For The Taking - Brenna Aubrey Page 0,44

parts of your body they want to bathe with their spunk.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Ewww. Disgusting little shits.”

Some of those gamer kids on the internet could get particularly raunchy when shielded by their anonymity. And sexism in the gaming community was real. There was a chance I’d spoiled some of my cred as a legit gamer girl with this stunt.

Well shit, at least the live streaming was a side gig and not my full-time job.

Lucas straightened from the keyboard and stood stiffly facing me. His obvious displeasure was making me feel a bit sheepish. “I’d done yoga right before and I got the idea to stream my set up. That’s why I was dressed like that.”

He shook his head. “You should know better, Kat. You should also know about the dangers posed to any internet streamer. Calling SWAT teams on people just so they can watch streamer get ‘swatted’ on live internet. That’s dangerous shit. To say nothing of stalkers.”

I frowned. “A wee tiny mistake I won’t make again. But I’m not going to curb my streaming out of fear. I definitely won’t wear my yoga stuff again even if it was a banner day for new subscribers.” I stuck my tongue out at him and he rolled his eyes as he left the room.

In spite of my surface irritation, though, I was grateful that he’d raced in and put a stop to it when he did. I had no idea he even followed me on Twitch. Likely he’d gotten the notification that I was livestreaming on his way home and realized what was going on. It could have gone on for another hour had he not shut it down.

Thank goodness he had.

Out in the living room, I turned to him. “I don’t need to use my rack and my ass to get subscribers and donations. I’m just myself on my channel—a funny, quirky gamer girl. I don’t get all glammed up or wear a push-up bra.”

He blew out a breath. “Please tell me you aren’t so naïve you think every single one of your subscribers are there for your gameplay instead of because of how you look.”

I spun on him, hands on my hips. “How do I look, Lucas?”

Might as well call him on his shit, right? His eyes narrowed and slid down my form slowly. It wasn’t lewd or leering, the way he looked at me. But it warmed me up like the lightest touch, nevertheless. I found I wanted him to look at me, notice me.

I waved a hand in front of my chest. “Is that all my worth? My face, my tits, my ass?”

He blinked. “Exactly the opposite. But the fact that those horny little shits see only that and not your actual—and considerable—talent pisses me off.”

I sighed. “Welcome to being a woman in the gamer community. We are constantly objectified as well as having our abilities questioned. People assume the only reason we get ahead is because we purposely use our bodies and our looks to replace real ability.”

“Well you know I don’t think that way. But not acknowledging how your looks play into it is disingenuous. You’re way too—” he cut himself off, flushing as if whatever he was going to say would embarrass him to admit.

I stared at him expectantly. He blinked, then returned my stare for long, tense moments.

Then he cleared his throat. “I still plan on hunting down those little shits and infecting their machines with undetectable malware.”

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth in spite of everything. His protectiveness toward me was more than a little endearing. It almost—almost—made me forget about his implication that my looks played a part in my online popularity.

I would be naïve to think otherwise, I suppose. And his implication wasn’t one of finding fault or finger pointing. It was just stating a fact. If his beliefs had aligned with the stupid little woman-hating incel gamer-gate shits out there, then I would have long known that by now.

“You’re just making peace so I don’t embarrass you in front of your parents tonight.”

He cracked a smile at that. “Just wear a nice dress and use your best manners and you’ll make it through unscathed.”

I raised a brow, contemplating that. “They sound really old-fashioned.”

“You have no idea.”

I eyed him suspiciously, deeply aware that there was more that he wasn’t telling me about himself, his family and this evening in general. “So how nice should I dress?”

He checked his watch. “Think formal.”

Hmm. “Well I have the

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