Until he does.
You go for a dash attack to try and set up another knockout blow, but he counters with a grab. He throws you to the ground, gets in a couple of quick hits, then grabs you again. He repeats this a few times, your thumbs madly twitching at the controls, trying to break free of his punishing combo. In moments, your percentage meter has skyrocketed, and he throws you off screen before you can respond.
The room erupts in cheers. You look at Jake out of the corner of your eye. His small smile infuriates you. Okay RC, no more playing nice.
The moment your character reappears, you go for an aggressive attack to take advantage of the invincibility period. He dodges it easily. As soon as you’re vulnerable again, he’s on you. You manage to land a few more good hits, but you can’t keep up. It’s like he’s predicting your moves before you make them. In the blink of an eye, he’s knocked you out again.
The laughter and cheers are now peppered with trash talk.
“Get that bitch, Jake!”
“Did you forget you weren’t playing the Sims?”
“Sorry Princess, but your win is in another castle!”
You try to change up your tactics. You pull out every trick you can think of, desperate to find an edge. Your breaths get short and your mind buzzes with humiliation every time Jake easily counters one of your moves. A strange, warm pressure starts to build inside you. Pressing your thighs together, you squirm in your seat. C’mon RC! Focus!
It’s no use. Before you can even knock him out for a second time, he lands the killing blow and sends the room into a cacophony of cheers and hooting. Jake just looks at you, that same little smile on his face. “I knew you were a fake gamer girl.”
You can’t look him in the eye. Lincoln’s voice cuts through the crowd. “Wow! Two stocked! How embarrassing.”
You look back at Lincoln, your cheeks hot. “OK, whatever, I lost one match. That was a warmup.”
Lincoln smiles. “So you’re saying you want more punishment?”
You squeeze your thighs together again, that weird pressure getting worse. “I’m saying let’s play a real match. That didn’t count.” You hate how lame your voice sounds, like you’re a whiny kid who didn’t get their way. Fuck it, I need to show them I can win.
“Real matches mean wagers, you know. Our turf, our rules.” He cocks his head to the side. “How about this: you win a rematch, we stop calling you a fake gamer girl and you get full club standing.”
Oh, how enticing. “And if I lose?”
“We get your bra.” The boys shriek with laughter.
Your eyes go wide, and your thighs clamp together. “What?! My bra?”
“You can keep your shirt on, don’t worry.” He cocks his head to the other side. “And think of it like this: either way, you’re becoming one of the guys. After all, none of us are wearing bras.”
The mocking laughter assaults your ears. You cannot believe the arrogance of this fucking asshole. You don’t give a shit about standing in his stupid gamer club. All you care about is shutting all these punks up and putting Lincoln in his place.
You look at George. His eyes are wide and he’s shaking his head, silently begging you not to do it. He has a point. The thought of losing again is almost too much to handle. And having to give these guys your bra…
You squirm in your seat.
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