Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 27906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Speechlessness stumbles me verbally, along with physically.
No one’s ever singled out my accomplishments like this.
It’s typically done like an afterthought or footnote to whatever the Wilcox brand itself has achieved.
I’m rarely acknowledged on my own.
I like it.
I love it.
I gotta admit…I want more of it.
So. Much. More.
“Thank you,” somehow manages to make it past my lips split seconds before it’s our turn to pick weapons and sides.
“Thank me by helping Starfleet win out there,” she sasses while gesturing to the giant Super Soaker she wants us equipped with.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” I chortle and sign our names on the equipment sheet.
Shortly after acquiring the “Phaser Rifles”, we’re instructed on where to fill them up and that transition reveals to us a sight neither of us are surprised to see.
Wheeler.
On the opposing team.
Jealous glare lasered focused on us.
Welp.
This should be fun.
Defending my fake girlfriend’s honor from her stalkerish ex-douche may help me prove why she should be swiping yes on my profile for real.
Though I’m glad we didn’t meet on an app.
The last chick I connected with on there couldn’t stop asking me about some Olympic diver she swore I was friends with because we attended the same function.
Fame chasers truly are everywhere it seems.
You know I appreciate that Nae has her own clout and isn’t even remotely interested in mine.
Post getting bright yellow Starfleet ribbons, we fill our weapons, have a coordinator explain the designated areas for play, the rules, and remind us to do our best to stay in character to amplify the fun.
Starfleet against the Romulans is basically a tale as old as time.
And having Wheeler be a vengeful Romulan like Nero?
Well, that just makes the whole re-enactment even sweeter because I’m more than ready to finally be Kirk.
Right around the time we’ve managed to position ourselves safely behind a pair of lounge chairs, a clip from Star Trek is played through the speakers declaring the “battle” has begun.
The first round of shots sent our direction are from a petite blonde to the right bearing the gun metal gray flag of the enemy. Adversely for our adversary, my partner has unfathomable reflexes that have her firing off a stream at the woman’s hand. She fumbles the weapon, which grants Nae an easy chance to soak her legs.
Hips.
And dangling flag.
“No mercy!” hisses my warrior queen at the same time she snatches my free hand to tactically guide us around the chairs towards a new spot for safety.
Staying crouched doesn’t exactly keep us hidden; however, it does require those scouting to take more than a second glance to accurately pinpoint us.
One blast gets blown through the space between our figures prompting us to turn to the two enemies near a palm tree in tandem. We each fire along with them, yet our aim is – thankfully – much better. Their flags get a healthy dose of soakage while splashes barely touch either of us. Rather than stay still, Nae insists we keep moving, picking off any enemy that crosses our path one by one. Other team members intervene whenever necessary, and we happily return the favor. Themed music continuously fills the air around us alongside sound effects to truly create a space battle, a feeling that keeps wide grins on both of our faces.
“I’m low on ammo,” barely makes it out of her mouth before I’m yanking her out of the way of a blast and firing off one in return, mimicking a scene from the film that this activity is inspired by. “I need to get to a refill station.”
“There’s one on the backside of the bar,” I inform, keeping her close to me. “Enterprise!”
Odd noises begin pouring from my mouth causing her to not only giggle but declare, “I like that you’re making the transporting sound.”
“I like that you like me making the sound.”
“I like that you’re committed to this.”
“I like that I’m committed to you.”
Our adoration filled gazes are only granted a minor moment to meet courtesy of a familiar enemy combatant popping out from underneath a nearby table. “Gotcha!”
Reluctance to spray Wheeler directly in the face is non-existent.
Afterall, headshots are kill shots.
Or soak shots.
Whatever.
Rather than take the hit, he lifts his palm to absorb the shot while simultaneously firing with the other hand. While the stream is clearly aimed at me, Janae and I split, easily foiling his success. Our separation pulls a vindictive grin on his face that’s followed by him redirecting all of his focus onto me.
“Refuel, Beloved,” I instruct, drawing his fire in the opposite direction. “I can handle this pathetic excuse for a captain on my own.”
“Pathetic?!” angrily squawks Wheeler sounding eerily similar to Eric Bana in the film. “Pathetic?!” Rage squirts send me sprinting for a shield, leaving my fake girlfriend to get away safely. “You’re pathetic!”
Yeah, except I’m not the one who came to a convention for a fandom they’re not even into hoping that the chick that’s clearly over me magically changes her mind about getting back together after she’s repeatedly told me she won’t.