“You’re out of practice,” I commented as the game finished whistling and went dark, telling Max his turn was over.

“I’m also out of sleep,” he said drily as he stepped back, shoving his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans.

Most of the time it felt like a million years since high school. We’d both changed, evolved. We carried the marks of our losses, victories and learning.

What hadn’t changed was the arcade Max and I’d arranged to meet at after my flight landed from LA.

It was the same one we’d frequented in grade school, though it’d switched ownership and added a few games.

“How was Hollywood?” Max asked, feeding a few quarters into the machine and offered it to me. I stepped up.

“We have a lead for Phoenix. Jane Casey. She’s going to be amazing.” I thought of the voicemail from David as I started hitting the buttons.

The little lights let off sparks of dopamine in my brain, the rush coursing through my body as my score climbed.

Thump. Thump.

“Remember when we made that first game?” I asked. “Your coders were college students and whoever we could get our hands on. We had no fucking clue what we were doing.”

“It wasn’t my first game,” he reminded me. “I’d been doing it for years in my basement.”

“True. But it only became real with Oasis.”

He nodded, leaning back on the next machine as he watched. “Overnight we were running a company.”

My turn ended and I stepped back.

Max fed the machine more money. It began singing its song, and my friend started the rhythmic thumping of the controls again.

“You ever think it’d get easier?” he asked.

“What. Running a company?”

“Yeah. That someday we’d have time to sleep. To sit with our families at the dinner table.” I ignored the pang in my gut. “To do this.”

Thump thump. Thump.

“I never really thought about it,” I admitted.

“I did. Instead there’s more pressure all the time. Decisions everyday. People who need answers.” His hands worked the controls. “Tristan smiled yesterday. Payton maintains it happened when I put my shirt on inside out. I’m pretty sure he can’t process humor before two months.”

“But if there was a child that could?”

“It wouldn’t be mine.” I barked out a laugh. “How’s Sam?”

Hearing her name had my body thrumming with energy.

Last night after the premier she’d called to check up on her dad, speaking rapid-fire Spanish that had me noticing her expressions and gestures. The love she had for him even as she was grilling him about what he was doing, and eating.

After hanging up, she’d crawled into bed next to me where I worked on my computer. Sam had slowly closed the top of my notebook with a teasing smile. I hadn’t stopped her as she removed it from my lap and set it on the desk, her eyes full of promise.

“She’s addictive,” I said finally.

“Girls have a way of doing that. Especially when they’re the right one.”

“I don’t know about right,” I muttered. “If we were right, wouldn’t it have worked out the first time? You said it yourself. We lived in each others’ heads and ended up breaking each others’ hearts.”

“Sometimes the right thing can be the wrong thing if it happens at the wrong time.”

I considered. “I thought it’d be different now, with her. She wouldn’t turn me inside out.”

Thump. Thump thump.

“I keep waiting on that with Payton. It doesn’t happen,” Max said. “Every time I look at her it’s new. Now seeing her and Tristan... If you’d have told me three years ago I’d be here? I would have laughed you out of the room.”

“But you don’t regret it.”

“Not for a second. The only thing I regret is that this is the first I’ve gotten a few minutes away from Titan, and Tristan,” Max said. “Our New Years Eve was spent changing diapers.”

“It’s the new normal, my friend.”

“I know. But I wish I could figure out how to get some alone time with Payton. I want to get her a damned glass of champagne or something.” He eyed me up in a way that had me instantly suspicious.

“What?”

“I tried bringing him into the Pit and he cried incessantly.”

My gaze dropped to the baby carrier in Max’s grasp, the green Hulk blanket tucked around the sleeping bundle inside.

“Baby doesn’t like being surrounded by nerds, computers, and pinball machines… can’t be yours,” I deadpanned as I took the carrier and set it on my desk.

A brunette head appeared in the doorway. Payton’s hair fell around her head in waves, and her long jacket had a fur collar that upped the cuteness factor.

“Thanks for doing this, Ry. I’m strangely excited to go out for lunch, even though it’s just three blocks away. I can’t remember a time before I had drool on me and toothpaste stuck in my hair.” She grimaced, but I saw the way her gaze lingered on Tristan. “There’re diapers and bottles in this bag.” Payton set a big duffel bag on my desk. “And there’s a wrap, if you want to wear him.”

“Wear him?” I asked, intrigued.

Payton showed me how to strap Tristan to my chest.

“He seems to enjoy being helpless,” Max grunted from the doorway.

“He’s a baby,” I commented. “Even you didn’t come out of the womb self-sufficient.”

Payton studied Tristan on my chest, pressing a hand to her stomach absently. “Call us if you need anything.”

“He’ll be fine,” I said. “I promise to teach him only wholesome things. Math. Latin. Literature. Though I might put on the Dave Chapelle Netflix special if I hit that mid-afternoon slump.”

Payton retreated to the door, a knowing look on her face. “Okay. We’ll be back soon.”

They disappeared, and I went back to work in the seclusion of my cave.

I cranked through some work I’d fallen behind on. Moved some money around to ensure payroll was looked after for the next few weeks.

If I thought the baby would be a distraction, it was the opposite. First, Tristan smelled like sunshine and unicorns.

Second, he’d make these little sounds when he shifted. Sighs or grunts that I could only hear.

The little guy sleeping on my chest was like therapy.

Not that I needed therapy.

Note to self. Buy Tristan a pony.

A noise in the doorway had me looking up.

“Hey,” I whispered with a smile.

Sam stared. “Damn. Wasn't expecting the dad vibe.” Her eyes moved uncertainly from me to Tristan.

“I used to babysit Emily when my mom was still working, and Grace was trying to make partner at her consulting firm.” I brushed my fingers across a wisp of dark hair on Tristan’s sleeping head. He barely stirred. “You want to touch him?”

She crossed to me, reaching out a finger to stroke his cheek. A look of wonder crossed her face.

Note to self. Buy Tristan a Maserati.

“I wasn’t sure when I’d see you,” I said casually.

“You packed this in my suitcase by mistake.” She pulled a sweater out of my bag and passed it to me.

“You came to give me a sweater.”

It’d been two days since Sam and I parted ways at Logan.

It wasn’t like we’d made plans. Though a text saying something like ‘I’m distracted and throbbing every second you’re not touching me’ would’ve been appreciated.

I’d been busy catching up on work after being out of the office. I shouldn’t have been thinking about her in between meetings, or when I got home. I normally had zero issues keeping work and personal life separate, and that was when I was dating someone.

Not…whatever this was.

“I also made you guys something.” She opened her bag and pulled out a series of picture frames, setting each of them on my desk.

Any irritation melted away. “These are the originals of the Phoenix concepts we sent to Epic.”

“I was checking out the auction. It just closed. Have you looked at it?”

I'd actually forgotten it. “Show me.”

She pulled it up and the numbers on the screen had me blinking. “Sam. Two-hundred and thirty bids. And it finished at…” I glanced down at Tristan. “Poop.”

Sam grinned.

“I'm giving the money back to you.”

“No!”

I shook my head. “You get that is your art, right? Sam, why don’t you want to be credited for this? It’s amazing work. You could do more of it. Get millions of eyes on your talent. Get paid for it consistently.”

“No,” she said, firm. “This isn’t who I am.”

I thought about her anonymous profile.

I’d been meaning to bring it up, but it hadn’t seemed like the right time.

“The auction got me thinking, though,” she went on, gesturing to the framed drawings. “You didn’t say anything about Epic needing the originals, so I thought Titan might like to have them. For the office.”

I put a hand on Tristan’s back as I leaned forward to study each image in turn. My chest expanded, from the emotion of seeing them up close and from what she'd done.

Each of the images was mounted in a silver frame, matted with pale ivory so the colors stood out even more.

“Sam,” I murmured as I straightened. “The team’s going to love them.”

“You think?”

“Let's find out.”

I carefully picked them up and carried them out to the conference room in the Pit and spread them out on the table. The developers crowded around, and I added the printouts of the images Sam had already done.

Excited chatter started and Sam and I exchanged a smile I suddenly couldn’t hold in.

Her energy, bold, bright, vibrated through every part of her. Shone through her eyes.

This was what she should be doing. Not selling abstract paintings by pandering to rich old men.

And she loved it. Even if she said she didn’t, it was obvious in every line. Every brushstroke.

“We should do something,” I blurted.

“Tonight?”

I surprised us both by saying, “Dinner. I told you I’d show you my townhouse. And my cooking repertoire has expanded since high school. I might have something to rival your ropa vieja.”

“Really.”

I crossed back to the table, raising my voice. “Guys. Tell Sam I can cook.”

“He makes a mean sourdough toast. With a range of artisanal spreads,” Jimmy added at my look.

“He’s good at ordering,” Thea said helpfully. “He always chooses the best catering places. And pays for it.”

Sam’s hand played with the edge of her sweater as she watched the exchange.

“Ry, we’re supposed to call marketing in five minutes,” one of the project managers called.

I checked my watch. “We can do it in my office.” I jerked my head toward my office and Sam fell into step with me, putting distance between us and everyone else.

Max’s words echoed in my head. The right thing can be the wrong thing if it happens at the wrong time.

“Come over,” I said. “Witness the wonders of my kitchen, after which all of my fingers and sixty-five inches are at your disposal. With high-def theater surround sound.”

Her mouth twitched at the corner. “Dinner and a movie. That sounds suspiciously like a date.”

I nudged her with my hip. “As much as I’d love to negotiate with you, it’s not in the cards for today. Just say yes.”

Her gaze ran over my body and I had to fight the urge to press her up against the wall right there.

“If it makes it feel less like a date,” I offered, “we’ll eat steak and then I’ll eat you. Deal?”

“I don’t know how you can say that with a straight face.”

“It’s a gift.”