“Exercise, mental stimulation, meeting new people. You always say I should make new friends,” Allie says. “This is what I’m doing, with Olivia’s help.”
I grumble under my breath. “No more chats with grown men.”
* * *
I dig my fingers into the armrest of the hospital chair, staring at the tattoo peeking out from the hospital gown on his chest.
It’s probably a coincidence that he has the same star tattoo. He’d mentioned it once when I asked him about the profile picture online.
“Are you stalking me?” he asks as I join him in the VR game Orc Hunter.
I laugh under my breath. “I don’t even know where you live. So, no. I can’t be stalking you.”
“Right.” He chuckles, and I swear he’s smiling. But I can’t see him, only his avatar in the game, and he’s not that close. He’s across from me, guarding the opposite tower on the other side of the town as we shoot at orcs. “Isn’t it early where you are?”
“It is,” I say. The sun has just risen, and my niece and daughter are asleep. She won’t wake until at least ten o’clock, if not later. Which gives me a couple of hours to see what the fuss is all about regarding her virtual-reality gaming.
I don’t tell the stranger where I live or what time zone I’m in. The less he knows, the better. The last thing I want is to give him any information on my niece.
“What about you?” I ask. “Are you in Russia?” There are three servers; the one I connected to was in the USA. But anyone could join any server.
“Tit for tat.”
“I’m not showing you my—”
He snorts and clears his throat. “I wasn’t asking. You tell me where you’re from, and I’ll tell you where I live.”
His accent is thick, heavy, and undoubtedly, he’s from Russia, even if he’s moved out of the country and residing elsewhere.
“I asked first,” I say. It’s like we’re in the third grade, and I roll my eyes, realizing how ridiculous this conversation sounds between two grown adults. My attention is on the dragons, shooting them first and then the orcs, ducking as they throw axes at my head.
Bearded Bad Boy is skillful at avoiding an ax attack. He jumps from one platform to another to avoid being slaughtered.
“Show off,” I mutter.
“Jealous.” There’s amusement in his tone, like he’s enjoying teasing me.
“No, I don’t play this game all day.”
“Neither do I,” he says. “This is just a—hobby,” he says, though he sounds unconvinced.
“Chatting with teenage girls is a hobby?”
“I don’t know what game you’re up to, but I can assure you that my interest is not the least bit in teenage girls, or boys, for that matter.”
Relief should flood through me, but there’s an anger in his tone. A forcefulness like I’ve offended him, and he’s about to rock the boat. “And what about you? Do you enjoy making baseless accusations? You sound like a fed or a dirty cop.”
“I’m not either of those things,” I say. “Do you have something against authority figures?”
“Not so long as I’m the one in charge.” He gives off an alpha vibe, like he’s the one always calling the shots.
There’s a silence that rains down over us; the only audio that echoes through the headset is the sound of killing orcs and the enemy, one shot after the next.
He’s good. A little too good if you ask me, but I’m not a regular. Hell, this isn’t even my headset. I’m playing on Olivia’s game under her screen name. Not that she’ll care, as long as the battery is charged when she wakes up.
Maybe I should impose some rules for the girls while Olivia is over. No gaming before noon.
The man in a coma could be Russian. But he could be any number of nationalities. The plethora of tattoos should help the hospital narrow down his identity.