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    The Tarot

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  1. “Thirty percent, huh?” That might have been short-changing him a bit. In middle school, Vince had rocked the awkward-but-still-boyishly-charming look. Of course, at that age, Ray hadn’t exactly focused on his good looks. She’d just found him interesting, when few could keep her attention for more than a minute or two. He kept her guessing, and his explosive personality so perfectly filled spaces her reserved one couldn’t reach. ‘Completing her’ was such a cliched concept, but where their friendship was concerned, he had. That was why she had called him her best friend, not his good looks.
  2. "Well, I'm still really sorry and- oof." His arms came around her, squeezing tight enough that he lifted Ray off her feet. Embarrassment burst like a firework, sending red streaking across her pale cheeks. "Vince," she drawled, voice pumped with enough annoyance to cover the delight. Her booted feet kicked, though not with much gusto, as she wasn't entirely unhappy to be back in a famous Vincent Cain bear hug. How long had it been? Nine years? Ten? Jesus, an entire decade had passed since she'd seen her oldest friend. They'd been inseparable, once upon a time. Then Vince had moved, and t
  3. "Hey, come here often?" She could make it look like an accident. Hell, in the safe zone, it wouldn't even take a chunk of his health. More importantly, it wouldn't change the color of her cursor. So what was the harm? The guy was being an ass, following her after she'd so politely made her get-away. This guy had a real set on him if he was willing to follow her to the bathroom. And using the same terrible pick-up line again? Was he mentally defective? So she pivoted, a balled fist lashing about a foot above her head. It was where his face likely was, if she'd correctly judged his hei
  4. I don't need your pity-help. The words sprang forward, but she clenched her jaw before they could escape. The truth of the matter was they did need help, especially with someone as carefree and daring as Vincent. He would happily throw himself off a cliff if there was "fun to be had," and in her current state, Ray just wasn't prepared to stop him. Or catch him, whichever way it went. "Yeah, sure," she finally answered, inclining her head in a small nod. "The help will be nice." The words had hardly left her lips before Vincent snagged her hand, squeezing it fiercely with his own. She real
  5. Closed to Vincent Cain "Haven't seen you around here before. Do you come here often?" The mousy brunette would not even dignify that with a turn of her head. Instead, her emerald eyes cut to him, daggers still managing to reach her peripheral vision. "Are you serious?" Perhaps he did not pick up on the venom in her tone. Perhaps he figured any response at all was promising. But the heavily armored man with the shaggy brown hair broke into a grin. "Yeah," he answered eagerly. Ray's eyebrows winged up, and she blinked, finally turning her head to face him. "You're not using t
  6. Yeah, that sounded like him. "No combat?" Ray echoed, eyes narrowing to slits as she turned the concept over in her mind. If there was no fighting, that meant no risk of death, right? Honestly, it sounded a little too good to be true. But as someone with absolutely no MMO experience, the woman had no way of knowing if these gathering quests were commonplace. She'd have to ask Vince, but not now. No use looking stupid in front of Cordelia. After another moment's pause, Rayleigh nodded. "Alright, fine. I'll go with you, and help you pick up the T1 materials." The words were clunky on h
  7. Ray scowled at Vincent as he scampered across the road, dragging another player along by the hand. No, not just another player. A beautiful player of the female variety. Eyeing the runway-ready woman, Ray felt herself tense. But why? Was that jealousy? Disgusting. Hearing him refer to her as his best friend did soften the blow, and she slammed the door on the friendzone train of thought before she could start over-analyzing. It was far easier to build up her walls, donning emotional armor before proceeding. "I never asked you for your opinion of my pants," she growled back, rolling her ey
  8. The ping of an incoming message shot Rayleigh out of her dream and into reality. After a fleeting attempt to bring Hugh Jackman back, the brunette grumbled obscenities into her pillow. "Someone is about to die," she snarled, rolling over to stare at the ceiling of the tiny room. With a a flick of her wrist, Ray summoned her HUD, blinking back sleep before squinting against the bright light. "No, no, no." The young woman's face hardened as she quickly blasted back a reply. Then another. Like a bullet from a gun, Ray shot from her bed. She equipped her cargo pants and t-s
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