Even Odds (2 page)

“They're calling references, and that's a good sign. Let me know, okay? After DiceCon. Don't call me during DiceCon just to make me jealous that you're having a great time and I'm stuck here on the road.”

Caleb smiled. “Wish you were coming, too. Can't believe I'm going without you. Who's going to be my wingman?”

Henry laughed. “Like you ever needed me to get laid at DiceCon. I think I helped repel women instead.”

“That must be it.” Caleb tucked the phone against his shoulder and turned back to his current sculpture, which he hoped would someday resemble the mermaid it was supposed to be. Right now it just looked like a pile of bike parts. “I should get back to this so I can get out of here at a decent hour. I'll talk to you soon.”

After hanging up with Henry, Caleb delayed returning to his project long enough to check his email on his phone. Nothing new. Sure, they probably wouldn't offer him a position by email, but it didn't hurt to hope. At least PI Games was going to be at DiceCon, so he could do a little reconnaissance of his own and meet some of the people he'd be working with.

If he got the job.

He'd meant what he said to Henry: he was ready for a fresh start. He'd been ready to move for a while, if he was honest with himself. After their company had folded, he'd actually taken his parents up on their pressure to give up this “nonsense” and get a real job. But six months as a legal assistant was enough to suck the soul out of anybody. In the three months since he'd quit, all his phone calls and visits with them were underlain with a current of disapproval, the “you're wasting your life” unspoken but always present. If he got this job with PI Games, maybe they'd finally get off his case about making something with his life. Sure, it was a job in the art field, which they'd never enjoyed, but it was a job with a steady paycheck. Getting fifteen hundred miles away from his mother's judgmental frown was just a bonus.

Florida could be a fresh start for him. He could put his failed business, failed relationships, failed life behind him, and start anew.

He glanced up at the clock again, then back at his sculpture. He could spend another hour here on this mermaid, head home, shower, and still be on the road by three o'clock to beat Boston's rush-hour traffic. Pulling open the door to the storage unit, he let in the bitterly cold air to ventilate his tiny workshop. Then he slid his welding mask onto his face and fired up the torch, turning the blue flame onto his sculpture. Maybe he could get the tail right before he left.

Isabel watched the endless
parade of bags circle on the luggage carousel, waiting for hers with a thrum of low-grade anxiety that she always felt in this situation. Even though no airline had ever lost her bags, she kept expecting it, remembering her mother's preference to pack everything into a carry-on rather than trust strangers with their belongings. Maybe she should have done the same, even though she generally resisted adopting her mother's anxious behaviors. But taking her Hitachi Magic Wand in a carry-on was risky, a guarantee that her bags would be searched in front of all her coworkers and the giant vibrator unearthed for all to see; that thought alone had been enough to make her risk sending all her belongings to Sri Lanka, or wherever lost bags ended up. Now, standing in her growing tension, she considered that maybe it would have been worth risking the embarrassment of a public search to ensure her bag would arrive safely.

Just when she'd resigned herself to purchasing all new clothes and toiletries in Boston, her bag slid into view, a
Legend of Zelda
Triforce luggage tag tied to the handle for easy identification. All the tension left her in a rush and she tugged the bag off the luggage carousel. She was a jittery mess. Maybe that last cup of coffee on an empty stomach had been a bad idea. Unable to sleep on the plane, she'd opted for caffeine to keep her awake, and the extra jolt on top of her normal two morning cups was making her feel like a live wire.

Matthew snagged his suitcase from behind where Isabel's had been on the carousel. “That's the last of it, right?”

“This is it for me.” Isabel patted her bag, then looked over at Dan, who nodded, shouldering his backpack.

“Lloyd went to call the shuttle.” Dan tapped Lloyd's suitcase with his foot.

As if on cue, Lloyd reappeared. “There's a shuttle already on its way over. You got your makeup bag, Isabel?” He flashed her a smile, his mouth a bit too broad for his face, giving her the illusion that he might have an extra row of teeth like a shark.

“Right in here, along with all my lingerie and sex toys.” Her own smile was thin, no teeth, the kind of smile she hoped said
Don't fuck with me.
The line between “I'm just teasing” and “I'm being a passive-aggressive blowhard” was difficult to identify with Lloyd sometimes. He bantered with her like the others, but there was a sharp undercurrent, a vinegar tone to his teasing. He made her feel defensive, and she hated feeling defensive. If he were a video-game opponent, she'd destroy him, but he was her coworker, and making waves would undermine her professional reputation. If she occasionally imagined him walking into a glass door or getting a bad case of crabs, well, no one had to know she wasn't
totally
professional.

Boston's Logan Airport shouldn't be as busy as it was for a Thursday afternoon, but either DiceCon was a bigger draw than Isabel had anticipated or there was some other reason for the millions of people who also seemed to be trying to reach hotel shuttle pickup. Behind her, Dan was spewing a continuous wave of low-grade profanity that finally made Isabel turn around.

“Are you all right?” She'd never seen him like this. Normally Dan was a mellow, happy-go-lucky picture of composure.

“I get a little claustrophobic in crowds like this.” His smile looked like a grimace. “Need some fresh air.”

“You spend every weekend clubbing,” Matthew pointed out. “How is this any different?”

Dan gave him a dubious look. “It's completely different. At the club, there's music, hot girls are grinding on me, and I have alcohol.”

Matthew shrugged. “Fair enough.”

What passed for fresh air in Boston in March hit Isabel like a wall of ice as they stepped out onto the curb. “Goddamn it, it's cold out here.” Glad she'd thrown a jacket in her bag, she pulled it on and zipped it up, but it did little to block out the wind. She should have brought a much bigger jacket. Maybe a parka. Something with down or fleece or whatever they used in Alaska to stay warm.

“I'm freezing my fucking scalp off.” Matthew started digging in his bag and finally emerged with a black knit hat that he pulled onto his head. “I'd better get laid for this.”

“I'm sure whoever you bring back to the hotel room will think you're sexy even with a freezer-burned scalp.” Isabel shoved her hands in her pockets. Maybe the hotel store sold gloves. “I wouldn't pee outdoors, though, or you might not end up with anything to get laid
with.
”

Matthew looked stricken. “Fuck, Isabel, don't say something like that. Wouldn't that be just my luck? I'd have to spend the weekend actually working.”

Lloyd snorted. “Speak for yourself.” He exchanged a look with Dan, who was staring up the road waiting for the shuttle bus, blithely unconcerned with the cold in his T-shirt. “We men have needs, and I'm not going to spend one more minute working than I have to. Well, maybe working on some cute Boston chick.” He made a lewd up-and-down gesture with his hand.

“Hey, man, there are females present.” Matthew threw an arm around Isabel and dragged her in close, his grip affectionate. “She doesn't need to be subjected to our depravity.”

His words were teasing, but Isabel bristled. This is what she'd wanted, though. It was better just to be sexless and professional, treated like another one of the guys, if she wanted to be taken seriously. She'd made that mistake at her last job at Pixel Dream Games, thinking she could be a woman in this industry without making some concessions, but that had ended in disaster. She was not going to make the same mistakes again, even if it forced her into this boring, “never let my hair down” image that sometimes chafed.

Eventually, the shuttle for the DoubleTree hotel pulled up in front, and after loading their bags into the cargo hold, Isabel was safely ensconced in a warm vehicle with her coworkers.
Very
ensconced: the hotel shuttle was completely full. She knew DiceCon was a big deal, but it didn't feel real until she started to see the signs of geek life all around her: gamer T-shirts and sweatshirts abounded on the shuttle. At least they were presenters and got to arrive early for the preshow setup, so they wouldn't need to fight the morning crowds at the convention itself.

As the shuttle drove through the streets, Isabel peered out the window at the tall buildings. She hadn't expected the tightness of the city, the claustrophobic sensation of being surrounded. Tampa was just as populous, but with the flat horizon, it seemed more sprawling, less congested, somehow. Perhaps because PI Games' offices were on the very outskirts of the city, and she didn't venture into its depths very often, but Boston was a completely different animal that loomed on all sides. Maybe that was giving her this sense of underlying anxiety, or maybe it was just nerves about the convention itself, or about the
StarCraft II
tournament in which she'd be competing on Friday.

Isabel shook off the thought. She knew it wasn't the tournament making her stomach churn. That kind of anxiety she could handle. It wasn't about her body, or her looks, or the fact that she was a woman. Once the game was under way, it was all about performance. She loved the heady rush of competition however it came, the focused desire to win. Prizes were secondary to the adrenaline of the chase.

After a harrowing trip full of twists and turns, impossible one-way streets, double parking, and pedestrians everywhere (didn't they know it was freezing out?), the hotel shuttle driver pulled up in front of the DoubleTree. A concierge with a large luggage cart met them, and after a shuffle with the luggage they stepped inside the capacious lobby.

At least there was one advantage to being the only woman on this trip: no having to share a room. The guys were going to have to share. Or so Isabel thought—to her surprise, the clerk at the desk handed them keys to four separate rooms.

“Will isn't putting you guys all in one room?” She helped Dan navigate the luggage cart around a turn to the elevator. “I thought we were on a tight budget.” Their company owner had a tendency to splurge on luxuries for holidays and celebrations, but this was neither.

“That's how it was supposed to be, but Lloyd paid to get his own room, so Dan and I decided to do the same. Better for after-hours, if you get my drift.” Matthew nodded over to Lloyd, who grinned his creepy shark grin again. Isabel repressed a shudder of disgust. She'd dealt with far worse than Lloyd when she was at Pixel Dream, like that asshole Ryan. As the elevator slid upward, she shivered at the memory of him cornering her in the server room, his face glowing an eerie green in the dim light, commenting on her breasts and how nice it would be if she'd show them to him, his spidery hands reaching for her in the darkness.

Unfortunately for Isabel, the problem with sexual harassment suits is that they weren't always believed, especially when it was well known she'd dated someone else on the programming team. The Pixel Dream HR rep had convinced her she wouldn't be a good character witness against Ryan and urged her to take a settlement and seek employment elsewhere, rather than pressing charges. She'd been young and dumb and scared, and putting it all behind her seemed like the best route. Now, twenty-seven years old and wiser than her fresh-out-of-college self, she regretted not making the bastard pay. Sure, her settlement had paid for a decent down payment on a small house, but she never got the satisfaction of standing up to the guy. Isabel still let herself sink into drawn-out daydreams at times of all the things she'd spew at Ryan if she ever encountered him again. Or the swift kick she'd deliver to his balls.

They divided up when they reached their block of rooms at the end of the sixth floor. Isabel had the first room, Matthew and Dan were in the next two rooms down, and Lloyd was across the hall. She hoped the walls were thick enough that she wouldn't have to listen to them and whomever they brought back to their hotel rooms late at night, as they were all apparently intent on making this a weekend of sexual conquests.

Matthew dug his key card out of the paper holder. “Let's meet in my room at five and go over the plan for the next few days. Sound good?”

They all agreed and stepped into their own spaces. Isabel opened the door to her room and sighed in pleasure. Oh yes. This would do nicely. She walked inside, breathing in the clean hotel room smell. If only she could always stay in nice hotels, rather than her tiny house back in Tampa. She liked where she lived—the neighborhood was nice, her commute to work only a few minutes, her neighbors congenial and quiet, her parents close but not too close—but nothing beat the full-service luxury of even a midpriced hotel. Living alone for years had afforded her a certain independence, but it also meant she'd always been responsible for everything about owning a home, responsibilities that she could never shirk.

The light-blocking curtains opened on a second pair of gauzy sheers, which she left closed for privacy, peering out at the unfamiliar city as if through a foggy haze. Isabel unzipped her suitcase and started unpacking. With her clothing stored in its proper drawers or hanging in the closet, her toiletries arrayed around the bathroom sink, and her Hitachi safely tucked into the nightstand, Isabel lay back on the king-sized bed. It sank beneath her with a kind of plush luxury, a unique combination of thick down comforter and pillow-top mattress that cocooned her in sweet warmth. Her black curls had gone frizzy on the long airplane ride, and they spread out across the pillow like some sort of wild animal that needed to be tamed. Or maybe not tamed, she mused as she wrapped an errant strand around her finger. Maybe she should just let her curls run wild this weekend.

Maybe she should let
herself
run wild this weekend. It had been far too long since she'd had a fun weekend, and even though she was here for PI Games, she'd have plenty of time to run amok if she so desired. She could have some anonymous fling, fuck the hell out of some strange man, and fly back home on Monday with no one the wiser. Isabel felt a rush of adrenaline at the thought and licked her lips. One-night-stands were out of character for her. She was a relationship kind of girl, even though her relationships never seemed to work out. She chose safe guys, guys her mother would like, guys who were ultimately too boring to give her the challenge she needed. Maybe she should throw all that away and sleep with a stranger, just let herself go entirely for a few days and see where it led.

Would she be able to keep it a secret from her coworkers? Did she even want to? There was something exciting about shocking them with her behavior. Of course, then she had to consider whether they'd treat her differently afterward. Her coworkers at Pixel Dream had teased her mercilessly when they'd found out she was dating Adam, and her work life was never the same. Even Adam hadn't been immune to the teasing, one of the main reasons they'd eventually broken up, the other one being that Isabel had left the company in a flurry of discord and hushed water-cooler-style gossip. Things were never the same between them after that, and after a while the tense awkwardness had become too much to bear.