Glitch (Next Level #1)(2)

“Ara!” chirps Carson in a whiney voice.

“Suck it, Carson,” she shoots back.

God damn. Her voice never fails to make me insta-hard. It drips into my brain and pumps hella hot blood straight to my cock. She’s the only reason I have my volume so loud. If I could filter her voice, and only hers, I’d mute the rest of the world.

My cock twitches when she asks, “Why do I always have to carry your sorry asses?”

Carson laughs like a hyena and says something obnoxious back. I can’t stand the pitch of his voice, or how he talks so much shit. He’s a hundred times worse whenever Ara plays with us. It drives me insane.

Trey introduced us to Ara as “one of the guys” when she first started playing with us. He’s not wrong. That woman can sling insults better than most and she never gets her feelings hurt when anyone trash talks. If anything, Carson has probably spent a few nights licking his wounds after she’s handed him his ass.

Ara is a unicorn. The perfect trifecta of a dirty mouth, ballsy attitude, and a beautiful laugh.

I’ve never met her face to face. Never asked what she looks like or what she does for a living beyond “makes art”. And as far as I know, she’s never asked Trey about me either. That’s fine. Distance is good. It allows me to keep the masterpiece I’ve painted of her in my mind going without interference.

And I’m cool with keeping the Discord channel up for as long as she wants. Sometimes it makes me feel like a dog waiting for a little attention, but that’s on me. She hasn’t led me on or done anything to spur this obsession I have for her.

I did this to myself.

Trey respawns and starts shooting again. “You’ve been MIA, girl.”

Trey is a graphic designer. I’ve got my audio gig at night and run a gaming shop during the day. Carson is a photographer with zero people skills who occasionally works with Trey. Trey and I went to college together and he’s the one who has a connection to each of us and is usually the one to bring up touchy subjects first. For once, I’m grateful he has, because I’d like to know where she’s been too. It’s sucked playing without her.

“Aww, did you guys miss me?”

Carson chuckles. “I’m sure someone here has.”

I want to throat-punch him.

Before I type or utter a word, Trey says, “We were worried. Thought you might have moved on to bigger and better.”

Ara’s right on it. “Bigger assholes than you exist?”

“Oh! Shots fired!” Carson laughs.

I wait for Ara to say that her and Jason have broken up. I secretly like that maybe I’m the only one who knows that much. Some part of me relishes that maybe she confided only in me.

Ara doesn’t say anything more. In fact, she’s radio silent. I look over to see she’s not online and turn to Discord.

Glitch: You good?

She doesn’t answer. An uneasy tightness grips my chest.

Glitch: Are you okay?

Ara666: My computer is being a dicktwat.

Ara666: I’m rebooting.

She pops back up soon after. “Sorrrrryyyy! My computer is being stupid, so I moved to my laptop and it’s so slow.”

“What’s wrong with your computer?” Trey asks. Nosey fucker.

“I don’t know. It hates me.”

Trey groans. “You kicked it, didn’t you?”

I can’t hold in my laugh. It’s deep and grumbly, even as I try to keep it quiet.

“Dayem, Glitch,” Ara says, and I can hear her smile. “You’ve got a serious set of pipes.”

“Glitch can set off alarms and start avalanches with his register.”

I hate Carson. Have I said that already? Before I get twitchy, I redirect them. “Alright, alright, get back to the game, fuckers.”

Look, I know some people have a thing for voices—it’s how I make decent cash with my side hustle—but I hate when it becomes a joke. Even if it’s a harmless one. Yeah, yeah, go ahead and eye roll me, but my voice sounds like I’ve swallowed a box of rocks mixed with glass shards. It might be great now, but it sure as shit wasn’t when I was growing up.

As a freshman whose voice dropped before most of his peers, I got singled out a lot.

Want to watch a guy turn into a bully? Threaten his testosterone level.

Students at my school made such a big deal about my voice that by the time I was fifteen, no one called me by name anymore. They called me Deep Throat. I was so mortified, I didn’t have the sense to say anything back. I shut down and didn’t socialize anymore.

Back then, I was awkward and spindly and shy on my bravest day. Once my vocal cords became a source of entertainment and a way to target and treat me like shit, I clammed up and didn’t speak at all. Not to my classmates. Not to my teachers. And not to my grief counselor when my parents passed away.

I spent my high school life with guys hating me, and girls afraid of me. I didn’t find my groove until college, and it’s still shaky sometimes.

“I’ll probably have to take my computer somewhere to get it fixed, but I’m going to try a couple more things on my own first,” Ara says, making my heart run off with my balls. I should offer to fix it for her. I want to. But…

“Come on Ara, pick up your lady dick and quit lagging.”

“If I pick up my lady dick, will you stop tripping over it? Or should I smack you in the face with it to get you to actually hit a target, asshole?”