had already been picked up by her equally snappy owner, and a three day weekend ahead of me. "I'll be on, I'm sure. I had a new neighbor move in this week so I was going to make them some cookies or something, and I need to pick up Milo's poop before it gets dark, but even after making dinner, I should be ready to play by six, easy—what? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Samantha Allison James. You haven't had a date in a year. Can you please stop acting like you're eighty already? Making cookies for your neighbor? Jesus, even my grandma doesn't do that. Get on a dating app, any dating app. Flash some boob, put on makeup, smile, and for fuck's sake, get a date. But not on game night." He looks me over, assessing, discarding, notating. "And maybe ditch the crocs on your date. Get a haircut."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, daddy Max. Whatever you say. Now get the fuck out and go clean your own room before I tell Amy you're harassing the help."

"I'm telling you, Sam, you're gonna grow old and crotchety if you don't get some soon."

Despite Max's sage advice, I do bake my new neighbor cookies. They aren't home and I still don't know who they are, but my cookies in a reused Christmas tin will hopefully prompt them to think of me as a nice person. Living in a duplex with a shared backyard is great, if you like your neighbor. It's hell if you don't. I loved my old neighbors, who had dogs and didn't mind that we had to avoid little not-so-chocolate dog bombs in the grass. I hope my new neighbor also doesn't mind dog bombs. Especially from a sweet little spaniel mix with two brain cells to his name.

I make myself some cookies too, not that my extra-luxurious hips need any more luxury. But who can say no to chocolate chip? Not even the devil could deny chocolate chip cookies. I don't think I've ever turned one down a day in my life, which could be the reason I deal with a few extra pounds and a pudgy little bump in my belly; since I'm not on one of those dating apps to flash my cleavage, as Max put it, I'm not too worried about it.

Life has been too busy to worry about my biological clock at the tender age of twenty-one, anyway.

So I settle in for a night of gaming with my besties (I do turn on voice chat, because Amy texts me that if I don't turn it on she is going to put glitter in my car vents). And maybe that night comes with a few extra cookies. And maybe those few extra cookies also come with a couple too many mugs of hot chocolate with a few generous splashes of Bailey's. And maybe, by eleven o'clock, Amy and Max have gone to bed like responsible adults and I am playing while pleasantly buzzed. Milo at some point has passed out on the couch beside me.

In the last match, I spent forever trying to find a sniper, and fail. They finally do me in, and the Bailey's whispers in my ear that I should move my couch closer to the TV so I can see better.

What an amazing idea.

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