By the time the con rolls around, I'm mostly able to get my shit together and act like the leader the Cyclones need me to be.

After we all signed the NDAs, Stacy sent over a packet of information that included some move descriptions--though not what they did, exactly--and a short cinematic that would be shown at the con to intro the boss, the Leviathan.

I had the team work on group and individual practice during the intervening weeks. While we obviously couldn't practice the fight itself, we did other raids that required tight coordination and on-point timing, taking the opportunity to hone any rusty skills.

We made the trip to San Francisco with confidence, everybody joking and carrying on on the plane. Everybody did "Crit Roll Con" vlogs, drumming up a lot of interest since Nat20 had announced we were going to be taking on a new boss.

The whole thing was so nice, so relaxed I almost forgot Ryker Winthrop was going to be there. Then--on the morning of the very first day of the conference--I see him.

Dressed in unbelievably tight, acid-wash jeans that hug his ass, steel-toe work boots, and a thin cotton shirt with the Nat20 logo on it that stretches across his wide shoulders and firm pecs, he's a closeted gay high schooler's wet dream.

I stand there in the middle of a crowd, waiting with a few of my teammates to try out a demo of one of Nat20's other games, and I can't help sneaking glances at him. He has a small camera, so I know he must be live-vlogging all of this. When Rosa and Jax are seated at the demo stations, I give myself full license to take a good, long look at Ryker.

I've seen him on YouTube and Twitch, obviously, but video just doesn't do him justice. His sandy brown hair is styled in that "I rolled out of bed like this" way that takes a good ten minutes of vigorous pomade prep and his beard is tidy but not so much that it doesn't still look handsomely scruffy. It softens the hard lines of his face--that and his lips that have always looked so blissfully soft.

And then there's his body. Holy God. People think gamers are overweight and sedentary by default, but Ryker completely defies that stereotype. He looks rock hard from head to toe, and I find myself imagining what it would be like to run my tongue over the planes of his muscles.

That thought leads my gaze down, and I swear I've never hated a seam so much in my life. It’s tastefully covering the line of his dick which I know has to be pressed insanely tightly against the fabric right now.

It's disappointing, but the fact that I even feel that way reminds me I need to chill the fuck out. Just as I start to look away, though, Ryker catches my eye. His lips turn up in a lopsided smirk, his eyes narrowing like a predator intent on his prey, and I feel a shudder run through me.

"Dude, Finn, you have to try this," Jax says, pulling my attention back to the demo and the now-empty seat beside him.

I play for a while and enjoy the show floor with the rest of the team. We even have a chance to get lunch at a place nearby. But the whole time, I keep thinking about Ryker; about what he said to me.

I'm close to becoming obsessed, and some part of me knows how dangerous it is. A bigger part doesn't care.

When I get back to the hotel room I'm sharing with Blake, planning to relax a little before we hit the town, there's a note waiting for me from the concierge. My heart threatens to pound out of my chest as I read what's written:

Meet me at the hotel bar at 7 if you want a closer look. - R

The sane part of me that craves stability and safety was hoping Ryker would forget. Hoping he was just screwing with me that night and didn't mean what he said.

But every other part of me is ready to dash back downstairs and wait around until seven.

"Secret admirer?"

I jump at the sound of Blake's voice, putting a hand over my chest as if it'll calm my racing heart. He laughs sheepishly.

"Whoa, sorry, man. Didn't mean to scare you."

"No, it's cool," I answer quickly. "Just stuck inside my own head."

It isn't a lie, but it isn't the full truth, either. I don't think I can bring myself to tell him I want desperately to meet one of our rivals downstairs and see if he was serious about fucking me.

I make up some bullshit excuse about an old friend of mine being in town, saying they wanted to catch up over drinks. Aside from the friend part, that isn't a complete lie, either, but I still feel guilt tug at me as Blake wishes me well and tells me he'll hold down the fort while I'm gone.

Not bothering to change what I'm wearing--because I'm a little afraid of what I'll choose not to wear if I think about it too much--I head downstairs a half hour early and get started on a drink.

At this point, a little alcohol's not going to have me making any worse decisions than I was already going to make without it, and the daiquiri I order helps calm my nerves.

Time ticks by and I tell myself Ryker's not going to show. But when I catch him out of the corner of my eye, it's fifteen ‘til seven. Not only did he show, he got here early.

My whole body practically vibrates with anticipation as he sits next to me at one of the tall tables.

"Started without me, huh?" he grins and gestures to my drink. "How is it?"

"Overpriced," I say honestly, "but not bad. Want a sip?"

Literally sharing a drink with the man who made a fool of me two weeks ago wasn't on my to-do list. I feel like I'm in the middle of some ‘50s movie, sitting at the soda counter with my sweetheart while we share a malt beverage.

That silly, wholesome feeling fades quickly when he takes the straw between his lips and presses them around it. My dick throbs in my pants and I shift uncomfortably on my stool, trying not to openly imagine those lips pressed tight around my cock.

"Not bad," he agrees.

"What, you're not going to make some quip about 'girly drinks?'"

Ryker snorts. "Since when is it 'manly' to throw back shit that tastes like motor oil and battery acid?"

I laugh at that, genuinely surprised. I guess I expected Ryker to be the type of guy who fully buys into the toxic masculinity scene. And while one example doesn't make him a saint, it does relax me a little more.

The server comes to our table, seeing a chance to make some extra cash. Ryker gladly gives her the opportunity, asking for two more daiquiris--one for him, and another for me.

"This whole thing's kinda crazy," he says, resting his arm against the table as he turns in his stool. The show floor isn't visible from this bar, but there are still a good number of people milling about in the lobby. "You nervous at all? About tomorrow?"

I don't know what I expected, but I'm genuinely surprised he's speaking to me like an actual human. Like a friend, even. I guess I thought he'd immediately start in with the dirty talk, and I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed.

Maybe a mix of both.

"A little," I admit. "But my guys are ready for it. We've trained as best we can without knowing the fight."

"Yeahhhh, not sure I can say the same for mine," he mutters, turning back to me. "I've done what I can, but it's like herding a bunch of cats who just got into a huge stash of catnip."

I laugh again, feeling even looser and more relaxed. And not just because of the rum. Ryker and I talk for what feels like only a few minutes, but when I glance briefly at my phone, it's been over an hour. Blake texted me twenty minutes ago, letting me know they were heading out.

I know I should feel guilty, but I don't. Not really. They'll have a blast with or without me, and there's still plenty of time to see the sights with them.

I'm just enjoying myself more than I ever thought I would, and I'm not eager to leave. Apologizing to Ryker, I quickly shoot Blake a text and tell him and the others to enjoy their time out.

"Hot date?" Ryker asks in that velvety smooth voice of his.

There's an inherent arrogance to it, but without the barrier of a computer screen, I can see the curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes and know he's just messing with me.

"The team," I say, sliding my phone back into my pocket. "They're hitting the downtown strip tonight. Rosa was talking about seeing a drag show."

"Sounds like fun," Ryker says, and there's no hint of sarcasm in his voice. "If you want to join them, it won't hurt my feelings any."

"No!" I say it a lot quicker than I want, and his full, sexy lips curve upward like the Cheshire cat. "This is... nice. A lot more relaxed than I thought it would be."

He studies me for a moment, baby blue eyes taking me in as if he's trying to get a read on something I'm not saying.

"I told you jackhammering's not my style." His voice pitches deeper, rushing down my body like a sudden flame. "And as far as I'm concerned, talking over drinks is another form of foreplay."

I lick my suddenly dry lips and swallow. I should probably feel offended that he's implying this whole conversation was just to get into my pants, but I'm finding his honesty refreshing. That and it's not like he's been tossing out lines for the past hour. We've just been talking about anything and everything.

Maybe it's the alcohol making me more receptive. I've been slowly sipping that second daquiri this whole time, though, and deep down I know I've been receptive to the idea since he brought it up. And now, talking to him in person? Feeling that magnetic energy he puts off every time he smiles?

I want him. Without a doubt. The only question is whether he can actually work me as good as he says he can.

There's a noticeable shift between us then. The air practically crackles with electricity, and I find my inner brat and stare right into his eyes as if challenging him.

"I'm starting to think talking's all you can really do," I say, trying to play it cool even as my voice wavers a little, betraying my excitement.

Ryker leans forward, his eyes burning with a heat I want to consume me. I feel the warmth of his hand before he even touches me, his palm sliding over my knee and then my thigh. He doesn't go for the predictable dick-grab, though, stopping midway up my thigh. Somehow that's even worse, and my cock throbs painfully in my jeans, begging for his touch.

"If you're not interested in taking this any further, Finn, I need you to tell me right now." His voice lowers to a growled whisper. "Because I've spent the last two weeks thinking about how good it would feel to be inside you while I make you come."

I suck in a breath and damn near come right then and there like some horny teen.

Deep down, I know this is a bad idea. I'm going to have to see him for three more days. We have to work together with hundreds of thousands of people watching tomorrow.

But God, I want him so bad. I want him to prove me wrong. I want to come so fucking hard while he slams into me over and over.

And maybe if I can get him out of my system, all of this will be easier. That's the lie I tell myself as I reach under the table and move his hand onto the hard, needy bulge of my cock.

"I'm interested."