Page 13 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

13

Just a Lick

B laze

“Have you wondered why those three Halckons were heading south, toward us, when the flag is northeast?” I ask to change the subject when we’re back on the desolate path heading north again.

“I have my theories.”

“Do tell.”

Before he can explain, the red lights flick out on both our drones.

We stop walking, both of us staring at the drones intently. Just as I’d suspected, those three red fuckers didn’t come upon us accidentally.

When I look at him expectantly, waiting for him to spill his thoughts, he gives me an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Got it. Don’t trust the red light.

A tight smile graces my face as I recall my early education on behavior modification. They thought they could modify our behavior by their red lights? Trick us into spilling our secrets because we thought we were off camera? Very smart.

Just not smarter than us.

Of course they’re filming everything. At one point in time, they were filming one hundred feeds at once. They couldn’t all be streamed at the same time. It’s all filmed, it just isn’t all broadcast.

Two can play, evil network. Two can play.

“So,” I say as I turn to Titan and use one of my superpowers, the ability to wink either eye. I wink with the eye that doesn’t face the camera. “I have a theory.”

Disinformation. I learned about it in army training schools.

“Yeah?”

“My hypothesis is those three thought they might get extra votes if they took you down, you know? You’re a pretty well-known gladiator, aren’t you?”

Oh boy, two birds with one stone. Not only are we tricking them into believing they fooled us, but I just set Titan up to recite his curriculum vitae to the planet, thereby earning sympathy.

“I’m not a premier gladiator, by any means,” he says.

Good move, don’t want to be too boastful. There are only ten premiers in the galaxy.

“But I worked hard for my masters. There’s a lot more to being a gladiator than the matches people watch.”

The red lights turn back on. Good.

“I lifted weights for hours a day, ran for miles, and sparred with weapons of all kinds, not just the three-foot gladius that was my trademark.”

That’s it? Come on, Titan, ham it up.

“There weren’t any unorthodox training methods?” I ask, giving him the head thrust that would be an obvious encouragement to run with my suggestion if he were my boyfriend in an American rom-com. I get nothing. He’s clueless.

“After you gave me a trip to heaven in bed last night, didn’t you whisper in my ear about all sorts of unorthodox training methods you used?” I ask, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He gives me a pathetic questioning glance, obviously unable to play along because he’s never had the good fortune to see Rocky One through Rocky Fifty-Three .

“You know, you told me about them taking you into a meat locker where you beat up all the sides of meat with your bare fists?”

“Oh yes, of course. It built strength and endurance.”

“And don’t be shy. Tell the folks at home how you would run in the pool for hours, building up powerful leg muscles.”

“Oh yes. And it was so refreshing on those hot days in the ludus .” His face quirks into the briefest smile, as if the idea of his masters giving their fighting flesh a cool swim was the most ludicrous thing he ever heard.

“Right. I can picture you now. Naked of course,” I throw that in to make sure the network plays some of these soundbites. The more prurient, the better. “Running in the hot sun, back and forth, lap after lap. Sparkling drops of water sliding down that fantastic blue brow of yours as you ran your heart out to become the very best in your field.”

“Right,” he says, obviously not up to the task of joining me in my over-the-top ploy for audience attention.

“Show them, Titan. Take that shirt off and run for us. Run to that boulder by the side of the road and back. Better yet. Take off all your clothes.” I glance at his numbers on the tote board. Twelve credits. Twelve fucking credits? The network is cheating both of us so badly. I know just how to fix it.

“Titan, stop!” I say as he’s in the middle of removing his shirt. His six-pack is showing, and I feel a swift pang of lust, wishing I hadn’t stopped him from taking it all the way off.

“Are the folks at home watching?” I say, looking directly into the camera. “Do you know this male, this handsome, hardworking, hard- loving male, only has twelve credits? Twelve measly credits? He’s not going to take his shirt off and run to the boulder until his tote gets to a thousand.”

Every housewife at home is going to call foul if his tote doesn’t go up pretty dang fast. While I watch as the numbers spin so swiftly they’re a blur, I wonder what I’m doing. I’m helping him earn credits. Credits that will earn him weapons. Weapons that he’ll use to kill me. I’m an idiot.

When he reaches a thousand, I say, “There you go, Titan. Let’s see if your total can hit two thousand before you reach that boulder.” And what do you know, it does.

I have his total to three thousand before he returns from his jog.

“I know every female out there is wondering what it would feel like to have their hands on your sweaty, blue body. Sorry, ladies, but I can tell you what he tastes like.” I stride over to him, stick my tongue out nice and long and make sure to point it, then lick a lazy swath from his rib cage up as far as I can reach.

I turn back to the camera, shrug, and say, “Salty,” as I wing up one eyebrow in a lewd porn star move.

Our gazes both dart to the tote board. I’m at 4323, he’s at 5482. I don’t stare at it long. I can’t. Titan is a magnet. My gaze is drawn to him. Just as his is inexorably pulled toward me.

I can’t fathom how this is even happening. How can you fall in love in circumstances like this? In theory, it wouldn’t even be possible.

Am I? Falling in love? That’s preposterous. But I’m definitely falling in something.

“You’re brilliant,” he says when we’re back on the road. “Or was it your plan just to tire me out by making me jog up and down that dusty road in the heat?”

“Actually, none of the above. I orchestrated that whole thing just to lick you.”

He laughs. It’s hearty and mellow and genuine. This. Why this brings tears to my eyes, I haven’t a clue. Tender feelings for him bombard me so heavily I reach out and grip his forearm for support.

I like him. And he likes me. It’s not an act. And one or both of us is going to be dead. Soon.