For The One Read online

  For The One

  A Gaming the System Novel

  By Brenna Aubrey

  For Kate, the Lucy to my Ethel (and sometimes vice versa, depending on the day)

  He's got everything but game....

  William Drake is an artistic genius with a photographic memory and the intensity to master practically any task. Oh, and he owns a chunk of a billion-dollar gaming company. A twenty-six year-old guy with his wealth, talent, and good looks shouldn't have problems winning over women. Except he does. To be exact--and detail-obsessed William is always exact--he's got problems with Jenna Kovac, the troubled beauty who has his heart working overtime and his tongue tied in knots.

  And she can't afford to lose.

  Jenna Kovac is a survivor. When war ripped her world apart, she lost her family, her homeland, and her one true love. She's made a new life for herself in the US, but she's learned that nothing is permanent, and some nights it's not even safe to dream. When a scumbag sells her future out from under her, suddenly the only man who can get it back is William Drake, geeky--but scorching-hot--social disaster. William must learn to stay cool under pressure for the all-important duel he's about to fight. Unless she can teach him to loosen up, she'll lose everything. Again.

  But Jenna's got a few things to learn from this irresistibly enigmatic man. As they spend time together, they're soon exchanging long, slow kisses--and painful secrets. There's so much more to William.

  Something that might be worth taking one more risk...

  Click here to sign up for my newsletter.

  Chapter 1

  Jenna

  Sometimes there was no other word to describe my life besides absurd. It's a good word, actually. It rolled off the tongue easily. Sounded better when you said it aloud than when you heard it in your mind. And sometimes, in the middle of a situation where you're outside of your own body looking at events taking place around you, it just fit so well.

  That was the word that popped into my mind that sweltering Saturday morning in March. I sat in the front row of an outdoor amphitheater at a local park watching two grown men in full medieval-style armor hack at each other with long swords. The reflection of the slanted morning sunlight glinted off the metal and stung my eyes as they faced off against each other. The shorter man was Doug, the guy I'd been seeing for the past few months. The tabard draped over his breastplate was brilliant scarlet trimmed with gold. The other man was taller, and though his head was hidden beneath a metal helmet and visor, I knew him to be William Drake.

  "Huzzah, Sir William! You can do it!" Shannon called. She was one of a group of women I liked to refer to as his fangirls. William seemed to have obliviously acquired his own little collection, and they alternated between trying to date him and trying to mother him, almost always failing on both counts.

  However, he didn't seem to show much interest in the women in the group, no matter how many times they threw themselves at him. I could see why they did it though. He was, in fact, almost too handsome to be real--tall and strong, with dark hair, a square jaw and excellent bone structure. His features were marred only by a tiny scar across his chin, which only lent ruggedness to his beauty.

  Armor clanked as swords crashed against each other with surprising speed. These weren't padded or wooden swords, the typical weapons of choice for medieval battle reenactments. No, this was the real deal.

  The rules of Historical Medieval Recreation Combat--as the formal organization was called--required real but blunted weapons. The injuries, however, could be all too real. Given the way Doug's left shoulder sagged where William savaged it in the first bout, I was certain he was feeling just how real it was.

  Currently, Doug was down by one, and they were fighting the second bout out of three now. I looked on with only mild interest. I had no dog in this fight.

  Well no, that wasn't exactly correct. I had one dog in this fight--Doug. I wanted him to win so that when I broke up with him later today, it wouldn't be as big a blow to his already enormous ego.

  Clang! William's weapon landed on Doug's armor, followed by a series of aggressive blows. He appeared to be overwhelming Doug, who clearly had not expected him to be this good. Actually, Doug had said as much to me this morning before the duel. He'd even laughed and made some disparaging remarks about the competition--"who could barely be called that," he'd sneered.

  Doug was an ass sometimes, but that was only part of the reason I was done with him. The winds had changed, and I had that familiar aching feeling that I needed to cut ties and move on. It was my fate to never be tied down, especially by a mediocre relationship.

  Behind me, another group of people also cheered for William. They were friends of mine as well and most definitely not fangirls. Mia, one of my best friends, was whooping and hollering over the crowd, and Alejandra, my roommate, had started a chant while clapping in rhythm. "Sir William! Sir William!"

  I inhaled a breath and let it go. It would serve Doug right to learn some humility at William's hands. But I couldn't really break up with him on the same day he'd been defeated in battle, could I? What would a medieval lady do?

  Thank goddess, I'd never actually know the answer to that question. Being a woman of the twenty-first century, I had a lot more choices than that proverbial medieval lady.

  Doug straightened after being driven back by William's blows and began swinging his good arm wildly, causing William to retreat. He cut in at the waist, and when William went to block with his buckler, Doug smashed his own buckler into William's helmeted face. A perfectly legal move, if an assholish one. Doug was clearly pissed that not only had the "easy competition" wounded him in the shoulder, he'd also won the first bout.

  In minutes, the second bout was over, Doug declared the winner by the judge. It was a tie, with one bout to go. The first combatant to score three hits on his opponent would be declared the winner of the final bout and thus, the entire duel.

  William and Doug were given a few minutes to catch their breath. With purpose, Doug strode right over to the railing, stopping in front of me. He bowed with a loud clank and then lifted the visor on his helmet. Absurd.

  "My lady," he called, still breathing heavily. "Your favor, if you please."

  I raised my brow. He did not actually believe that my hair ribbon or a scarf would help him, did he? I pressed my lips together when Caitlyn, at my right side, jabbed me in the rib cage with her elbow, giggling. "You lucky wench. Give him something!"

  I pulled the ribbon off my head, which promptly caused my long hair to fall over my eyes, and held it, dangling between my thumb and forefinger, toward Doug. He extended his sword, hilt first.

  "Tie it around the pommel, my love," he said again in a loud, sing-songy voice.

  Acid filled my stomach at the term of endearment--and at his stupid grandstanding. My cheeks burned in embarrassment. He'd been calling me that for the last few days--loudly, and in public only. It was about fifty percent of the reason that I'd decided to cut and run now instead of later.

  My gaze flicked to the other figure in the arena. William had switched out his small, round buckler for a tall shield, which was always used in the third round of a duel. He stood still as a stone as he silently watched us through his lowered face guard.

  I rose from my seat and quickly tied the ribbon in a bow around the pommel of Doug's weapon. Then I sat back down before he got really obnoxious and asked for a kiss or something.

  Doug then held up his sword, facing the crowd. A loud cheer erupted. "Louder! We can't hear you through our helmets."

  William had not moved, and his helmeted head was still aimed in my direction. Disquieted, I demurely clapped my hands, my applause lost in the clamor behind me. People were stamping their feet on the wooden bleachers and whistling. William's h
elmeted head swung in the direction of the bleachers, his shield lowering a fraction. Then, he spun and turned his back on the crowd, his head drooping.

  Doug had turned to look at William as he waited for the referee's call to battle. I squinted as I watched him. He seemed to be studying William, too. An intimidation tactic?

  After swapping out his shield, Doug strode to the center of the battlefield where the referee stood. Haltingly, William turned toward them, stumbling as he took his place. I frowned. What was up with that? He'd seemed so confident during the first bout. Maybe the defeat in the second bout had shaken him.

  The two knights faced off again, swords poised as they awaited the signal to begin. The moment the yellow flag lifted between them, they began pounding each other. It was so surreal to watch these grown men playacting their war games when I had lived through an actual war. In fact, I'd been born in the middle of a war zone and survived for years in a city under siege.

  I shuddered, forcing the horrible memories from my mind.

  William was heading toward Doug again, but his movements were halting and haphazard. He swung and hit only the air, and his shield was cocked at an awkward angle, almost as if to block the spectators from watching him fight. The crowd cheered louder and stomped harder.

  William stumbled within striking distance and his sword came down hard on Doug's injured shoulder. Doug let loose a loud string of curses that could be heard over the din of the crowd. The referee blew a whistle and called for them to separate. Both knights lowered their weapons and raised their visors.

  "Foul, Black and Silver, for attacking a previously injured portion of the opponent's body in an unchivalrous manner. Black and Silver, this is a yellow card warning! One more such penalty will disqualify you. And you--Red and Gold. You are hereby warned about your unchivalrous language. Have a care, sir."

  William nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground, but Doug was staring at William through narrowed eyes. I couldn't tell whether he was angry or plotting. His lips thinned as he turned to the crowd and raised his sword to drum up more noise. The crowd happily complied.

  William's entire body stiffened--if such a thing could be detected under all that armor. I wondered what the hell Doug was up to. Earlier, he said something about knowing an opponent's weakness being the key to winning a duel. Until a few minutes ago, William hadn't displayed any weaknesses.

  The crowd was clearly bothering William. I hadn't noticed it until Doug approached me and asked for my favor, then roused the crowd to cheer. Had that been a calculated move on Doug's part? It sure as heck hadn't been sentimental. Doug didn't work like that. He'd had a reason for asking me for that favor when he did and making such a production of it.

  Doug pushed forward the minute he was given the signal by the ref. He landed two direct hits in quick succession. William was forced to retreat without making a single attempt to block. The crowd roared. With one more hit, the bout--and the duel--would be Doug's. And though I'd originally felt it would be good for my purposes if he won today, I suddenly wished he wouldn't.

  William readjusted his large shield against his side. Doug raised his sword again, but this time as a signal to the crowd to cheer louder. They did so in earnest by stomping, yelling and whistling with even greater fervor. I, however, was focused on William. It was hard to read body language under a layer of steel, but with his shield sagging and his sword jutting at a strange angle, he clearly looked uncomfortable.

  Doug moved toward him and William suddenly charged, moving faster than he had before. William snuck a hit in on Doug before fending off what would have been the final blow. The crowd was on its feet now, including me. It was so close.

  The ref stopped play again and William paced in circles, his gauntleted fist opening and closing at his side, his helmet turning as if he was shaking his head inside there. Doug turned to the crowd, raising his hand as if to get the crowd to shout louder. A shudder passed through William's whole body.

  When the flag between them was lifted, William lunged almost too soon and started chopping away at Doug randomly. Gone was the precise, staid style of fighting that had worn Doug down during the first bout. Now William's energy almost seemed chaotic and Doug fended him off easily.

  Until William's sword landed on him once again...at the juncture of his breastplate and helmet. We all jumped up and down, screaming. William had gotten his last hit.

  And yeah, I was probably happier about it than I should have been. Everyone was cheering so loudly that no one heard the ref's whistle until both contenders raised their visors. It took a few minutes, but the crowd quieted down.

  Something was wrong. The ref was not declaring William the winner.

  "Due to another yellow card violation--a strike against the neck piece--I hereby declare the Knight of Black and Silver disqualified. Red and Gold, you are the winner of this duel."

  The group of people behind me--William's friends and family--were questioning each other in tight voices. I turned around to look at them. Mia was watching William carefully, her pretty face creased in a frown. Alex was complaining loudly, and Adam and Heath had their heads together, conversing. Others were in a similar state of confusion. Doug's friends, of course, were ecstatic, and Caitlyn and Ann, who sat on either side of me, cheered. "He won! Your man won!"

  Doug raised his visor to reveal the grim smile on his face. He appeared supremely satisfied. A chant went up. "Sir Douglas! Sir Douglas!" Inexplicably, my stomach bunched in a knot. I couldn't help but feel bad for William. He had fought such a good fight with quick and powerful hits.

  Within minutes, there was a crowd around Doug, and William took off in the direction of the camping site where the sleeping tents were set up. As a group, we had camped the night before in preparation for the weekend's events. Beyond watching the duels, we non-fighters also had work to do. After lunch, there would be a yearly planning meeting for our club, traditionally held at the beginning of every spring.

  Two more knights filed into the ring for a practice duel. I let out a deep breath. Might as well get this over with. Perhaps he wouldn't take it too hard on the tail end of his "great victory."

  My two closest friends in our clan, Caitlyn and Ann, walked with me. Ann chatted amiably about the duel while Caitlyn called and waved to people along the way, sometimes peeling off to go hug or greet someone.

  I, on the other hand, was quiet, already mentally practicing my breakup dialogue.

  "Are you happy that your man won?" Ann asked suddenly.

  I sent her a look out of the corner of my eye. In the past, Ann had been quite frank in telling me she was not a fan of Doug and that he "didn't deserve" me. I took a few steps in silence before I answered. "Sure."

  I didn't meet her gaze, afraid she might figure things out. I hadn't yet shared with either of them my waning interest in Doug.

  "It's too bad," she said in her mellifluous Somali accent that I so enjoyed listening to. "About Sir William. He's a kind man."

  "He is..." I shrugged. "But every battle needs a winner and a loser." I frowned. That had sounded a lot better in my head than it did out loud. William was no loser.

  Caitlyn fell into step beside us again, calming her usual boisterous tendencies in order to catch up on our conversation.

  Ann stole another glance at me and sucked in her cheeks, emphasizing her already exquisite bone structure. "He has a thing for you."

  "Doug? Of course he does," Caitlyn said.

  My eyebrows shot up, and though I knew Ann had meant William, I stayed silent, hoping Caitlyn would steer the conversation in a different direction. She didn't get the chance.

  "I meant William," Ann explained to her. "I catch him looking at Jenna all the time."

  "Sir Hottie MacFine has the hots for Jenna?" Caitlyn said, far louder than I would have liked.

  I shushed her. "He does not. We argue all the time. The guy is constantly contradicting everything I say."

  Ann shrugged. "Sexual tension. It's not that far beyond
reason, honey. He did challenge Doug to the duel, remember."

  I shook my head. "That was a male dick-measuring contest, nothing more."

  Caitlyn erupted into loud peals of laughter. "So it was a physical manifestation of an argument about who has the longest--uh--sword?"

  I nodded, grinning. "Exactly. A man thing. They think very highly of their swords."

  "What is with that, anyway?" Ann asked. As usual, I found her naivete endearing. She and I had bonded over similar backgrounds; we're both immigrants to the US. In fact, we met while working together at the International Refugee Support Center.

  "Who knows? We aren't men. We just keep them around to pleasure us," I said.

  If a blush could be detected under Ann's smooth, dark skin, then I surmised she would be blushing right now.

  Caitlyn leaned in and tapped her arm. "When Rodrigo finally gets his head out of his ass and asks you out, you'll see."

  Ann's hand shot to her mouth. "Caitlyn! Don't say such things!"

  I continued what Caitlyn had started, relieved that the heat was off me. "He lurves you, Ann. He's just too shy."

  "He loves me in the same way that William loves you?" Ann shot back. Damn. So much for that plan. Now my face was burning, the image of a perfect, tall man--a literal knight in shining armor--floating before my eyes.

  "She has Doug. She doesn't need another man. Save some of them for us homely girls." Caitlyn gestured to herself with a laugh.

  "You're doing it again. Stop it," I lightly reprimanded, referring to her tendency to indulge in self-deprecation.

  But Ann could not be deterred. "I know you don't like Doug. Not really."

  "Is that your all-powerful African intuition talking?" Caitlyn teased.

  "It's called perception," Ann countered. "You should try it some time."

  Caitlin shrugged and deferred to me. "What does your intuition say?"

  "I never trust my intuition. I'll stick to my Tarot cards," I said.

  Ann turned to me. "Why haven't you broken up with Doug? He doesn't deserve you."

  My right brow shot up in a perfect imitation of Mr. Spock, but I refrained from pointing out that her intuition--all powerful or not--seemed to be right on the mark this time.