Page 21 of Game Misconduct

“Is this a conjugation lesson?” Mäkelä asked, with an utter gravity that would have been mocking, if it wasn’t for the crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “Because I’m basically fluent in English, and I know that one.”

Mike put his head down in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Mäkelä said, “this is serious.”

“But like—the person you want to fuck—like—what do you do when there’s something, you know, going on with them and you don’t know what it is?”

“Well...have you tried asking?”

“It’s not like that.”

“You can’t ask?”

“It’s not really that kind of...thing.”

“If you can’t ask them...are you sure this person even really likes you very much?”

“They definitely don’t like me that much,” Mike said, glaring at his pancakes. “I don’t like them that much either. That’s kind of the point. Of this whole thing.”

“So...let me get this straight, for my own reference. This person, who you are not dating, but who you have fucked, or want to fuck—I’m still not entirely clear on that part and please do not clarify for me, I don’t actually need to know—who doesn’t like you very much, has something...going on? And you want to know what it is?”

“Yes?”

“Are you sure it’s really your business?”

“Of course it’s my—” Mike started, then looked up. Mäkelä was right. It wasn’t his business. Did he want it to be his business? “You’re right. It’s not my business.”

Mäkelä was looking at him again and Mike made a silent, thankful prayer for the Nordic stoicism that didn’t allow space for pity on Mäkelä’s face. “Have another pancake,” Mäkelä said finally, at the same time that Bee emerged from her bedroom.

She looked at Mike, she looked at Mäkelä, and back at Mike. “What did I miss?” she asked suspiciously.

“Nothing, mussukka,” Mäkelä said, and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, and she leaned into his shoulder. It wasn’t, like, overwhelming PDA or anything, but it was the kind of sweet gesture that let you know that Mäkelä was hers, that she loved him. “Sit down and have some coffee.”

Mike sawed at his pancakes a little harder than he probably needed to and thought about how that kind of a relationship was probably pretty boring after a while. Always liking someone, always being affectionate with someone, hanging out with the same person all the time. What did you even talk about after a year? How great it was being in love? Gross.

And because it wasn’t his business, he absolutely did not think about Garcia.

It was an off day and Danny spent most of the morning sitting on his porch, trying and failing to read a book. It was some kind of fantasy novel about nuns who were also assassins and he’d been reading the first fifty pages over and over again, losing interest, and then having to read it again because he’d forgotten what was going on. At least the weather was nice. He could sit there in a sweater, no coat necessary.

what did you mean when you said i wasn’t playing up to my potential?Mike asked, on Snapchat. And then:u weren’t actually talking about bjs, were u.

I was talking about hockey.

but what did you MEAN

I meant you have what it takes to be better than you are, and you’re not doing it.

i’m good! like i’m in the fucking major league good

Yeah, but don’t you want to be great?

lmao buddy idk what the fuck you’re smoking, but we all want things we can’t have

Danny thought about Mike’s mouth, smiling or sneering or furious, thought about what it would be like to kiss him instead of just blowing him in an alley, and said,yeah.

so what the fuck

He thought about the best way to phrase it. Something that wouldn’t come off too strong. Something that would convey... Fuck it. He initiated a voice call, even though he didn’t know where Mike was, what he was doing. The Cons weren’t playing today either, but it was a calculated gamble.

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