Then he told me when his last boyfriend had dumped him for another guy that he turned to Halo rather than self-loathing, and that made all the difference in the world. “Look, it’s not like you and I are going to go out and shoot things for release, and that’s why these games are perfect. It’s like punching a pillow. Same idea – gets your anger out – but a hell of a lot more satisfying.”
With my cheeks dry, all the tears sucked out of me, Andy took me to the electronics store and I bought my new therapy. A gaming console. At the end of each day, after I’d shot my videos, dutifully answered every email, and sketched out ideas for the next show, that little cluster of anger I’d been harboring was banging around, begging to be let out. So I’d turn that sucker on by ten most nights, and spend the next hour pumping bullets into bad guys. I was trigger happy, delighted to dispense ammo into whatever creatures came my way, gleefully, indiscriminately letting bullets fly, talking back to the screen: “Take that, you cheating scum.”
I don’t think I was talking to the game.
“What other games do you like?” the cute guy asks, and something about the question startles me. Maybe because it’s so normal, and he seems legitimately curious. Then, there’s the simple fact that we’re having a conversation in the middle of an electronics store.
“Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit, Monopoly,” I say with a completely straight face since I know he wasn’t referring to board games.
But he picks up the baton easily, raising an eyebrow as he asks, “Clue?”
“Of course. And it was always Mr. Plum in the library with the candlestick.”
“Interesting. Because Miss Scarlet was pretty wicked with that rope in the ballroom, if memory serves. What about Chutes and Ladders?”
“Let’s not forget CandyLand either.”
“What was your favorite candy destination in that game?”
“The vintage game, right? Not that new King Candy imitator?”
“As if I’d even be talking about that game,” he says playfully.
I’m about to answer, when he puts his hands together as if he’s praying and says in a whisper, “Please say Ice Cream Floats. Please say Ice Cream Floats.”
I laugh, the kind of laugh I haven’t felt in a while, the kind that radiates through my whole body and turns into a huge grin. “Of course. I wanted to live at Ice Cream Floats.”
“I was all set to build a chocolate and licorice home in Ice Cream Floats. And this reminds me that I need to stock up on the classic games too. But I don’t think they sell them here.”
“I came here to stock up on a new camera.” I pat the camera box. Then I dive into my best infomercial voice. “Did you know that when a cat pees on your camera it can’t be resurrected?”
He shrugs his shoulders confidently, quirks up his lips. “Actually, I could fix your camera.”
I give him a quizzical look.
“I can fix pretty much anything.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.”
“Want me to try?”
“You really want to?”
“I do. Yeah,” he says, as if he’s digging the prospect of repairing the damaged device. “I really enjoy that kind of challenge. It’s kind of like a game to me.”
“The Fix-It game.”
“Exactly.”
“If you really want to, I’m not going to say no. I have it with me – it doesn’t smell anymore, I cleaned it – because I wanted to make sure to get the same model.” I reach into my purse and hand him the plastic bag with Chaucer’s victim in it.
“I can have it back to you in a day or two.”
“Great,” I say, and smile, as I stand here looking at his fabulous face.
“But I would need your info to get it back to you.”
Correction: As I stand here stupidly looking at his fabulous face. “Duh. Of course.”
I give him my first name and number and he programs it into his phone.
“It was fun talking to you, McKenna,” he says, then extends a hand. “I’m Chris McCormick.”
We make contact, and I’m not going to lie – there’s something about the feel of his strong hand in mine that just seems…right. Maybe it’s the firm grip, or his soft skin, or the way his eyes light up as he smiles while shaking my hand. I don’t want to let go. I want to go all black-and-white movie and have a simmering moment where his eyes smolder and, like magnets, we can’t resist. He pulls me in, dips me, and plants a devastating kiss on my lips.
The kind of kiss that can ruin a girl for any other kisses for the rest of her life.
Chris McCormick is gorgeous, in a pure California sort of way, like sunshine and blue skies, like the ocean and its tides, but he’s too confident, too steady to be young enough for my project. I bet he’s, gasp, close to my age. I need to stay focused on my mission
“And if you want any more Halo tips, you can find a ton on Craigslist,” he says.
“Craigslist!” I practically jump up and down in excitement, reminded of my overarching mission to find a Trophy Husband. “That’s it. Craigslist! Thank you so much. I gotta go.”
I head to the front of the store, plunk down cash for my camera, take a quick peek back at the Halo expert as I do, because it’s a crying shame with that face, those eyes, that hair. Then I scurry back home.
Once at home, I open my laptop, and hop on over to Craigslist. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner? You can find anything there – new job, new couch, new BOYFRIEND. And I have Hayden’s evil cat Chaucer to thank. If that dastardly feline hadn’t peed on my camera then I wouldn’t have wound up in the electronics store and I wouldn’t have run into Chris McCormick, the Video Game Guy, with emerald eyes and a stunning smile, and I wouldn’t have gotten the great idea to check out Craigslist, thanks to him. This is brilliant. This is epic. Finding a man-boy will be a piece of cake on Craigslist.