Page 6 of Pro Gamer's Aim

“Mr. Sinclair said he heard a lot of loud noises, some thuds, the sound of something being dragged around—”

“Oh. Yeah. My couch is usually over there, but I moved it up here—closer to the TV. So I could see better. My old neighbors always told me they could hear when Milo knocks over his planters—” I point at them, where he is now cowering again, apparently having used what little bravery he had to pee on everyone’s shoes. “He’s kind of a dingbat, and doesn’t realize that he can’t just use them as a dog bed, so they knock over all the time. I don’t even notice it anymore. When I see it, I clean it up.”

“And the yelling, ‘Don’t shoot me’, ‘stop slicing me’, ‘ow’?”

“I get really into my game,” I mumble, focusing somewhere around the tip of the police officer’s ear. He is so nice, so friendly, so soothing when he questions these embarrassing details, but—Lord, who the hell gets the cops called on them for being too dramatic while playing one of the most popular games in the world? Me. Max and Amy are going to have a field day over this.

“And again, I’ll pay for the door,” my new neighbor calls from across the room. “I already got into contact with someone who can be here in the morning, and I messaged the landlord.”

Oh, right. The door. I glance toward the back, in time to see Milo sneaking over to try to bite something glittering off the ground.

“Milo! No!” Horrified, I lurch forward to grab him. The police officer shoves me back while simultaneously somehow flying toward my little furry dunce, snatching him away from his dubious prize. Large, warm hands grab my shoulders before I fall unceremoniously onto my ass.

“Got him,” the officer shouts, the hint of a laugh in his voice. “Buddy, you can’t eat glass. I don’t think your mama would enjoy that vet bill.”

Relief sags my shoulders as I watch Milo pretend to swim in slow motion, his go-to move whenever anyone picks him up. I always joke that in his mind, he is always one step from being tossed into the ocean.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Asher says from somewhere above my head, and I realize he is still holding me up.

I let him usher me to the couch, where he places me like a fragile doll, before the police officer whose name I can’t remember for the life of me deposits Milo into my lap.

I yawn. Exhaustion is starting to creep up on me. I can’t remember everything that happens next—the police chat with me here and there, writing things into their little note pads. They tell me I'm fine and congratulate me for placing top five (thank you, I worked hard for that), and after this, that, and the other thing, I realize I am now alone.

With Asher.

Who has swept up all the glass, taken Milo for a potty break in the front yard until we can get the back patio cleaned of all glass (which he is also going to take care of), and is now talking on the phone to my mom, of all people, because at some point during the debacle I call my mom to blurt out that the police are at my home because I’ve scared my neighbor into thinking I am being murdered over a video game.

I'm not making amazing choices tonight, but my brain has slowly morphed from offline to online, because I'm finally horrified as I realize what's happening and tune in.

“Of course not, ma’am. I’ll make sure she’s safe tonight. I already have a room reserved at the hotel off—yeah, that’s the one. And you have my phone number? You can call or text it at any time. No, no, there shouldn’t be any issues, but I know it must be odd to entrust your daughter to a strange man in this situation.”

I blink, alarms blaring in my head. I am missing something. I am very, very big missing something. “Um, Asher?”

He sits beside me on the couch, holding up one finger in my direction. “Yes, of course. That’s not a problem. She still seems a bit out of it. I’m sure she’d like to—oh, okay. Yes, ma’am. Good night.” He pulls my phone away from his ear and blinks at my phone once. Twice. Then he hands it to me with a slight shrug. “Sorry, she hung up. Said something about going back to bed and to call her in the morning since everything was handled.”

“Oh.” I take my phone back, not sure what else to say. Honestly, that is pretty typical of my mom. “Hotel?”

“Well, you can’t sleep here tonight, can you? With your back door open to anyone?”

I shake my head, then nod, then shake it again. “But all my things—”

“Aren’t as important as your life,” he rebuts, pulling me from the couch. “Also, you’re still drunk, and still confused. I’m not sure how much you drank, but I think it’s fair to say you went past your tolerance level.”

I nod. “I don’t normally drink, but Bailey’s is really good in a cup of cocoa.”

“Duly noted. Why don’t you pack yourself a bag? I’ll take you to the hotel.” He nudges me gently in the direction of the stairs. “I’m going to see if I can tape something across this door for tonight.”

“Milo doesn’t like hotels. Too much noise. Screams the entire time. Will they let him stay?” Though, it is pretty late now. He’ll probably be okay, right?

Asher pauses. “Oh. Huh. I forgot about the dog. I don’t even know what their pet policy is there, but I’m sure we can find a pet-friendly one nearby.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll stay here. I’ll lock my bedroom door.”

“Absolutely not. Look, I just moved in and the only food in my house are those cookies you sent me, but you can stay on my side tonight. I can set a grocery delivery for morning, and I’ll stay in the hotel. All you have to do is make sure to not let the dog pee on my boxes.”

I squint at him. “Asher, right?”

He nods.

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