Single Player

Thank you for downloading this Pocket Star Books eBook.

Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Pocket Star Books and Simon & Schuster.

or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com

For Herman, always

Matthew Abrams leaned back
in his chair and glanced around his cubicle, then back at the time displayed at the top of his computer screen. Still half an hour to go in his workday. Somebody ought to do a study on why five o'clock took longer to arrive on a Friday afternoon rather than any other day of the week, because today had definitely been five times longer than a normal day. Seemed like he'd been checking the clock every five minutes since lunch. And yeah, he could get more work done, but he'd checked everything off his to-do list that was actually
essential.
The “wouldn't it be nice?” items could wait until Monday, or whenever.

The lack of sunlight didn't help the atmosphere in here. The programming and design teams at PI Games both kept their rooms fairly dim, preferring to work by the light of their computer screens as opposed to the harsh fluorescent overhead bulbs of the office building. The owner, Will, had tried to replace them with more natural LED bulbs, not liking his whole office building to look “like a damn cave,” as he said, but he was a gamer himself from way back and understood the appeal of a dark room and a blue-lit screen.

But Matthew wasn't the dark-room kind of guy. He kept a small desk lamp with a sunlight-mimicking bulb, and now it flooded his desk with a warm glow, keeping his solar-powered bobblehead happily moving to its own mechanical rhythm. Working in the dark all day meant he lost his sense of time. Each morning, he passed from the brilliant Florida sun into the dark air-conditioned office building, and then emerged again at the end of the day, back into the heat and sweltering humidity. It was somewhat of a surreal existence, and right now, he really wanted that sunshine.

Bored, he got up and wandered out of the programming room in search of his friend Isabel. The design room was across the hall, and Matthew pushed open the door to the designers' darkened cubicle farm. Well, more like a cubicle family farm, since there were only four members on the team. Isabel Suarez, the design manager of PI Games, was—as usual—hard at work at her desk, her brown curly hair pulled back in a low ponytail, headphones over her ears giving a clear “do not disturb” message that Matthew had no intention of following. He leaned slightly over the cubicle wall, then a little farther, and when she still didn't look up, he waved his hand in front of her screen. She jumped, made a face, and then pulled her headphones off. “What?”

“Wanted to see if you had plans this weekend.” He folded his arms on the gray cubicle wall. “I'm going to do some classic shooter co-ops and thought you might want in.” If there was any way to pull Isabel away from work, it was inviting her to game.

Isabel pushed her yellow-tinted glasses up into her hair. “Tonight?”

“No, tomorrow. I'm working tonight.”

Isabel looked at him askance. “You're working late? Why do I doubt that?”

Matthew put a hand over his heart. “Isabel, I am offended that you think so little of me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh please. You're a nine-to-five programmer, Matthew, and we both know it.”

“Guilty as charged.” He shrugged. There was no shame in avoiding the compulsive workaholic qualities of his coworkers. “At least I have time to have lunch with my coworkers on Fridays, which you missed today because apparently you can't pull yourself away from your work.” He raised an eyebrow at her and gave her his most devilish grin.

“I know, I know.” She sighed. “I couldn't pull myself away. Next week, I promise. So what, you're busy tonight but it isn't work?”

“Not here.” Matthew shook his head. “I'm working at Gigi's tonight. I picked up a shift. Gaming's tomorrow night, though, if you want in.”

Isabel took out her phone and tapped through a few screens. “Nothing in the calendar for this weekend. I might be free. I'll let you know.” She tossed her phone back into her bag and pulled her glasses back down over her eyes.

So quick to slip back into work mode. He couldn't relate. “Hang on, hang on. Why don't you and Caleb come by the club tonight? I'll mix you up something good.” Although he spent a lot of time with both Isabel and Caleb here at PI Games, where Caleb was creative manager, he seldom saw either of them outside the office. Matthew and Isabel had only grown closer over the last year after she'd met Caleb at DiceCon and he'd joined the PI Games team; shortly after, Caleb and Isabel had started dating out in the open, and everyone agreed they made an enviably adorable couple. He wanted to hang out with them more, but Isabel was always working.

Isabel looked back up at him. “Matthew, you know I'm not a nightclub kind of person. And I'm probably going to work late tonight. At my
real job
.” She looked pointedly past him at the clock on the wall. “Especially if I keep getting interrupted before I can get my work done.”

“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Just trying to get you to go have some fun.”

“You have enough fun for the both of us.” She smiled, pulling her headphones back on. “I'll text you tomorrow if I want to do some gaming.”

Matthew wandered back out into the brightly lit hallway, and then again into the dark programming room, where he settled back at his desk and skimmed over his coding from the day just to have something to do. Too bad most of his friends had such an unflappable work ethic. It was hard to get them to goof off with him. Not that he didn't like his job, of course. PI Games was a fantastic place to work, and being a programmer was awesome, but it was hard motivating himself to do more than was expected of him. That sort of thing was for overachievers like Isabel. He worked, he wrote immaculate code, he met his deadlines, and then he went home.

Lately, he'd been picking up more and more bartending shifts at Gigi's to earn a few extra bucks and stay engaged in the social scene, and he was looking forward to heading back there tonight. Tending bar felt like being back in college again after too much adulthood, especially since a bunch of his shifts ended in an after-hours party somewhere. Even if he was almost thirty, there was nothing wrong with maintaining his youthful enthusiasm. He leaned back in his chair and stared down his clock. Five minutes to go.

Silas Benson straightened his
tie in the mirror and made a face. This person in the mirror looked good, but it didn't look like him.

“Stop making faces. You look great.” Desiree slapped his hands away from the necktie and fixed it herself. “I swear to God, if it weren't for me, you'd be wearing that old UF T-shirt and those jeans with the holes in them.”

“Those clothes are comfortable.” Silas pulled away to check himself out in the mirror again, not used to the slim-fit trousers or button-down shirt. “You make me look like a hipster, Dee. This tweed blazer?” He held the offending article open to the sides. “I look completely pretentious.”

“You
are
completely pretentious.” She looked him up and down. “And this outfit is fabulous. I told you when I picked it out for you, and I'm telling you again, this is what's in vogue right now. I'm not bringing you to Gigi's looking like a schlub.”

Silas poked at his hair, which Desiree had styled into some kind of artful disarray. “I don't know why you suddenly need to turn me into your own personal Ken doll. You put a dress code on the invitation, you drag me out shopping after work, and now you show up to check up on me. I'm going to get a complex.”

“Maybe I was deprived growing up. I don't know.” Desiree scooted in front of him to check her own hair in his mirror, which only worked because she was barely five foot two and he was almost six feet tall. Silas didn't even know why she bothered to check her hair, since she had her black curls cut close to her scalp and that style didn't seem to require much maintenance. “I told you this place is fancy. And it's my birthday, so I want everyone dressed to impress, even you.” She turned to the side to check the way she looked from that angle. She wore a gold snug-fitted dress that, as she had patiently explained to Silas when she dragged him shopping, “brings out the rich undertones in my mahogany skin.” He wasn't sure what any of that meant, but it looked nice.

“I wish you'd stop trying to turn me into every gay stereotype you know.” Deciding he'd done all he could for his appearance, Silas stepped away from the mirror and left Desiree to primp. “Couldn't you have done this at your own house?”

“I did do this at my own house. And now I'm doing it here.” She made a kissing face at him in the mirror. “If it weren't for me, you'd probably still be at work.”

“Yes, getting meaningful things done. Not wasting the evening.” Silas stepped away from the mirror and adjusted his jacket again. If Dee weren't his friend, he'd be happily staying home tonight. He wasn't completely averse to social interaction, but he preferred it on his terms, and generally in small groups rather than a nightclub party.

“Are you saying my birthday party is a waste?” Dee turned and fixed him with a glare. “Watch your mouth, Silas Benson, or I'm not going to hook you up with a hot guy.”

“God, Dee, please don't try and set me up with someone.” Silas sat down on the edge of his bed and sighed. Every so often, Dee had this resurgence of “Silas needs a relationship,” where she'd introduce him to every gay or bi man she could think of. It wasn't pretty. “I told you, I'm too busy to date right now.”

“Yeah, because you're determined to work yourself to death.” Dee stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Come on. Let's go have fun. You've heard of fun, right? It's that thing you never have.”

Silas set his jaw. He may not be perfect at understanding sarcasm, but he'd been friends with Dee long enough to recognize her special brand of it. “You're hilarious, you know that?”

Dee flashed him a beaming smile. “And cute, too. Come on. Get some shoes on. If we're lucky, maybe we'll both end up with dates tonight.” Under her breath, she added something that he didn't quite catch, except for “could use one.” Hopefully she was referring to herself, because he was doing just fine, thank you very much. He didn't need a date to feel fulfilled with his life. Relationships were a distraction from the meaningful work he was doing, the same way this evening out was a distraction from everything else he
should
be doing on a Friday night. Like research. But Dee had been his friend for years, and the least he could do for her twenty-fifth birthday was accompany her to the ritzy club where she insisted on having her party.

“I suppose I'm stuck being your designated driver tonight, too.” Silas pulled on a pair of Converse before Dee could notice and harass him about his choice of footwear.

“No, I'm calling us a cab. I don't want to rob you of the opportunity to have some drunken hookup. I won't be your excuse to be a wallflower.” Dee stepped back and examined her makeup. “All right. I'm gorgeous. Are you ready to go?” She scanned him, eyes landing on his shoes, and then frowned. “Well, I guess they aren't as bad as what you could be wearing. Come on. Taxi will be here in a few minutes.”

Gigi's was a tapestry of lights, colors, and blaring music when the cab pulled up in front, and Silas already wished he could be back home getting his research done, or, if his brain was too fried to be of real use, curled up with a good book and a cup of tea. Honestly, he didn't see the point in evenings like this. He was going to get together with a bunch of Dee's friends, who he didn't really know, and they were going to talk about their jobs and who they were dating. People would drink heavily and blame the alcohol for socially inappropriate contact with each other. Inevitably, they'd attract strangers, and some of Dee's friends would go home with those strangers. As someone who drank only rarely and took strangers into his bed even less frequently, Silas didn't see the appeal.

But he loved Dee, had loved her ever since they'd met back in graduate school at the University of Florida. He wasn't a man who made friends easily, and certainly not with outgoing steamrollers like Dee. Despite his standoffish nature to many people, he'd found her brash no-nonsense attitude refreshing. She was someone who said exactly what she thought, and since he was someone who occasionally had a hard time with social cues, her bluntness was often a gift. Plus, she was a good conversationalist. She also didn't stand in awe of him for finishing a PhD by twenty-two or becoming a biomedical engineer, but nor did she mock his preference for work and solitude over socializing. Okay, maybe just a little, but he knew beneath her good-natured ribbing was the most loyal and true of friends. So if she wanted to go out for her birthday to a fancy club where he would have little to do but smile, he was going to accompany her to that club and smile as much as she wanted him to.

That decision felt less and less pleasant as he approached the front doors and began to experience the bass line thrumming not just in his ears but throughout his entire body.

When Dee showed her ID to the bouncer, he checked the list, then stepped aside for them to pass. “How did you get us in?” Silas had to bend next to her to be heard over the music.

“I'm on the list, baby. This party is getting bottle service tonight.” She winked at him, her sparkly eye shadow catching the light as they passed through the foyer into the main club itself.

Silas's first impression was sensory overload, and he would have stopped right inside the door if Dee hadn't taken his hand and dragged him forward. People were already dancing, the hot press of bodies filling the dance floor in the center of the club, and Silas felt claustrophobic even as Dee steered them clear of that nightmare. She kept going, all the way through the main room and into a side enclave where a bunch of people had already gathered—rather than all four walls and a door, they were separated from the main club by a half wall—separate enough that Silas felt like he could relax. The music was still audible, but not so loud that they had to talk at a higher-than-normal volume to be heard. Plus, a private area meant no press of people. He exhaled in relief. Maybe this evening wouldn't be so bad after all.

That changed, of course, once Dee's friends moved in to make conversation. He had known her long enough to recognize and acknowledge some of these people, but it wasn't like they all hung out together or anything. He nodded and gave friendly but perfunctory answers to the introductions and inquiries about how he was doing, ignoring his inherent dislike of small talk. Many of them complimented his outfit, so he had to grudgingly admit that Dee had been right in choosing this style for him.

When the third partygoer complimented his jacket, Dee wrapped her arm around Silas's waist and gave him a squeeze. “See, I told you you looked hot. I shouldn't have made you look so good. Now everyone's going to be ogling you and I'm not going to get nearly the attention I deserve in this dress.”

“I'm sure you're going to get all the attention you can handle.” Silas looked at the crowd visible over the half wall separating them from the rest of the club. “The shark tank is out there, if you're interested.”

“We'll get there. Don't you worry.” She released him to go order her first drink from the server, who had set up an entire array of mixers and glasses at one end of their room.

The private room had a comfortable seating area, so he found himself a spot on one of the couches. There were a dozen people at Dee's party, which was about as large a group as he cared to deal with, so he focused on smiling pleasantly and avoiding conversation. He had just pulled out his phone when Dee flopped down next to him and pushed the device away.

“Come on, Silas. Be social.” She gestured with a brightly colored martini that she barely managed not to spill. “Or if you can't be social, at least don't be on your phone all night. Why don't you order a drink?”

“I might.” Silas glanced at the server, who was pouring everyone else their drinks. “This evening can't be cheap for you, Dee.”

“I only turn twenty-five once.” Dee shrugged. “I figured, might as well go all out.” She patted his knee. “Try to have fun tonight, will you? It's my birthday.”

“All right.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “For you, I will.”

“Good.” She kissed him on the cheek, then pushed back up to her feet, surprisingly graceful and agile in her high heels.

Silas considered the bar. Just because he didn't spend all his weekends wasted didn't mean that he was a complete teetotaler. Alcohol's qualities as a social lubricant were not to be underestimated, for better or worse, and he was always a bit cautious about drinking in new situations where he would be tempted to overdo it. Best to spend most of the evening stone-cold sober, and indulge in a drink or two later, when he'd gotten a sense of the crowd. His social hang-ups were minimal in most situations, and he'd learned to compensate well for them in more challenging situations like tonight's party, but too much alcohol too early would do him no favors in that department.

He kept his phone in his pocket and instead struck up a humdrum conversation with one of Dee's coworkers. Their discussion of the various new buildings going up in the area—a yawner by anyone's standards—was mercifully interrupted by Dee waving to get everyone's attention. She pulled over a chair as if to stand on it, thought better of that in her heels, and instead just held it with one hand still raised for emphasis.

“Cake!” she announced. “Y'all, I almost forgot the cake!”

Silas didn't know if it was common for swanky bars and nightclubs to bring you a cake, but Dee had apparently arranged it, because their server showed up a few minutes later with a large sheet cake decorated with colorful swirls of frosting and flowers, “Happy Birthday Dee” spelled out in huge letters and bookended by bouquets of frosting balloons. The server was flanked by two other servers just to transport it all. He got to his feet to get a better look.

“Dee, how much cake did you get?” Silas ogled the monstrosity that was now filling the entire table, where all the drinks had been cleared away to side tables to make room.

“I got enough for everyone!” Dee giggled, obviously well on her way to being drunk.

The servers began slicing and serving cake at an alarming rate, and before Silas knew it, cake wasn't being just shared among their group, but passed out into the club at large. He watched as people from the main dance floor came in to grab cake and schmooze. Before long, the room was far too stuffed for his comfort. Dee apparently wanted to make friends, because she was welcoming everyone inside. So much for a private room. When a loud couple collapsed down on the couch next to him, animatedly describing their favorite type of cake, he said a quiet “no way” to himself and made his escape from the “private” room. He squeezed through the crowd and headed to the most deserted place he could see: the bar.

The man tending bar looked up and smiled when Silas sat down. Silas hoped it was a genuine smile, not the friendly forced-on smile of the paid-to-be-sociable service industry, but a smile that showed he sympathized with Silas's emotional state. “Getting a little crazy in there?”