Game of Hearts Page 4

  Atlanta.

  Bjorn closed his eyes as he pictured him in the front row, his eyes wide as he whistled. Atlanta had been one of his idols as soon as he had gotten into World of Heroes. To see him there, whistling with his fingers stuck in his mouth, that wasn’t something that Bjorn had anticipated. His heart had leaped in his chest and he had felt himself blushing, their gaze locking. He told himself that it was the crowd, that it was everyone who was there cheering for him that had made him feel that way. It had nothing to do with the way that Atlanta was looking at him. Nothing to do with the first night they had gotten there, right? He shook his head as he sat up, only to find that Pink was staring at him.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  Bjorn shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We won,” Pink said, as if Bjorn needed to be reminded. “We won; we may even get to the semifinals. That means we get part of the prize pool even if we don’t get to the finals.”

  “If we get to the semifinals,” Bjorn said, trying not to roll his eyes. “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself here.”

  “Fine, if we get to the semifinals, but were you even there? We crushed them. We crushed them and they’re some of the best in the world!”

  “Yeah, I was there,” Bjorn said. “And we got lucky. We’re not always going to get lucky. This may have put our name on the radar, but it hasn’t made us any better. We’re going to have to, y’know, really buckle down on this. The last thing we want to do is get cocky.”

  Pink nodded. He was still watching Bjorn suspiciously. Bjorn didn’t like it; Pink always knew when he was keeping something from him, and he seemed to know that now. Though Bjorn really didn’t know what he was keeping from his teammate. Nothing had happened, so why was it going around in his head so much? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Atlanta? It was probably something to do with the fact that he had been such a fan. The encounter had been surreal, sure, but if it had been anyone else, Bjorn wouldn’t have given it a second thought. That was what that feeling was. That was what it had to be. It made no sense that it would be anything else.

  “Well, as much as I appreciate you bringing me down to reality or whatever,” Pink finally replied, “that’s not what’s going on with you. So will you tell me what the fuck is happening?”

  “I don’t—I don’t know,” Bjorn replied.

  “Look, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s cool. But can you just like, give me a hint? I would like to know what I’m dealing with here. We need your head in the game, Al. We’re depending on you.”

  “You don’t think I know that? I know that,” he replied, a little more tersely than he intended to. “And that’s why this is hard. Because I don’t think it’s anything, but it could be something, and I don’t know what to do about it if it is.”

  Pink cocked his head. “Talking in riddles is so not your style.”

  “I’m only talking like this because I’m confused,” Bjorn said. “And the worst part is, I don’t even know what I’m confused about. Nothing even happened.”

  “Nothing even happened when?”

  “At the party? The one before the tournament started. Atlanta came up to me and we started to talk. I thought he was just being friendly, but, ugh.”

  “Wait,” Pink said, his small smile turning into a grin. “You’re telling me that he hit on you?”

  “You knew he was gay?” Bjorn replied, after swallowing.

  “You didn’t know he was gay? Everyone knows that he’s gay,” Pink replied.

  “But I didn’t—why didn’t I hear anything about it?” Bjorn asked, surprised that his voice had become quiet.

  “Because he didn’t want to make it a big deal,” Pink said. “At least that’s what the thing online said. It was just like, a little tiny comment, maybe fifty words. Basically, it boiled down to him being gay, thinking it wasn’t a big deal and then asking someone something about the game. It was pretty inconsequential, honestly. At least that’s how it seemed he wanted to play this. Since he didn’t make it a big deal, I guess it just, you know, wasn’t.”

  Bjorn shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t I know this?”

  “I don’t know, I thought you did,” Pink said. “Especially ‘cause you’re like, so gay for him and everything. You’ve always been.”

  Bjorn hit him playfully on the arm, rolling his eyes.

  “So what happened after he hit on you?”

  “I told him I wasn’t gay,” Bjorn said. “I told him that I wasn’t gay and I may have freaked out on him a little bit. It wasn’t intentional, but like, he’s someone I look up to so much. It was a little hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that he wanted anything to do with me, you know, like that.”

  “Why? You’re not, like, disgusting or anything.”

  “Thanks, dude,” Bjorn replied, laughing.

  “No, I’m just saying—you get hit on by girls, it only follows that you’d get hit on by guys, right?”

  Bjorn shook his head and shrug his shoulders. His feet were hanging off the edge of the bed, and Pink was looking at him from the one lounge chair in the room. He looked surprisingly presentable, except for his socks—one blue, one green. Pink’s socks were constantly mismatched as part of his signature look. That, and he was careless, in general. It was a good thing that he was otherwise a good-looking man, otherwise he would have probably been very unhappy. At least when it came to women.

  “So it’s awkward now?” Pink asked, glancing at his feet, which Bjorn was staring at.

  “Well, I don’t know if it’s awkward now,” Bjorn said. “I don’t even know if he remembers. All I know is that it confused me, and I don’t think it was supposed to. The fact that he was there, just like, cheering me on, honestly, dude. It’s all I can think of. I can’t think of the fact that we may make it to semifinals or anything like that, because my mind keeps going back to him and I don’t know if that’s okay. It’s probably not okay, I mean, it makes no sense. I don’t know why, either. I keep trying to think about it and I keep coming back to the fact that I’m a fan, but like…”

  “Yeah,” Pink said. “That doesn’t really explain things.”

  “It doesn’t explain why it’s the only thing I can think about,” Bjorn said. “Like, I’m not ashamed of it or anything, but shouldn’t it be a funny footnote on the most important few days of my life?”

  “Yeah, probably,” Pink replied. They were both quiet for a few seconds before Pink spoke again. “Look, what and who you do are none of my business. Like at all. This is a free country and you’re a free man. You can pursue that guy if you want to and I will totally support you. I just—okay, as a personal favor, can I ask you to postpone it until after we’re at least knocked out? We’re never going to make it as far as we can if we don’t have you fully on board. This seems like, I don’t know, a big deal. You know, like a huge deal. So, if this is something you want to pursue, that’s totally fine, and I’ll support you. But can you please hold off? It’s only going to be a few days.”

  Bjorn tried to swallow down the knot that had formed in his throat. “Postpone what? Pursue what? There’s nothing to postpone and there’s nothing to pursue.”

  “Okay, if you say so,” Pink replied. “But can you make sure there’s nothing to postpone and nothing to pursue until after the tournament is over? This is a big deal to all of us, Al. We’re depending on you.”

  “Yeah,” Bjorn said, nodding slowly. “Yeah, okay.”

  Chapter Eight

  Mickey stood outside room 121, wondering if he should knock. It was past midnight and he was drunk. He knew that most of the rest of the teams—the sensible ones, anyway—would be getting in as much sleep as they could. No one could accuse Mickey of being sensible, though. He had asked around until someone had told him where the AlphaChew boys were staying. It wasn’t as though he had to ask around a lot, because everyone was more than willing to give him information. T
hat was one of the perks of how well known he was. One of the lesser, not as good parts, was that everyone now knew that he was looking for AlphaChew’s room. They probably thought that he thought that team was some sort of threat. Which they might be, he wasn’t sure. But that wasn’t why he was wondering if he should knock on their door, drinking the last of the six-pack he had bought at the drug store across the street. No, that wasn’t what it was about at all; it was about Allegiance.

  He couldn’t get him out of his head. All that Mickey could think about, whenever he closed his eyes, were those incredible sparkling blue eyes, his pink lips, the upper one slightly bigger than the lower, his crooked smile. God, what he would give to have those lips wrapped around his cock just one time. Anything. He would give anything. He would even lose the tournament if it meant that Allegiance would suck him off. He shook his head, trying to get that thought out of his head. Syn had been right; his teammates were depending on him, and he was being selfish. Worse than that, he was being selfish over something that would literally never happen. Allegiance was out of reach. All of this was out of reach.

  He took one last swig of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. If he just knocked, there would be no harm in that. Nothing would happen. They might tell him to go away, they might make fun of him for being drunk, and then the story would spread like wildfire. The thing about tournaments was that they were hotbeds of rumors, and Mickey was sure that this one was going to spread the moment that his fist landed on the door. Maybe it was worth it, though. Maybe he just needed to get it out of his system, like Syn had said. Yes, out of his system. His hand hovered near the door as it opened. Mickey’s eyes widened. Allegiance was wearing a white sleeveless t-shirt that was far too small for him, and he was far more muscular than Mickey had expected. Through the thin fabric of the shirt, Mickey could see the lines marking Allegiance’s muscles. Mickey couldn’t be sure, of course he couldn’t be sure, but he also thought that he might have a six pack. He was wearing pants that had been discolored through years of use. Unlike the t-shirt, the pants didn’t cling to his legs, but Mickey could only imagine how strong they were if his abs looked as they did. Allegiance’s skin was incredibly pale, and Mickey didn’t think that he got out much, but it didn’t matter. He was still beautiful, standing there, sleepily rubbing his eye with his fist.

  As soon as his gaze settled on Mickey, his expression changed. His eyes got wider and his mouth opened. He started to stammer something at the same time as Mickey did.

  He had been caught there, standing like a creep, deciding what to do. He knew that he probably stank of beer, and he didn’t look very attractive. Not like Allegiance, who looked amazing even though he had obviously just stumbled out of bed. Mickey considered dropping to his knees then and there. A midnight hotel hallway blowjob: that would be a way to make himself unforgettable.

  It would also be a good way to make himself a creep, he told himself, shaking his head. This guy didn’t want him. He had made it clear that he didn’t want him. Mickey needed to stop kidding himself. He opened his mouth, trying to think of a good excuse, and then Allegiance looked at him and wrapped his arms around him. It was brief, it only lasted for a few seconds, but Allegiance’s arms were wrapped around his neck and he was hanging off him and his skin was on Mickey’s. It was on Mickey’s own skin, warm and soft. He could smell the coconut shampoo in Allegiance’s hair, the aftershave that he used. Then, just like that, the hug was over as Allegiance pulled away from him. For a second, he thought that Allegiance was going to kiss him. That would have been enough to make him melt right then and there, but nothing happened. Allegiance just looked at him as Mickey looked back, those huge blue eyes looking even bigger than usual.

  “I’m sorry,” Mickey finally said. “I didn’t mean to—I—”

  He wanted to ask what the hug had been about, but he didn’t think he could do that. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to do that. If he asked what that had been about, then it may not happen again. Mickey really needed to feel that again, he didn’t want to jeopardize that at all. He didn’t even realize how much he needed that until Allegiance’s arms were wrapped around him, and now he knew that he would never feel normal again until he felt close to Allegiance again.

  It was, Mickey thought with some amusement, the perfect sentence for the way he had behaved himself. Now he definitely couldn’t get rid of this guy. Who was still standing in front of him, saying absolutely nothing.

  Allegiance stammered back, “I-I was going to the vending machine.”

  “Okay,” Mickey said, moving to the side. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

  “No, I—” Allegiance swallowed, looking ahead. “Do you want to come with me?”

  “You want me to go with you to get a drink?”

  Allegiance looked down at the floor. “I mean, if you—if you want to. You totally don’t have to.”

  “I want to,” Mickey replied. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he was grinning.

  ***

  Bjorn hadn’t been sure what he was doing when he had seen Atlanta stand in front of. He thought it was a dream at first, then he threw his arms around him without thinking. Atlanta smelled like beer and like cologne, and Bjorn didn’t understand why he had hugged him in the first place. He had wanted to do more than just throw his arms around him, but he didn’t understand why. He couldn’t just do something like that, could he? There was something about Atlanta that made Bjorn question everything about himself. It made him question his motivations, it made him question his loyalty to his teammates. What was it that Pink had said? He could postpone it. Not that there was anything to postpone, this was nothing. Bjorn knew it was nothing. He didn’t understand the hug, he didn’t understand why he had asked Atlanta to go with him, but he knew that it was nothing.

  It had to be nothing.

  Bjorn had never liked men. Yes, Atlanta was objectively a very attractive man, but that didn’t mean that Bjorn had to be attracted to him. He had never been attracted to a man before, and he didn’t understand why it would start happening now, all of a sudden. At the most inconvenient time. Luckily, Atlanta said nothing as they walked down the hall to the vending machine. That was kind of good, because Bjorn wasn’t really very sure what he was supposed to talk to him about. But it was also not good, because Bjorn was worried that he was making a fool of himself after asking Atlanta to go with him to the vending machine and then saying absolutely nothing.

  He stopped in front of the two vending machines, one for drinks and one for candy. He stared at them for far too long before he stuck his hand in his pocket, looking for the change he’s shoved in there in the dark room. He didn’t want to disturb Pink by turning on the light, so he wasn’t sure how much change he had gotten out of the pocket of his backpack. In truth, he wasn’t hungry or thirsty; he’d just needed to get out of bed. He needed to get out of there. He had to get his feelings in order, because the moment that Pink had told him to postpone it—whatever it was—everything had changed. He had told him that it was nothing, but it was something. He knew it was something. He just didn’t want it to be. He felt it in his core, inside his heart, and as Atlanta watched him, he knew that he had to say something about it.

  But what could he say? Atlanta had been the one that had been standing at his door in the middle of the night. If anyone else had done that, it would have been weird, creepy. But not him. He had welcomed it. He had wanted it. Atlanta was obviously drunk, and he seemed to always be drunk when he sought Bjorn out. The thought filled him with panic. The moment that Atlanta sobered up he would stop coming to him. When that happened, things would change. Then he may never get a chance to… well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted a chance to do, exactly. He just knew that he wanted a chance to do it. He knew that he needed to do it, whatever it was, because if he didn’t get a chance to do it, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

  “Are you doing alright there, pet?”

  Bjorn swallowed. Had Atl
anta just called him a pet name? He had, he thought. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if that was just the relationship that they had. But that was the thing: they didn’t have a relationship. There was nothing between them. Nothing could happen between them, and Bjorn didn’t even understand why he would want something to happen between them in the first place.

  “Al,” Atlanta said, putting his hand on Bjorn’s shoulder, sending a million electrical signals through his brain and all over his body.

  “Bjorn,” he blurted.

  Atlanta raised his eyebrows. “What?”

  “My name,” he said, swallowing and feeling a little foolish. He could have just introduced himself. “I don’t mind being called Allegiance, but my name is Bjorn.”

  “Your name is Bjorn?” Atlanta said, a smile dawning on his face and making his eyes glimmer. “I thought you were American.”

  “My mom moved here with me after the divorce,” he said. “So I’m the only one of us that has a Swedish name. But I’m the worst at Swedish. I’m like, the worst Swede. I’m basically American.”

  Atlanta nodded. “I think Bjorn is an amazing, unique name,” he said. “It suits you.”

  “Thank you,” Bjorn said, feeling himself blush. He wanted to ask Atlanta what his real name was, but that wasn’t information that a person could just ask for. Especially not when it came to the best e-sports player in the world. He already knew that Atlanta was called Michael, of course, he wasn’t so out of the loop that he didn’t know his name. Just his sexual orientation. But he still needed explicit permission to call him by anything other than his username. “Your name, is, uh, Michael, right?”

  He tried to say it as if he didn’t know that his name was, in fact, a hundred percent Michael. The last thing he wanted to come across as was a stalker.

  “Oh, God, please no,” Atlanta said. “Only my father calls me Michael. Sometimes, my granddad does, too.”

  Then he stuck his hand out. Bjorn took it, shaking it, marveling at how strong the handshake was, at how lean Atlanta’s fingers were.