Chapeter 8 I invited her to sleep with you?

Lunch passed in a blur of chatter.

The younger staff practically hung off Jen’s every word, crowding close as they fought to share stories from the game. Those without headsets pouted openly, swearing they’d save up to join. Viral videos of Thirian were already making the rounds online, and the envy was real.

Ben kept inching closer to Jen as he talked, his enthusiasm so intense that the self-proclaimed foodie forgot to eat. Stacy, noticing how weirdly he was acting, grabbed his arm with a teasing roll of her eyes.

“Benny, let the woman breathe. Look—taco pie.” She pointed at his plate.

Ben blinked, then looked down at his food—and at Jen, who was smiling but had leaned back slightly, caught somewhere between amused and mildly overwhelmed. Embarrassed, he shuffled back into his chair, no longer moments away from literally crawling into her space.

Jen gave Stacy a grateful nod.

Stacy—Poison Fang in-game—and Ben, who went by Happy Riddler (an odd but somehow fitting name), were two of the closest in the group. The youngest, Kenny—a high school dropout working part-time—was Red Mist in-game. All of them were trying to impress Jen, hoping for another breadcrumb of wisdom or a tactical hint.

Mid-lunch, a cough cut through the chatter.

They turned.

Jeff stood there, arms crossed.

He was the branch manager. Jen’s boss, technically.

“Hello, Jeff,” Jen greeted, flashing a smile—one she’d practiced for years. Polite. Professional. Absolutely fake.

Jeff smiled back—brightly at her, then immediately glowered at Ben. His voice was sharp as he said, eyes never leaving Ben, “I wanted to remind everyone about the no cross-employee dating policy.”

Jen blinked. Taken aback.

“Oh, but Jeff,” she said smoothly, “I distinctly recall you telling me that was more of a deterrent than an actual rule. You even said—and I quote—‘Free time is their free time,’ remember?”

Jeff blushed, looking away.

He had said that—months ago, when he learned Jen was no longer married. It was his subtle way of expressing interest. Jen, of course, hadn’t responded. Not once. But now he stood here, clearly fed up after seeing Ben practically leap into her lap during every lunch break.

Still, called out in front of half the floor, he floundered.

“Yes, well,” he coughed, “at the workspace, couples should still show decorum. At the very least.”

Jen let out a tired laugh.

“Yes. When I see a couple engaging in overt PDA,” she said, voice suddenly sharp, “I’ll be sure to remind them of our policy.”

The temperature at the table dropped by ten degrees.

Ben, crimson-faced, stared at his half-eaten taco pie. His eyes flicked between Jen and Jeff, caught somewhere between mortified and confused.

It was clear who’d lost the silent battle.

Jeff faltered, then nodded stiffly and walked off, muttering something under his breath.

Jen turned to Stacy, wholly intent on shifting the topic back to Thirian, a smile on her face.

“We should totally visit Irma’s Nails and Claws. Nothing beats cute nails while slaying beasts.” She tilted her head. “It’d be such a laugh if we managed to drag Lea along.”

At this, the younger girl snorted. “We’ve got better luck dragging Scott and his massive shield through those doors.”

The rest of the shift crawled by.

Jen finished the evening checklists and handed off instructions to the night staff. She double-checked the till, signed the handover log, and finally peeled off her apron. All the while, she could hear a pair of sneakers scuffing the tile behind her.

They were waiting.

To be specific—their owner was undoubtedly waiting for her.

She sighed, grabbed her keys, and headed to the back lot. Ben trailed after her like a lost puppy.

She stopped beside her old Saab, the air crisp with evening chill.

“Yes, Ben?” she asked, her tone gentle but unmistakably firm.

Ben rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight.

“Boss lady wanted me to invite you over. For game planning, I mean. She thinks we should meet in person instead of a call. Y’know, face-to-face and all that.”

She shook her head.

“I don’t think I want to make that drive. I’m spending time with Josh and taking him out. By the time I’m at yours and then need to head back, it’ll be so late.”

Ben nodded quickly.

“Right, yeah. Totally fair. But, like... it’s cool if you just sleep over. I don’t mind.”

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Jen raised an eyebrow, taking him in with half-curious amusement.

“You want me to sleep over at your place?”

Ben blanched.

“I mean—yes. No. I mean—not like that. Just—there’s girls and stuff! You’d sleep with them, not me—uh, I mean—” His words tripped and stumbled, his face turning a full shade of crimson. He looked anywhere but at her.

Jen couldn’t help it. She giggled, charmed in spite of herself.

“Oh, a sleepover with the girls, huh?” she teased. “You mean Poison Fang and Fireblade?”

Ben nodded too fast.

She shrugged.

“Fine. I’ll come by—after I drop Josh at his dad’s. Should I wear cute pajamas, or nah?”

Ben made a strangled sound and fled, her laughter chasing him all the way across the lot.

At around 21:45, the doorbell rang.

Kenny flung open the door, grinning wide. “Oh—hi, Miss Dawson.”

Jen stepped inside with a warm smile. “Hi, Kenny.”

His fire-red hair practically glowed under the yellow hallway light, his youthful face brightening at her greeting.

It saddened her a little. That hunger—for simple adult acknowledgment. She often wondered where his parents were. In fact, she wondered that about a lot of them. Most of the Robin Arrows were barely eighteen. A few younger. Only a couple looked old enough to rent a car. Even their so-called leader, Lea—Fireblade—Jen couldn’t imagine she was a day over twenty-four.

Maybe tonight’s “sleepover” would answer a few questions.

The apartment—much like the last time Jen had visited—was modest. Walls were cluttered with posters of old games and anime, the floor littered with sneakers and gym bags. A long couch, a scratched coffee table, and the faint scent of instant noodles gave the space a lived-in warmth.

The living room buzzed with activity.

Three youths were arguing over gear loadouts on the couch, someone in the kitchen had just set a kettle to boil, and soft music played from a phone on the windowsill.

From the far side of the room, Lea spotted them entering and raised her beer. “Good. We’re all here. Let’s start the meeting.”

Her eyes flicked to the bag in Jen’s hand. She took a casual swig. “What’s in the bag?”

Jen took a seat, offering polite greetings around the room before she replied, “It’s for the sleepover, silly.”

Lea choked.

Beer sprayed out of her mouth in a misty arc—right onto Scott, seated beside her.

“Are you serious?!” he shrieked, leaping up. “My face! My hoodie!”

Swearing, he sprinted down the hallway to clean up.

Lea blinked, stunned, still wiping her mouth. “Wait—what?” Her eyes snapped to Jen.

Jen turned to Ben. “He invited me to sleep over. Did he not tell you?”

All eyes turned on Ben.

The room went still.

Ben’s face paled. “Uh—no, Boss lady. I… I invited her to sleep with you.”

Lea froze. The room went dead quiet.

“You did what?” she croaked. “Why would you—? I mean—what the hell, Ben?!”

Her voice rose as a wave of confusion and embarrassment crashed over her, heat crawling up her neck.

He stammered, hands fidgeting at his sides. “I—it made sense! I thought it’d be fine—you said we needed a pre-game meeting, and I figured she’d be more comfortable—like—y’know, if you hosted—?”

Lea held her head in both hands, muttering into her fingers.

Jen cleared her throat politely. “He said you wanted a meeting before launch, and I didn’t want to be walking through sketchy neighborhoods this late. But if it’s an issue, I can head home. We can do a video call instead.”

Lea shook her head sharply. “No. No, you’re already here.”

She shot Ben a withering glare. “A sleepover it is.”

She took a deep breath, her hands massaging her face for a brief second. The thoughts her mind had wandered to made her blush harder than she liked.

Then she pointed at Ben like she was issuing a divine decree.

“You. Go put fresh bedding in your room. I’m taking your bed. You’re on the couch.”

She added more softly to Jen, “You can have my bedroom,” the words slipping out like a quiet apology. She’d never admit to Jen what her brain had just imagined.

Ben didn’t dare argue. He turned and fled down the hall.

Lea let out a long, slow sigh, then turned back to Jen with a tired smile. “Let’s talk strategy, execution… anything we need to hammer out before the game starts.”

Jen nodded, folding her arms on the table and resting her cheek against them. Her voice was soft, her yawn barely stifled.

“I’m not really a night owl, so I’ll make it quick.”

The group quieted. Across the room, the hum of the fridge and the muted shuffle of feet faded as even the rangers sat up straighter, pulling up menus or digging out notebooks.

They were headed for the Secret Mine of Sorrow—a haunted mine-cave crawling with undead. The first team to clear it would earn them a reward Jen said she needed—and more importantly, it opened a lucrative opportunity exclusive to their group. A crucial foundation for the guild Jen would soon register in Falkenhide.

She spoke clearly but gently, outlining the raid plan. It wasn’t conventional.

Instead of the standard tank-melee-mage formation, she proposed something bold:

A group of mages would blitz the front lines, using speed scrolls to burst through enemy waves. Their goal? To reach a fortified point inside the mine where they could control the engagement numbers due to narrow space.

But there would be no pauses. No retreats. If someone fell behind—they were lost.

The room was tense. Silent. Even the rangers, usually chatty, held their breath.

Jen tapped a few icons on her phone-linked interface and sent Lea an item.

A sword.

“You run in the back,” Jen said, her voice calm but unwavering. “Make sure everyone makes it through. But if you go down, no one’s coming to get you.”

Lea accepted the trade. Her eyes widened.

The sword was leagues above her current weapon—above anything any of them could afford, even with their group’s silver and gear. It wasn’t just rare—it was a statement. A guarantee. A weighty expectation.

Lea gave a tight nod. She understood. Jen wasn’t handing over that sword because she was generous.

She was handing it over because failure wasn’t an option.

“What if you die?” Lea asked, half-smirking, trying to regain just a little ground.

But Jen only laughed. Her head tilted, that lazy, knowing look in her eye like a black cat stretching on a warm windowsill—majestic, and completely unbothered.

Lea swallowed her next question.

Because once again, that woman—that soccer mom—had made her feel like a kid pretending to lead.

And Lea didn’t like feeling like a kid.

Especially not in front of her.