Page 174 of Fake Game

“I want to go home.”

Jackson pauses mid-sip, putting his pint down. “All right, I’ll go get the bill. Are you fi—”

“I don’t mean Carlingford.”

He tilts his head.

“I meanhome.”

“To Cali?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” He smiles but then schools it. “You’re sure? You’re not just saying that? Because I have no issue staying longer if you’re not ready. I like Ireland, lassie.”

I snort at the awful Irish accent he tacks on at the end. He really is too sweet to me.

“Really. I’m ready. I miss our friends. I miss free two-day delivery. I miss my nail technician. And, Gods, I miss having our own space where we can, ya know, without worrying about my parents.”

He smirks, nodding his head. “You make a fair point. It’s hard to fuck you right when you scream so loud.”

I duck my head, glancing around at the nearby tables as I hiss, “Really?”

He reaches out and takes my hand; it’s a little cold from the beer. “If you’re ready, then, okay, let’s do it.”

I smile. “Let’s go home, Jackson.”

FIFTY-ONE

DEER

“Are you ready, ma’am?”

No.

In fact, I think this might be a horrible idea—one of the worst I’ve ever had.

“Yes.”

The guard opens the door at my confirmation, and I take one step into the concrete room. My eyes scan each of the cubicles until they land on a young man.

Yup, this is definitely a shite idea.

I take steadying breaths as my platform heels carry me across the room to where he is sitting. My focus is just on the silver chair, my goal: getting to it without panicking.

In and out.

In and out.

I tuck my dress beneath me as I take a seat, but it doesn’t stop the cold metal from biting into my thighs through the thin fabric. With a hand that shakes slightly, I pick up the phone attached to the partition. Once the plastic hits my ear, I steel myself and turn my gaze forward.

“Hi, Rick.”

“Deer.” His gaze slides over me like slime oozing down my skin.

I’m struck by how different he looks.

When I’d first hired Rick as my moderator, he was a shy, skinny guy with a mop of brown hair and gentle eyes. He’d been subbed to my channel from the very beginning, always commenting positively and encouraging me. When I started live streaming, he was there in the chat bolstering me along as I played my first run-through ofCherry Farm: Beginningsand sending me virtual gifts.I still remember the day he emailed me asking if I needed someone to moderate my comments—it was right after I’d worn this cute sailor corset and some person in the chat kept writing lewd remarks throughout the stream until I’d paused to remove them. It had seemed like such a no-brainer to accept Rick’s help. He wasn’t asking for payment or anything; he just genuinely wanted to help me succeed and prevent any trolls from derailing that.

---