For The One(93)

“I don’t like it when things don’t go according to plan. Adam and Mia should get it over with if they know that’s what they want to do. What’s the point in waiting? I like to have everything figured out ahead of time. I like to be certain of the future.”

She bites her lip. “Life doesn’t always work out that way, Wil. I once thought I knew exactly what I’d be doing with my future, but…” Her voice trails off and it sounds sad again.

I can smell her hair as she turns to look at the figurines. I take mental note of the ones she admires. Maybe I’ll give a few to her later. I realize that I’m still holding her wrist and she’s not pulling away from me.

“Goddess, it’s been ages since I’ve played D&D. I miss it. I never collected figurines like you do, but I have lots and lots of dice.”

I glance at the dresser behind my worktable. “My old dice are in here too.”

“Really? Can I see them?”

“You want to see my dice?”

She smiles. “Yes, like any self-respecting geek girl, I do have a dice fetish.”

I move away from her to dig through the drawers to find my old bag of dice. Then I empty the worn velvet bag out onto my worktable. A pile of dice roll out across the scratched and stained surface. They are all different colors and—as they’re Dungeons and Dragons dice—all different shapes and sizes as well.

By some weird coincidence, Jenna picks up my lucky d20. It’s amber colored with black numbers on the faces. The twenty-sided die, the most famous of all the types of dice used in D&D, is an icosahedron—a symmetrical polyhedron with twenty faces.

She rolls it across the table and…a natural twenty. She laughs. “Nat 20. It’s my lucky night. Too bad we aren’t playing.”

“You and I could play.”

Her brows rise. “Right now? Like…we could role-play something?”

I shrug. “I wasn’t a Dungeon Master—I could never come up with the storylines. But I could be an average character, perhaps a blacksmith who sometimes moonlights as a knight.”

She looks me up and down. “You’re far from average.” She folds her arms across her chest in a way that makes her t-shirt tighten over her breasts. I instantly recall the vision of her spread out on my couch, making those noises of pleasure when I was touching and kissing her breasts. The memory alone makes me hard. Painfully hard.

I fight with myself to will that image away before it threatens to pull my attention completely away from the reality standing right in front of me. I tear my eyes from her chest, adjust the way I’m standing and hope she doesn’t notice that I’m now sexually aroused when I shouldn’t be.

“I could be a wayfaring fortune-teller and secret sorceress. We’re at an inn somewhere, and we’ve run into each other in the pub. What do you say to me?”

I smile at her willingness to play the game. “I wonder what the chances are that you’ll kiss me?”

Her brows rise again. Good, I’ve surprised her. With a smile, she turns back to my pile of dice and pulls out two ten-sided dice. A roll of these dice will determine a percentile score. If a character has a percentage chance of doing something, the score on the two dice will show their chance of accomplishing it.

“Let’s say that right now you have a five percent chance of getting a kiss from me as a complete stranger. Do you wish to make that attempt?” she asks.

I think about that for a moment. “Can I do things to improve my chances?”

“Of course, we’re role-playing!” She smiles. “But I’m not going to tell you what they are.”

“Of course not. It wouldn’t be a game worth playing if you did that. I’ll offer to buy you a drink.” I pause, thinking. “Then I signal the barkeep to buy the beautiful lady whatever she wishes to drink.”

She considers that for a moment, handling the dice. “Okay…that’s nice. Is there a limit on what you’ll pay? What if I wish for the most expensive glass of champagne?”

“I’ll order a glass of Dom Perignon for my lady,” I say.

She smiles again, her teeth gleaming. “That has increased your chance by fifteen percent. You now have a twenty percent chance of getting a kiss from me.”

I frown. “That’s only one in five. I don’t like those odds. I’d like to increase them. What if I tell you how beautiful you are?”

“Hmm. I’m waiting,” she says, cocking her head to the side. “What do you want to say to me?”

“That your eyes are the same blue as the water in the famous Turkish salt flats called Pamukkale. The water in the travertine pools is a pure reflection of the sky—pale and pristine. They are the exact color of your eyes.” She swallows and I continue, “And your hair is shiny and golden like angel hair. And your skin is soft—”