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Yeah, good luck, Dakota…

Every time I close my eyes, I see him. I see Jacksonandthe image Creator sent me, his hard body, the smirk Jackson Cross aims at photographers sometimes, like there’s a secret hidden in his eyes…

My body grows hot just thinking about his hard body. I roll over, blankets tangling between my legs, clinging to me.

When sleep finally comes, it tosses me into vivid, steamy dreams. Creator is standing over my bed, holding the piece of paper in front of his face, his manhood firmly outlined in his sweatpants, thick and ready. He slowly lowers the paper, revealing Jackson’s face, his piercing green eyes staring down at me in hunger.

“I know you want it to be me,”he growls, leaning down.“I know you’ve dreamed of us together before…”

“I haven’t,”I whimper.

“You can’t lie now, beautiful…”

Suddenly, his hands are all over my body. Gliding up my leg. Pressing down on my core. His breath is hot on my neck, tickling all over my body, teasing me. He palms my breasts and slides between my legs, groaning like he’s been waiting to do this ever since he first laid eyes on me.

“I’ve been waiting longer,”I moan.“I’ve been waiting for years…”

When I wake, I rush into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, hoping to wash away some of the insanity. I haven’t got acrushon Jackson Cross, mainly because I’m thirty years old and don’t get crushes anymore. But if thisisJackson, then yeah, it’s going to get me hot. Fiery hot. Hell-hot.

I’m back on stream, getting ready to watch a press conference that Halcyon only announced this morning.

When the feed fades in, I keep my face a natural mask. Jackson is sitting at a table alone, making the furniture look tiny. He’s clean-shaven, emphasizing that handsome chin dimple and his powerful square jaw.

When he looks at the camera, I feel like he’s looking directly at me.

“Good morning, loyal gamers,” Jackson says. “Firstly, let me start how I always do… by thanking everyone of you for your continued support as Empire’s Fall continues to develop and grow. Now, the tricky part…”

He smiles ruefully and stares right at me.

Chill, chill…

Someone in my chat has to start the negativity.

itsBigBilly: He’s such a wannabe heartthrob.

And I think about banning them. Jackson Cross’s public image has hinted at him wanting the attention he gets. Yet he always looks uncomfortable if an interviewer brings up thehottest man alivestuff.

“I know many of you think I’m just a clever computer guy,” Jackson goes on, and a tingle shimmers over me.

In another window, I bring up the conversation with Creator. That’s what I called him last night! A clever computer guy.

“But now you’ve made it obvious you want something more from the Cove,” he goes on. “So, I’ll use my clever-computer-guy skills to work on this issue day and night. Citizens of the Empire—you have my word.”

My mouth falls open as I compare his words with the messages. There’s no way it’s a coincidence. It’s word-for-word what I wrote last night.

“Wherever you are,” he goes on. “You deserve the best from your favorite game. And that’s what we’re determined to deliver. Whether you’re in Canada or Mexico, England or Spain, Italy, Australia, or New Zealand. And, of course, our largest player base, here in the US. We thank you all. From California to Virginia, from Texas to North…” He pauses, looks at the camera. His voice grows huskier. I’m not imagining this, am I? “Dakota, we thank you. Please, stick with us. We’re working day and night!”

I bite down, heart pounding hard, as the feed fades to black.

My chat is lighting up. Asking if the screen is frozen. Asking for my opinion. Wanting to know why I’m just sitting here with a shocked look on my face.

I quickly snap back into on mode. “Well, that was light on specifics,” I murmur. “But it’s good to know they’re aware of the issues, at least!”

Inside?

I’m a battlefield of want and doubt, with a layer of heated rebellion underneath it all. If he wants to play games, I can do that too.

With a wicked smile, I focus on one message out of the sea of viewers filling the chat log.