“Go ahead and roll damage,” she said. “That’s a d6 plus your strength bonus.”
Felix rolled and did some quick mental math. “Nine.”
“Awesome!” Jo crossed out a line in a notebook where she was tracking combat. “That’s a solid hit—enough to take him down. Do you want to describe the attack?”
Fuck it. He was invested now. Might as well go all out.
He got to his feet, describing and acting out a one-two punch: left jab into right cross. He watched Jo’s eyes travel down and back up his body. She bit her lip.
Let her look, came an urge from deep in his gut. Let her like what she sees.
11
Jo’s group text with her California friends completely blew up over the next few days. One person (usually Max) would send a random text that said “INDI-CON” with a long string of exclamation points, and everyone else would reply with whichever excited gif suited their mood. Then there were the vital discussions about which games they’d signed up for, their dinner reservation for Friday night, and, of course, Felix. Only Aida (and probably Trey, because those two shared everything) knew about her feelings for him, but Jo gave everyone a rundown of her volunteering and a heads-up that he was tagging along.
Everyone said all the right things about being excited to meet him, but as the day of the road trip approached, Jo couldn’t stop her growing worry. Sure, Felix had seemed to enjoy their sample game once he’d gotten into the swing of things, but Indi-Con was different. She was about to throw him headfirst into two straight days of gaming, plus make him meet her closest friends all at once. What if it was too much? What if they walked into the convention center and he immediately regretted coming? What if this whole thing was her worst idea ever?
Jo did her best to keep those thoughts at bay by busying herself with preparations for the trip. On Wednesday, she went through her MnM backpack and character sheets to make sure she had everything she needed for her games. On Thursday, she treated herself to a manicure and dropped off her spare key with Vanessa so she could catsit for Merry. Then, she packed.
Jo took packing very seriously. First, her usual con attire: her softest leggings, nerdy T-shirts she’d cut into crop tops, comfy shoes and socks, and her trusty jean jacket. Into a second bag went her pajamas, hair dryer, curling iron, makeup, toiletries, emergency tampons, and extra underwear. And a book. Just in case. A few other necessities—her MnM backpack of course, plus two tote bags full of car snacks, and a flat of water bottles—and she was ready to go.
She loaded everything into her trunk to make sure there was room for whatever Felix was bringing. As long as he packed lighter than she did, they’d be good. If he didn’t? God help them.
Finally, she cuddled in bed with Merry until the pre-con jitters settled. She spent the night dreaming of rolling dice, hugging Aida, and adventuring alongside a dragonkin fighter with a wicked right cross.
When she pulled up to Felix’s address the next morning, he was waiting for her. A rush of relief hit her that he hadn’t backed out at the last minute. He was even smiling, as if he were happy to see her. She smiled back, waving through the windshield.
His house was single story, with pale yellow siding, a bright green door, and a few stone steps leading to a fenced-in porch. A porch where Felix was standing in charcoal lounge pants, a plain black T-shirt, and his Rutgers hoodie with a backpack over one shoulder and a duffel bag over the other. He held two drink tumblers in his hands. His hair was damp, his jaw unshaven.
“Jesus Christ, dude,” she murmured to herself as he jogged over. She popped open the hatchback and heard his high-pitched chuckle as he tossed in his bags.
“Think you brought enough stuff?” he teased as he settled in next to her, juggling the tumblers. Several additional swear words flew through Jo’s mind as the heady scent of a freshly showered Felix hit her square in the face.
“Good morning to you too,” she replied with an ease she hoped hid her sudden horniness. “Did you bring coffee?”
“I should’ve asked how you take yours,” he said, “but by the time I realized that, I figured you’d already be driving.”
“You’ve taken up your hero’s calling today, my friend. I’ll drink anything that’s not plain, unsweetened black,” she said.
“So regular con leche or vanilla?” he said, holding up the tumblers. “Café con leche is kind of like a strong latte.”
“Regular.”
“Thank God. This one’s yours.” He indicated the red tumbler with gold polka dots and set it in the cupholder for her. He held onto a yellow one covered in bees and daisies and put his seatbelt on.
“Last chance to back out,” Jo said, resting her palm on the gearshift. Her heart clenched with anticipation.
“No way,” he replied with a laugh. The click of his seatbelt in its buckle punctuated his statement. “I’m game if you are.”
“Was that a pun?”
“Yes.”
Her confidence renewed, Jo reversed out of the driveway and eased onto the street. Her phone chirped robotic directions to I-35 North.
“I like your place,” she commented as they pulled away from it.
“It’s Tito’s house,” he said. “And these mugs were Lita’s. She adored her café. Taught me how to make con leche, americano, cortado, just about every way there is to drink coffee in Spain, plus some of her own concoctions.”
Jo lifted her coffee in toast. “To Lita. I’m honored to partake of her legacy.” She took a sip and caught Felix’s gaze momentarily when she put the tumbler back in the cupholder. What she glimpsed there was enough to make sparks flash like lightning all over her skin. She shivered and quickly bumped up the heat so Felix would think she was cold.
“First of all, that’s delicious,” she said. “And second of all, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he said. He pulled sunglasses out of his hoodie pocket and slid them on. Jo fought to keep her eyes on the road.
“Are your parents in the picture?”
“How do you mean?”
“You’ve never talked about them, and when Tito needed somebody last year, it was you who showed up. I wondered if maybe your parents weren’t part of your life.” Suddenly worried she was overstepping, she added, “Sorry, is that too personal?”
“No, it’s fine,” he said evenly. “I have a decent enough relationship with my parents. A few years ago, they retired to Spain, so I don’t see them much. They did come out here when Lita was sick, but they went back shortly after the funeral. They talked about taking Tito back to Spain with them, but I’d already decided to stay here. He would never leave the place where his wife is buried anyway.”
“I hope I find that someday. That kind of love,” Jo breathed, barely aware of what she was saying until the words were already out.
Felix turned toward her, his expression inscrutable behind his sunglasses. After a moment, he said, “Me too.”
