Page 5 of Pro Gamer's Aim

Chapter three

Chapter 3

Samantha

My heart is trying to rip itself out of my chest and play on the trampoline down the street. Oh my God. I don’t even know what to think. Mom always warns me about the dangers of living alone as a single woman, and I watch plenty—plenty, trust me—of hours of true crime documentary television.

So, yes. I do, in fact, know that, in theory, there are bad people in this world who break into the homes of women across our country and do horrible things that shouldn’t be printed for nice people to know about. Yes. I know this happens. And I know when someone breaks into your fucking house, you are supposed to do something smart. Like call the police.

Instead, I stand on my couch gaping at him like a fish until my dog pees on his shoe.

Good for you, Milo!

“Who the fuck are you?” I shriek, throwing my controller—the closest weapon at hand. My heart hurts a little because I love that pink controller, but my life is way more important.

Next, I frantically try to recall where my phone is. Might have fallen under one of the cushions at some point. Fuck.

But the intruder out to unalive me seems unimpressed with my feats of self-defense and pulls a phone out of his pocket while he swats at Milo with his pee-foot. Milo must have grown a third brain cell, because he decides to lift his leg over the other foot. What a good fucking dog.

“Sorry to take up your time,” he says into the phone, sounding almost bored. “There is no intruder. My neighbor was apparently a little too excited while playing a video game. I don’t think any officers will be needed on scene after all.”

I can feel the slow churning of my brain to process this information.

“Yes, I understand. I’ll stay on the line. You mind if I unlock the front door? Miss? Hey?”

I blink when he snaps his fingers in front of my face. Oh, he is talking to me. “The front door?” I repeat, feeling very… something. I feel something.

“For the police,” he supplies, with a slow, encouraging smile that makes my insides melt.

Wait, what?

Hold on. Rewind.

I blink several times, willing the motion to kick in my brain function. It's still circling around he’s going to unalive me, and I’ve been in the middle of composing my dying voicemail to my mother. “Yes?”

But he stops waiting for my answer and walks to the front door anyway, still discussing something with the person on the other end of the phone. I think at one point he even holds the phone out to me, but I am just so damn confused and—

“You broke my door,” I say. Brilliant, I know.

He pauses in his conversation to look at me. There are police officers there now, right in the door, ready to keep me safe, looking all staunch and no-nonsense and shit. The clock says it is 12:07 a.m.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I kind of thought you were being murdered at the time. I’ll fix it. You okay? I don’t think you heard me earlier, but hi. I’m Asher, your new neighbor. Got home late and heard some screaming through your wall when I was going upstairs.”

I nod. Yes, okay. Asher. My neighbor. I made him cookies. “Did you like the cookies?”

“Cook—oh, that must have been that Christmas thing? I haven’t had a chance to even look inside yet. You okay, sweetheart?”

I shake my head this time. The officers are saying something, but I can’t keep my eyes off his face. Asher. His name is Asher, and he isn’t here to do torturous things to me. He came in to save me.

And his face is doing all kinds of unholy things to my insides, thanks to all that slutty Bailey’s I’ve ingested earlier. Seriously, what the hell? Who has any business being so ridiculously tall? And why do I want to rub all of me—all of me, you understand—against that bristly, prickly stubble all over his jaw? And his eyes are so fucking blue, or maybe grey, I don't know, and his hair is fantastic, and his body…

“Ma’am?” The officer is peering at me like he's worried I am in some sort of mental state. Maybe I am.

“Um, yes. Hi. I’m sorry. I’m drunk. I thought—he tried to save me. I was playing my game. Oh. I think my dog just peed on your shoe.”

“He’s been doing that. It’s okay. Ma’am, I need to verify that you’re in no imminent danger, that this man isn’t a danger to you, and that no one has been doing anything—”

“No, no.” I shake my head, finally feeling my brain kick online. I wave my hand toward the TV in a vague sort of gesture. “I had a few drinks and was playing this. I get a little… uh, I tend to scream? And maybe overreact a little when I play.”

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