THE KING OF THE GOLD SYSTEM GAMING

THE WIND

The wind howls outside, screaming into the silence, and I crawl into bed and draw my sheets tightly around myself.

I squeeze my eyes shut and will my mind to think calm, happy thoughts: my parents, video games, those little Snorlax-shaped doughnuts from the shop downtown.

But no matter how hard I try, the tension never leaves. I just end up tossing and turning until my sheets become a tangled mess around my hot body. It takes another two hours before I admit defeat and slip from bed to grab my gaming laptop. Armed with a cup of warmed honey milk, I create a fortress under my sheets and load up a life sim, losing myself in a game where I cancontrol the lives of others so I don’t have to think about the lack of stability in my own.

God-fucking-dammit.

I eye the waifish woman with thinly veiled annoyance as she slides into the booth across from me and tosses me a shy smile.

“I take it my grandmother is not coming.”

Her smile falters briefly, but she’s quick to school it with a strained giggle. “It seems we’ve been set up.”

I’ve been set up.

Her? I doubt it.

“I’m Jessica.”

“Herson.”

Silence spreads out, and she presses her glossy lips together as she tucks a lock of black hair behind her ear. Her eyes dart around the restaurant, and I begin to feel like a little bit of an ass. It’s not like it’s this girl’s fault she got sent here.

On second assessment, she’s not bad looking. Her breasts are smaller than I normally go for, but her face is round and pretty.

I sigh and pour her a glass of water.

“Thank you.” She reaches forward and takes a sip. “I’m sorry about this.”

I wave her off, giving up on my frustration. “It’s fine.”

A waitress comes over and takes our order before popping a breadbasket on the table. Jessica dips a piece into some olive oil before taking a dainty bite.

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you do?”

“I play video games.”

“Oh. Not hobbies, I meant for work. What do you do?”

Okay, now I legitimately feel bad for the girl. I understand that a blind date means you don’t know anything about the other person, but this is just plain cruel. To both of us.

“I play video games, that’s my job.”

Her brows furrow. “Like you work for a gaming company?”

Maybe I should order a drink. This is going to be a long date.

“No, as in I live-stream online and post content to socials.”

“Of video games?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” I see the wheels turning in her mind, and she course corrects, giving me a glass smile. “That’s cool that you get to do something you love.”

I hold back a sigh and offer her my attempt at a smile instead. “What about you?”

“I’m a business analyst at Brock Meyers.”

There is a clear glint in her eye and a warmth in her voice. It’s obvious she loves her job and wants to talk about it, but I have absolutely no interest in hearing about what a business analyst does. There is a reason I dropped out of college and abandoned my economics degree.

“Nice.”

I see a flash of disappointment at my monotone response.

It takes everything in me not to groan out loud. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be set up on a blind date. And yet, here I am, and now I have a girl who is getting all butthurt because I’m not interested in delving into her entire life story.

This is why I told my family I didn’t want to do this. But did they listen? No.

No, instead, mypo poseems to have colluded with my mom to subject me to torture.

Just great.

The waitress returns with our meals, and I busy myself by investing all my attention on the chicken piccata before me. La Sienna isn’t the fanciest Italian restaurant, but they have pretty good food—and right now, it is my saving grace.

Jessica picks at her ravioli and continues to try to engage me in more small talk, but it’s clear that we really don’t have much in common outside of our families somewhat knowing each other. Which is the other reason why I can’t just abandon this date or act like a dick—it’ll get back to both of our families, and I’ll get chewed out if I do anything that makes my family look bad or disrespectful.

I practically pounce for the bill when the waitress returns to clear up our empty plates.

“Thank you for paying,” Jessica comments as I tuck my credit card back into my wallet.

I give her a shrug. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Yeah, I guess this was sort of a fail,” she snorts, sliding out of the booth. She tries to mask it, but there is a bitterness in her tone.

“I hope the rest of your blind dates go better.”

“You, too.”

Not if I can help it.

“Thanks.” I give her a nod as she walks away.