Teenage Millionaire

Chapter 22: Racing

"Come in," he calls, and I swallow, taking a breath and tightening the sash on the robe before opening the door, peeking my head in.

He's lying on a giant bed, propping himself up on his elbows and playing a video game. He's very intently focused on the giant TV across from him, grimacing as he presses a button on his controller rapidly. A moment later, he huffs a little, then presses what I assume must be the pause button and looks at me, already smirking.

"Sorry to interrupt," I murmur, not sure if I want him to hear me or not.

He waves a hand, then gestures to a pile of clothes on the edge of the bed. "Here, I put out a few choices. Do you like video games?"

I (very awkwardly, tensely, and gingerly) enter the room and go to the pile of clothing, carefully picking a few items up before hugging the bundle to my chest (it makes me feel marginally less anxious). "Um... I don't... really... know..."

"Too busy with homework? Well, how about once you're dressed, you study some hand-eye coordination, and maybe test out how good your reflexes are?"

"I do have actual homework."

"You've got all weekend, don't worry. At least play some games with dinner, yeah?"

I press my lips together. "And after that, you'll let me get some work done?"

"How about we just consider dinner exempt from the idea of work, and then after that we can discuss a work schedule."

I sigh. "Fine. I'll go get dressed."

He smirks suggestively, and I blush deeply before quickly exiting. That must count as flirting. He must be flirting with me. Maybe. Depending on what he's trying to achieve, by making all those comments and making me the first person to ever come over to his house more than once. What in the name of all things good and precious does he want from me?

I go back to the bathroom to get dressed. The heated floors are so nice.

His clothing is really nice, too. The sweatpants (which are much like the ones he's wearing) are soft on the inside, and the shirt is similarly made out of nice fabric, not rough at all.

When I go back into his room (feeling a lot less awkward this time, though I am wearing his clothes now, which has a few interesting implications) his gaze snaps to me immediately, and he looks at me kind of like he looked at me after Raymond finished with both of us: scanning me up and down, not giving much indication (if any) of his thoughts on his face. Still surveying my appearance, he pats the spot next to him. I take it, swallowing as I try not to pay too much attention to how he's looking at me.

Finally, his gaze circles back up to my eyes as he hands me a controller (showing zero sign of acknowledging how he was just staring at me a second ago). "Here. Ready?'

"I thought we were going to play video games during dinner."

"We are. But in order to actually be playing by that point, you have to warm up first. And if you've never played, you need a tutorial of the controls and such."

I decide not to argue, figuring it's pointless. "Okay, so what are the controls?"

He grins and goes back to his own remote, clicking a button or two before the TV makes a sound like a car engine. I look at it. "Mario Kart?" That's funny. I thought he'd be like, a super invested gamer, with all his money and free time, and be into something more...

"I play Mario Kart religiously," he informs me. "I'm very competitive. I've had programmers come in and alter the game to make it more difficult."

Not even remotely surprising. "Why Mario Kart? Why not just get another racing game?"