Page 52 of End Game

By the time we finally reach the actual combat encounter, the night is fucking unsalvageable—in the best fucking ways.

Words lead to innuendos and laughter in multitudes.

Thrust.

Opening.

Hard.

Ronan even throws in an erect at one point.

Ronan tells Griffin he has advantage from behind, and I have to physically get up and leave the table.

Cami uses Sacred Flame on an enemy and tells him, “I’ve seen more threatening equipment in a starter kit.”

Nobody acts like they know what she means.

Really, everybody knows what she means.

Micah tells me to get on my knees because my miniature fell under the table.

I stay there approximately three seconds longer than was necessary to retrieve the little bard.

At one point, Griffin says, “I’ll hold him down while Cami finishes him.”

The table goes dead silent, trying to withhold the laughter.

Griffin closes his eyes. “I hate all of you.”

“We didn’t say anything,” I protest.

“You made a face.”

“I happen to have a very expressive face.”

“You looked like you were about to explode.”

“To be fair,” Cami interjects, “that might not be entirely because of what you said.”

Micah groans.

I look at her.

She looks at me.

“Did you just call me out for being hard at the table?” I ask suggestively.

Her brows rise innocently. “I don’t know. Are you?”

“Cameron,” Ronan says.

Again.

One fucking word.

And she fucking stills.

I watch her.