Good Game (The System, #1) (2)
Saying I blew him off is putting it kindly given the fact that I told him I would rather eat glass than sit through another conversation of him trying to kiss my ass. He was probably too humiliated to give Sydney the exact wording. Which means that there’s a good chance that I could pull the same shit.
“I’ll promise you a single civil conversation with the man.” I reach out my hand, and she narrows her gaze, turning the words over before meeting me in a firm shake.
“Deal. I left your new suit in the living room with the others. And before you whine, yes, Aleksander, you have to do the yellow carpet.” She spins on her heels to leave, but her tiny body smacks right into the naked chest of my roommate as he comes jogging into my streaming room. She recoils, falling right onto her ass, and glares up at him.
“Whoa, sorry, Syd.” Parker reaches out a hand to pull her up, and she rolls her eyes before taking it.
“What is it, Parker?”
“Just wanted to see if I could switch out that shirt you put out for me to wear on Saturday for this one.” There is an electric blue dress shirt in his hand that he holds up with a wide grin. Knowing Parker, it’s probably a limited-edition shirt from some exclusive European designer that costs a stupid amount of money. Parker is the heir to the Covington Hotel conglomerate, a chain of high-end hotels throughout Europe that has recently expanded to the United States. The number of people he knows, and the depth of his bank account, has no end.
“No. We agreed on all black for everyone.”
Parker places his free hand on her shoulder and leans in with a sneaky smile.
“Come on. Just think how good I’ll look. Blue mask. Blue shirt. Perfectly styled hair. I’ll be a walking PR wet dream for the cameras.”
“Parker, no. I—”
“Thanks, Syd. Love ya, babes.” His accent thickens on the last words before he sprints back out of the room.
She rubs the bridge of her nose muttering, “You boys are the reason I have preventative Botox at the age of twenty-seven.”
“It’s a good thing we pay you the big bucks, then.” I stand up and ruffle her hair before dipping out into the living room.
Parker, Jackson, and I all live in a six-bedroom penthouse apartment with a large wraparound balcony. Three of the rooms we sleep in, three we converted into sound-proof streaming rooms. The place has an open floorplan and is pretty minimalistic, just decked out with a lot of neon signs and limited-edition gaming memorabilia. There’s even an obnoxious poster of the three of us on the wall next to the black leather couch, which sits in front of a sweet ninety-inch TV with surround sound. There are floor-to-ceiling windows lining the east side of the room, where the kitchen is, and the south side, leading to the balcony. The windows and outdoor space were the main things Parker wanted when we picked an apartment, and the twenty-four-hour gym and sauna were the main things Jackson wanted. I just wanted enough rooms so we could stream and sleep in the same place but in separate rooms. We owned a warehouse a couple of years back where we streamed and edited, but it was annoying to travel back and forth each day to sleep when we were streaming for hours on end. Half the time we ended up crashing on a shitty couch, which was killer on our backs.
I swipe a water from the kitchen fridge, chugging it as Sydney comes to rest on the island.
“I’m serious, Aleks. Don’t pull the same shit you did at the Streamzies awards, okay? Wear the outfit I put out, please.”
“That leather jacket cost two thousand dollars, Sydney.”
“It was a black-tie event, Aleksander.”
I sigh and grab her hands, looking her directly in the eye.
“I, Aleksander Knight, promise you, Sydney Lake, that I will not only have one civil conversation with Davis Monroe, but I will also wear the exact outfit you have requested with only minimal changes.”
“No changes.”
“I’m wearing my necklace.”
“Fine. Minimal changes.”
I let go of her hands with a chuckle and circle back to the fridge. It’s almost midnight, and I’m starving. The nights where I stream, dinner falls to the back of my mind. It’s not until I finish that my body begins to register the hunger.
I pull out one of tonight’s servings of dinner that has been prepared by our chef, Alicia. Sydney hired her two years ago when she noticed that Parker and I were surviving off packets upon packets of two-minute ramen as dinner after our late-night streams. She said the sodium would kill us one day. Syd is a cross between an annoying little sister and a mother hen. You never really know which one you’re going to get on a given day, but we love her all the same.
“Can you heat one for me?” Jackson’s deep voice rumbles into the room as he drops himself onto one of the island barstools.
“Fine. But only because of that triple kill you got in the last three minutes.” I pop the lids off two containers, inhaling the smell of homemade lasagna, before shoving them both in the microwave for a few minutes.
“Alright, I’m heading home. I expect pictures before you leave for the event. And please don’t screw anyone in the bathrooms.” Sydney pauses right before entering the elevator and spins back around. “Scratch that, please don’t attempt any sexual acts with anyone at the VSAs. I hate the media fallout from streamer drama. Okay, thanks.” The elevator door closes on her tense grin.