“Laser tag?” She asks me, laughing too hard for her to not be poking fun at me.

“Come on,” I say. “It relieves stress, it’s physical, and it’s fun.”

“Well,” she says, still grinning ear-to-ear, “when you break it down like that.”

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I should not have mentioned the kid the way I did. Talking like that is in breach of my contract with the organization. I’m not supposed to ever so much as imply that the kid would belong to me.

And this date? Kissing her just because she looked so delicious, and then showing her something this real about me? It’s just fucking laser tag, but it goes against what the master taught us. I’m on dangerous ground here.

We’re supposed to cultivate a certain persona. We surround ourselves with that persona like a cloak. We can alter our style and appearance however it suits the client’s needs. Madrigal needed someone more casual on the first meeting, and for the second my shirt and tie gave a certain authority to the whole thing.

No matter how we may alter our clothing or the way we act, we’re never supposed to show our true selves. The persona should always be a costume, regardless of how we change that costume.

I’m letting that slip badly tonight, and there’s no real reason I’m taking her here as a client. I’m not trying to find out anything about her, about what is causing her block. I’m simply sharing with her something about me.

Bad. This is bad.

How can I justify it? If I get caught, or questioned, I’ll say that she had a desperate need to connect emotionally. That I didn’t think the block would clear unless I let my guard down just a little. I’ll present it as a tactical reveal—showing something small and ultimately meaningless—just so that she gets the mistaken impression she really knows me.

“Hey,” Madrigal says, pulling at my arm. “What are we waiting for?”

I look up and realize I’m just standing in the lobby and staring up at the sign with the pricing. How long have I been staring?

“Sorry,” I say, smiling. “Was just trying to decide how to do your first time.”

“My first time,” she says, grinning.

“Your first laser tag,” I say. “There’s two ways to go about it.”

“Which are?”

“You can practice in the shallow end,” I say. “Or I can jump into the deep end and pull you down with me.”

“Hmm,” she says. “As a woman who drinks three beers in one sitting, of course I’ll choose the more dangerous and unreserved deep end.”

“Good,” I say. “The shallow end is the kids’ stuff.”

I point toward a group that looks like a bachelor party of drunk dudes pointing the lasers at each other and making pew pew sounds.

“Just shoot at each other, no one really knows what’s going on. You run through this small indoor space with a smoke machine. It’s all over in twelve minutes and everyone has fun.”

She raises her eyebrows at me. “That sounds just awful, everyone having fun?”

I roll my eyes at her and point toward the other end of the lobby. There are guys wearing all black suits. Some even have their faces painted with camouflage. Obviously, very serious players.

I go up to the counter and slap down the money. “Two for the outdoor course.”

The guy eyes Madrigal and me skeptically. “I’d do indoor if it’s your first time. Outdoor is for—”

“It’s for us,” I say, sliding the money toward him.

As Madrigal and I walk toward the staging area with all the guys in black, a few of them stifle laughter at us.

“Indoor course is the other way,” someone says under his breath.

I grab a gun and armor off the rack, and I throw the armor over my head and onto my shoulders with practiced ease. The gun is long like a rifle, but I spin the whole thing around my finger by the trigger guard, catch it by the stock, and cock it. Cocking it turns it on, and it glows red and hums.

Madrigal laughs, and the guys roll their eyes.

“Alright,” one says. “So you’re showing off for your date. I suppose you want to be on her team too?”

“You guys got a fort here?” I ask.

One of them scoffs. “Of course we’ve got a fort. It’s on the high ground, and it’s even got three turrets.”

“Alright,” I say. “How about we do it like this. King of the hill, me and her... against all of you.”

They all laugh.

“I’m not joking,” I say.

One of them steps forward. He’s got big arms, but also a big gut. “Hey man, you may be good at spinning that gun around like fucking Arnold Schwarzenegger, but even if you’re twice as good as your cocky attitude makes you out to be, you can’t take on all of us. Even with the fort.”

“Prove it,” I say. “I bet we can hold.”

“Fine,” he says, throwing up his hands. “Only way it’s going to be fair though, is if we’ve only got one life. You and your lady friend get knocked out of commission for one minute if you’re hit. We win if we capture the fort.”

“Fair enough,” I say.