Page 32 of By the Fae

“No, that’s his name. Not Ludo. It’s actually Definitely Not Ludo, but we call him Not Ludo for short.”

I had so many questions. “Why don’t you just call him Ludo for short?”

“No! He’s Definitely Not Ludo, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I stole him. From Sugar Paste’s, uh, Joey’s old landlord.”

I faltered. Every time I thought I couldn’t dislike this fae any more than I already did, he proved me wrong. “You stole a cat?”

He smiled, as though he’d won a secret game only he was playing. “Yep.” He cracked open his beer.

He casually told his flatmates to eff off. He told me to eff off the first time in his office. He was a meanie to me at the convention. He lobbed my cardigan across the room, and now he steals, actually thieves, a person’s pet. It didn’t even brush on his philandering, not that that was necessarily a bad thing.

I would probably regret asking this, “Why did you steal someone’s cat? What happened with Joey’s old landlord?”

To my surprise, Goldie laughed, but it was a cold, humourless laugh. “Humans. If you’re not trying to make everything about love, you’re trying to find excuses for other species’ abhorrent actions. How about some of us are just assholes?” He handed me a FaeStation controller. “If you’re trying to justify my behaviour so that you can find some way to like me, don’t bother. I’m not a nice guy, I’m not interested in being a nice guy, and I’m definitely not interested in developing a friendship with another human.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but he didn’t give me a chance before he continued his oratory.

“What we have here is nothing more than an agreement of convenience. It will do you well to remember that beyond this agreement, I like you in a professional capacity. Only. I both enjoyed and admired your games, but that is it. As a person, I find you bothersome and . . . monopolising.”

Monopolising?

“Oh. Okay,” I said after at least a full minute had passed under Goldie’s haughty stare. It really was so unfair that those beautiful green eyes belonged to such a resounding jerk. I cleared my throat. “What have you been working on, then? I assume you want me to test your game?”

“Magic Thief Seven,” he said, switching on the cinema-sized TV with a skinny silver remote.

“Ooh, yay!” The words were out before I could stop them. I slapped a hand over my mouth and chanced a peek at the miserable fae. I could’ve been mistaken, but I’m sure a smile ticked the corner of his lips.

For the next twenty minutes or thereabouts, Goldie watched me playing his game, his arms folded across his chest, those deep furrows carved between his brows. I tried to focus on the screen and pretend I wasn’t acutely aware of the pissy, six-foot-three Oread sitting a metre away from me, huffing down my neck with aggressive intensity.

He smelled good, like his citrus cologne. My palms were sweating, making them slippery against the controller. I was also highly conscious of how much noise I made while breathing — definitely not a normal amount — and spent a considerable amount of energy trying to make it quieter. All while going through the motions on his game, or at least appearing to.

Out of nowhere, Goldie leant forward and seized the controller, his face inches from mine. Heat leapt from his body onto my cheeks. My breath stilled again.

“So?” he said.

“I love it,” I whispered.

He smiled. Actually smiled. Darn it, smiling looked good on him. “But?”

“It’sMagic Thief Six. But in industrial revolution times.”

He leaned back on the couch, puffing out a breath. “You sound like August.”

“She wants something different?” I didn’t know why I asked. She already told the designers she wanted a game that appealed to humans, and while I loved Magic Thief, and all its sequels, and prequels, and spinoffs, I couldn’t say the same for most of the guys at my old job. Not anymore.

By way of answer, he raised an eyebrow.

“Where are the missions?” I asked, motioning a hand to the screen.

“The missions are not important.”

“Of course they are. They’re the best bit. They give the game purpose, and heart.”

He groaned and jumped to his feet, scrubbing his hands backwards through his hair. “Fuck’s sake, next you’ll be telling me I need to make the game about love.”

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