There have been more people in Game Over this week than in the whole two and a half months since the Christmas rush combined. Craig is a fucking genius.

He approached me around Christmas, when I was lamenting that the next few months would be pretty stark by comparison, with an idea to hold a gaming tournament over spring break. He said it would be perfect for those kids that aren’t going anywhere over the holiday, but don’t just want to sit at home.

Gamers could enter all three days or any single day of their choosing. Tuesday was the first day, starting things off with an “Old School” championship. He brought in old arcade machines like Donkey Kong, Ms. Pac-Man (because everyone knows it’s so much better than regular Pac-Man), Space Invaders, and Galaga. It’s a good thing I couldn’t enter, because I could have mopped the floor with the tears of defeated children had I been able to play.

Wednesday was variety games – Craig’s idea to get those that don’t like first-person shooters interested. There were individual winners for games like Just Dance, Guitar Hero, and some virtual reality games, and then he awarded an overall variety winner for the day. And today, the final day of the championship, is hard-core gaming all day long.

It’s a brilliant idea. One that makes me proud of how far Craig has come over the years, from the quiet and brooding gamer to someone confident in his ideas and willing to try new things to grow our business. Selecting Craig as manager last year was the smartest business decision I’ve made yet.

When the crowd finally peters out a little after the lunch rush on Thursday during the final competition, I get enough of a breather to head into the game room. I’ve had to work the store all day while Craig and the others man the game room. If Zach hadn’t brought by a sandwich and veggie platter for the crew, which we all know he did just to see Craig and cheer for Ben, I wouldn’t have had a chance to break for food.

I walk Zach back through the store to the front, since I need to get back to work store-side and he needs to head back home to finish his work day.

“You’ll be back later?” I ask, assuming Ben stays on his winning streak. There are lots of young kids in the competition today because of the holiday, but Ben may just outsmart and out-game them all.

“Yeah, looks like it. Although it depends on this project I’m working on. And honestly, I’ve seen Ben play video games enough to last two lifetimes.”

“Hey.” I put a hand on his shoulder before he walks out the door. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry about your aunt. I haven’t met your cousin, but if you or he need anything, I’m always here to help however I can.”

Zach nods his thanks. I doubt he’ll take me up on my offer, but it felt important to let him know. These boys are my family, and there isn’t anything I won’t do for them.

When I ring up the next customer, the stacks of bills almost overflowing from the till tells me I need to make a bank run. All of our usual deposit bags are full, given our amazing week, so I stick my head into the game room and yell for Dave.

“Hey, boss,” he says, a wide smile across his face. He’s wearing one of the dark blue “Too Broke for Spring Break Tournament” t-shirts that Craig had made for the occasion. “It’s going great in there. I really think Ben has a shot at winning.”

“That does not surprise me,” I say with a laugh, although in truth I had almost forgotten that before he was my now-former employee, Ben was one of my biggest customers. “But I need you to take in a bank deposit for me. We are running out of space, which is not a bad problem to have.”

“You want me to take it?”

The surprise in his voice has me doing a double-take. I guess up until now, it has only been me or Craig doing the bank deposits. Huh. Dave’s a great employee, and one of the nicest here, but a little bit of a scatterbrain. Well, it’s time I trust him with some new experience, and bonus, it means I get to avoid the uncomfortably flirty weekday teller.

I run and grab the tote bag with four stuffed deposit bags, and a paper slip. “The slip already has our account number, so you just total up what’s written on the outside of each bag and enter it here.”

“Cool. I’ll be back. Thanks, boss.”

Traffic on College is terrible, but even worse during spring break, so it doesn’t surprise me when Dave returns a full hour later. But his flushed and breathless appearance makes me worry that maybe I was wrong and I sent poor Dave out into the world too soon.

“Are you okay?” I ask, rushing around the counter to his side.

He looks a little stunned, shaking his head in confusion when I reach him.

“What? Oh, yeah. Fine. All good.”

He stares off into space for a few seconds before shaking himself out of it again.

“Empty bags. Right. Here are the empty bags.”

Like I said, scatterbrain. But a cursory glance tells me he’s intact, so I decide not to push it and risk pestering him.

I take the deposit bags from him and shove them under the counter for now. I’ll count out part of my till when it slows down enough that I’m not flashing wads of cash at my customers. “Why don’t you go back into the game room and help out there? I heard a big cheer a few minutes ago. No idea what happened, but it sounded exciting.”

I’ve got my reading glasses on to assist a mom wanting to know the violence level of a certain game. The small print on the backs of games has definitely gotten smaller over the years. It isn’t just me. My eyes are redirected like a fly to honey when a shock of red hair appears at the front door, and I whip the glasses off my face, tossing them to the ground behind me.

Kieran strolls in looking like he came straight from work, wearing a pastel pink shirt and grey silk tie and slacks that cling in all the right places. I don’t think he understands how good he looks in his business wear. He comes in all the time after work and hangs out with Craig, chatting about games and whatever else is going on in his life. From the way he talks about himself, you would think he’s this unsure kid, but he dresses and holds himself with a confidence my dick appreciates. One glance at his ass in those pants, and I have to stay behind the counter. Jesus, I have to stop being a creeper.

“Ted!” A grin blesses his face, bringing those gorgeous brown eyes to life. “Looks like the tournament is a success.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t enter,” I say, soaking in the rays of warmth directed my way. He’s just a friend, as I so frequently remind myself, and I’m happy to be able to have even a small piece of him in my life. “You might have given Ben a run for his money.”

Kieran’s eyes widen at that, and a slight flush brightens his cheeks. “Ben’s doing well? I’m going to go cheer him on. See you later.” He gives me a brief wave before running off to the game room.

I step backward as I raise my hand to return his wave and hear the crunch of my readers underneath my boot. Naturally.

I leave the store as soon as the tournament ends. I need the recovery time, since it feels like I’ve worked harder this week than I have in years. Dave works until close, and foot traffic died down once Ben walked away with the trophy. He should be fine with Elijah for help. At home, I pull out my Dutch oven and start chopping. I boil potatoes and then dice them into small cubes, then add in onion, shallots, kale. I pop a quick soda bread into the oven and relax until dinner time.

Jonathan: Won’t be home for dinner. I’ve got a date.

My phone pings with the message, and I sigh. Shit. I made a ton of food knowing that Jonathan might be twenty-two, but he still eats like he’s been starved for days.

Ted: On a school night?

Jonathan: Yes Mom.

Honestly, I’m just glad that he’s able to go out. I know that being a part of the GSA at CSU has led to many of his dates, and I’d be willing to bet that most of the guys he goes out with don’t sign. I have a feeling they share the mutual language of things I don’t want to think about concerning my nephew, thank you very much.

Ted: Be safe. Make smart choices.

Well, now what to do with all this food? I can think of another person who’d appreciate the dinner and the company.

* * *

I pull my truck to a stop outside the three-story Victorian and grab the Dutch oven and foil-wrapped bread from the passenger side floorboard. With oven mitts on my hands, I’m able to balance the food in one hand and open doors with the other. Once inside, I head to the left, and knock on the wooden door that houses the first-floor apartment.

Mrs. Hill answers her door and I try to step inside without tripping over Toto, her yappy Shih Tzu.

Craig used to live upstairs from Mrs. Hill, and although she unofficially adopted him first, we all feel responsible for her. Whenever she needs to go shopping, or someone to walk her dog, or has a household chore that needs doing, she has plenty of gay men on speed dial.

I shake off my oven mitt and place it on the center of her table before setting down my heavy pot. Her table is covered with nice doilies, and I’d hate to get them dirty.

Mrs. Hill lifts the lid and takes an exaggerated sniff.

“Oh, Ted. I adore all of you boys, but you’re the one that can actually cook. This smells divine.”

I might also come over here just because she lumps me in with the other “boys” and strokes my ego. The fact that she’s a sweetheart and deserves all the attention we can heap on her notwithstanding.

“It’s nothing. Just a little this and that. And the only reason I can cook is because I’m old enough not to be able to stomach the junk food that the others can. I try to eat like a twenty-year-old now, and I’ll be up all night regretting it.”

I grab some plates from her cabinets and a knife for the bread, and we tuck in. Mrs. Hill tells me all the latest on her grandchildren and I update her on Jonathan’s progress at CSU. They’ve met a few times, but Mrs. Hill’s hands are too arthritic to be able to sign. It doesn’t stop her from sending him plates of cookies whenever I see her or asking about his grades and his love life. She smartly stays away from that topic when it comes to me.

“I’ve got Saturday off, if you need to go shopping,” I tell her as I finish with a last swipe of bread across my plate. She shakes her head.

“You boys are so sweet to me. Craig took me last Sunday.” She grabs both of our plates and takes them to the kitchen. “I got some ice cream, if you would like some for dessert?”

She forgets that I’m vegan, which is totally fine, but some parts are more out of necessity than others.

“I’d be hurting if I were to eat that, but thank you.”

“That’s right, no dairy for you. How you get to be so big and strong without eating meat is a mystery to me.” She looks through her cabinets and pulls out a box of vegan cookies that I know she keeps around just for me. “Maybe I can tempt you with cookies and a round of cards? Kieran took me Tuesday to that bakery you like so much.”

I have to laugh, because Mrs. Hill tries to goad each and every one of us into cards. The woman must have been a Vegas card shark in a previous life.

“I’m glad Kieran was able to take care of you. Although I hate the idea of you riding around in that death trap of his almost as much as I hate the thought of him driving it.”

“Mm hmm.” She says it while studying me, as if I’ve just given away some massive secret.

Damn. I should remember, whether cards or just life, Mrs. Hill is too damn perceptive. I take a cookie to appease her mothering instincts and try to steer the remainder of the conversation over cards away from my thoughts on Kieran.

Why does everyone suddenly feel the urge to try to matchmake for me? I don’t think I’ve been giving off greater sad sack vibes than normal, but the more time I spend around Kieran, the more I want things that I can’t have.

The man is young and vibrant and beautiful. And I’m the chubby guy who still plays video games, barely a step above living in my parents’ basement. It’s foolish to want things I’ll never get. And I’m nothing if not practical.