Possessive Fake Husband by Hamel B. B

Author:Hamel, B. B. [Hamel, B. B.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2020-05-04T16:00:00+00:00

13

Maggie

Turns out, Slim Jeans didn’t actually go by Slim Jeans anymore. “That was my old gamer tag,” he says as we follow him up a few flights of stairs. He has an apartment in downtown Philly, and his building has a gorgeous marble entryway, though the stairs themselves look a little rundown.

“What do you go by now?” I ask him.

“Just Tyler,” he says. “Poker community likes real names, I guess.” He shrugs. “Whatever.”

I glance back at Josh, who grins. We’re both in casual clothes, which was a good call, since Tyler met us downstairs in a zip-up hoodie and a pair of gym shorts and sandals. He has dark messy hair, pale skin, a patchy beard, and a hooked nose that looks a lot like his uncle’s.

He leads us to the top floor, up to the very top apartment. The ceilings are high and the place is actually really nice, except there’s junk all over the place. “Sorry for the mess,” he mumbles, kicking aside a pizza box.

“You live alone?” I ask him.

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, I had a roommate for a while, but it didn’t work out.”

“What happened?” Josh asks.

“Uh, he didn’t like me vaping all the time or some shit. And I played my music too loud late at night. It’s like, it’s not my fault he had to get up so early for work, and I like played poker late at night, you know? It’s my place too.”

“Right,” Josh says. “Definitely.”

He leads us up into his living room. There’s a couch against the right wall, a TV above the fireplace opposite, a large wooden table with long bench seats against the other wall, and an impressive desk next to the fireplace. The desk has his computer set up, which is the only place in the whole apartment so far that looks even slightly organized. Headphones hung on hooks, a professional microphone, and some serious monitors rounded out the display.

“So, uh, yeah,” he says, shrugging. “This is my place.”

“Do you stream your poker games?” Josh asks.

“Sometimes,” he says. “Mostly I stream like, League of Legends. Do you know it?”

“Just by name,” Josh admits. “Not much of a gamer anymore. Used to play Counter Strike back in the day.”

“Oh, sick, I love a little Counter Strike.” Tyler grins. “You guys want a beer? Here, take a seat, I’ll get beers.” He hurries through a side door and disappears into a kitchen.

We sit down on the bench near the table. “How old is this guy?” I whisper to Josh.

“Twenty-nine,” he says.

“Oh, wow. I would’ve guessed twenty at most.”

“I know.” He frowns. “I don’t know how the hell we’ll convince this kid to work for us, or if I even want him to.”

“We have to try at least.”

Tyler comes back with three Bud Lights. He opens the tabs and hands them out.

“Well, uh, cheers or whatever.” He slugs his back. I take a sip and set it down.

“So, Tyler,” I say. “Do you know why we’re here?”

He shrugs and sits on the couch.

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