THE KING OF THE GOLD SYSTEM GAMING

I SHUT THE DOOR

I shut the door, half expecting him to take off and leave me in a cloud of dust, but instead he just waits. When another second passes and he just stares at me through the window, I give up and turn around to walk into the building.

I really do not understand that man.

“Evening, Miss Panther,” the doorman greets me when I walk inside.

“Evening, Bill,” I smile back before making my way to the elevators. I come here often enough that I am practically an honorary resident. It is a stunning apartment complex, almost as nice as the one The Gold System lives in.

I eventually reach Leyla’s floor and stand outside her door, taking a deep breath and centering myself before punching in the code and walking inside.

“Your favorite human has arrived,” I chime in with a smile.

“Hi,” Stevie’s voice trills back.

Leyla’s head pops around the corner from her kitchen, and she gives me a massive grin before bounding over and crushing me in a hug.

“I missed your face.”

“I missed yours, too,” I say, squeezing her back.

“Come, I need help making a drink. I’m out of ideas.”

“What would you do without me?”

“Dunno.” She cocks her head. “Buy premades, probably?”

“Fair.” I open her fridge and scan it before taking out a carton of watermelon juice, a can of club soda, maple syrup, and lime juice. One of our rituals for Crime Night is making different alcoholic concoctions; sometimes they are failures—like our coconut rum hot chocolate—and sometimes they are total wins—such as our peach schnapps-spiked boba.

“I didn’t think you’d come for a second there,” Leyla whispers.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “I considered it.”

“Panther.” Empathy fills her voice, and I give her a stern look.

“Don’t. I’m fine.” I reach for the vodka and begin to mix all the ingredients together before pouring the pink concoction into two glasses with some ice. I hold one out to Leyla. “I just want to enjoy a little murder, okay?”

“Okay.” She takes the glass from me with pursed lips, giving me a once over. “We decided on unsolved crimes tonight, by the way.”

“Fun.” I give her a wink before taking the lead and heading into her living room.

While my aesthetic might be e-girl pink, Leyla’s aesthetic is justaesthetic. Everything about her apartment is pretty, from the meticulously cared-for aquarium below her giant TV, to the opalescent coffee table, to the moon-shaped lamp. It gives lunar princess vibes.

I drop onto the couch, snuggling myself into the corner as I take a sip of my watermelon concoction. It isn’t half bad.

“Syd’s not here yet?”

“Nope. I think you were right, she was probably coming,” Stevie smirks.

I snort and Leyla lets out a muttered, “Oh my God.”

“Let’s start, and we can catch her up.” I reach forward and grab the remote to flip to the right channel and pull up our show.

“I’m fine with that. To the murder,” Leyla cheers, holding her drink out.

“To the murder,” Stevie echoes with her own wine glass.

“To the murder,” I smile, finally feeling at ease.

“The haunted house went up in flames and multiple dead bodies were found inside. All the deceased were graduated students from the local high school. However, upon closer inspection, it was found that the deceased did not die of smoke inhalation but instead murder.”

“That’s kind of a smart idea,” Leyla pipes up, “using the fire to hide your tracks.” She tilts her head at the TV screen, causing her black French braids to sway as she scrutinizes the scene before us.

“Yeah, it’s a pity it didn’t work,” Stevie laments, taking a large sip of her rosé.

“A bystander did note that three motorcycles were seen leaving the scene of the crime, and it was even believed that they were wearing Halloween masks not unlike those of popular horror movie villains.”

“You know, those Ghostface masks are pretty hot,” I chime in, reaching forward to grab a cookie from the table.

“Right,” Leyla hums in agreement, holding out an empty hand and twinkling her fingers.

I plop the cookie in her hand before going back to grab another.

“That’s the same thought I had when I met Aleks the first time,” Stevie nods.

“There’s something incredibly wrong with all of you,” a posh British voice scoffs.

 

All three of us girls turn to glare at the man camped out in the egg-shaped armchair in the corner.

“I can’t believe you invited him.” Leyla shoots eye daggers at Sydney as she enters the room carrying a fresh bowl of popcorn.

“For the fifth time, I didn’t invite him,” the blonde huffs as she drops the bowl on the coffee table. “He invited himself.”

“It’s against the rules.”

Leyla, Sydney, and I have been meeting for a weekly Crime Night for two years now, and a few months ago we brought Stevie into the fold after she started dating Aleks. We alternate between watching true crime and haunted house investigations while snacking on baked goods, sipping on alcoholic concoctions, and sprinkling in a healthy dose of gossip. We rarely miss a week unless it’s a holiday or there’s some sort of gaming or work conflict.

There are only two rules when it comes to Crime Night. The first, no phones; we have to leave them in a bowl at the door. The second, no outsiders.

“Why would Maker voluntarily invite himself to Crime Night?” Stevie narrows her catlike eyes. “He hates scary shit.”

“Maybe we’re his only friends,” I shrug.

“Or maybe it’s co-dependency. He’s too obsessed with his girlfriend,” Leyla nods.

“Hecan hear you.” Maker rolls his baby blues dramatically. “And he expects you to be nicer to him because he brought expensive champagne as a peace offering.”

“Babe, we talked about this. You need to stop with the third-person stuff,” Sydney sighs as he pulls her onto his lap.

“The bubbles are pretty good,” I hum, taking a sip of my champagne. I’d finished my watermelon drink an episode earlier.

“Thank you,” he grins with a wink.

Maker Covington is an attractive man. He has a killer jawline and cheekbones that make everyone jealous, and paired with his dyed white-blond hair and impish grins, he looks like a sexy angel. It’s no wonder Sydney fell for him even though she’s his publicist.

“Champagne isn’t enough to join the girl’s club, sorry, English.” I wrinkle my nose in feigned apology. “If we start making exceptions for you, we have to make exceptions for everyone.”

As much as I try to remember to call Maker by his name, it still isn’t second nature to me. I met him online through streaming videogames and tend to default to his gamertag even when we are in person. I have the same habit with all The Gold System even though their identities are no longer a secret from the world.

“Oh, come on, don’t kick me out,” he pouts, flashing us all puppy dog eyes.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think you have anything useful to add to Crime Night,” Stevie shrugs, flicking her brown hair over her shoulder.

“My devilish good looks?”

Sydney throws a piece of popcorn at her boyfriend.