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I chuckled. “Good stuff?”
“Mm. Hits the spot.” He sipped again and leaned back. “You ever think, way back when, this would be us?”
I hadn’t, and he knew it. Neither had he. We’d been the hardscrabble kids back in high school — old clothes, home haircuts, the whole nine yards. The thought of a place like this wouldn’t have crossed our minds, much less growing up to be anyone special. I watched the crowd on the dance floor and sipped my drink slow.
“It’s still strange,” said Sam. “For me, anyway. Having folks treat me like someone who matters.”
I nodded. Itwasstrange, when I had time to notice. These days, I mostly didn’t.
“We should do this more often,” I said. “Find time for a break.”
“Yeah, we should.” Sam nudged my arm. “Remember game days in high school?”
I chuckled into my drink. Yeah, I remembered. Sam had brokered a deal with the guy who ran the arcade — a free roll of tickets to clean the popcorn machine every Friday. It wasn’t a hard job, but it did take a while, boiling the kettle, letting the soap cool. Scrubbing the cabinet and the crumb tray. Sometimes, we mopped out the bathrooms as well. A lot of kids puked in there, dizzy from gaming. But when we were done, we played our fill; Soul Calibur, Super Street Fighter. We never had to go home, and that was how I liked it. I didn’t want Sam seeing where I lived. Didn’t want him knowing I didn’t have parents, just Mrs. Marsh and her rotating cast of fosters.
“I went back there,” I said.
Sam frowned. “Back where?”
“To the arcade, a year or two back. I didn’t think it’d still be there, but it is. It was.” I tilted my drink to make the ice rattle. “Guess what else was still there.”
“I don’t know. The ice cream stand?”
“Nope. Guess again.”
Sam kicked at my ankle. “Come on, just tell me.”
“My pinball high score. EJS, number one.”
“I still say you cheated. You can’t tilt the table.”
“No, you’re supposed to. It’s a fine art. You have to tilt just enough the flippers don’t jam. It’s only cheating if the tilt light comes on.”
“If you get caught, in other words.” Sam drained his drink and waved for another. “So, this thing with Lacey, what’s happening there? Did you two hook up? Is this bitter-ex drama?”
I nearly choked on my drink. “What? Me and Lacey?”
“Okay, sothat’snot it. What’s going on? You can’t be this pressed over a few snarky comments. Did something happen at the table read? Did she do something?”
I pulled a sour face. “Show me on the doll where the bad Lacey touched you.”
“Oh, he’s got jokes.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m your manager. This is my job.”
“Prying into my personal life?”
“Making it easy.” Sam slammed his drink down so hard it sloshed. “I can’t oil your gears if I don’t know which ones need oiling.”
I waggled my brows at him. “You want to oil my gears?”
“Not funny, Eric. You always do this. And don’t do that thing, make those innocent eyes, like you have no idea what I’m talking about. How long have we been friends now, a good fifteen years? No, it’s been longer, back to ninth grade. I’d say you’re mybestfriend, but whoareyou, even? Whenever things get personal, you back off. Shut down.”
I gaped at him, stunned. He actually looked… angry. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Sam get angry. I opened my mouth, closed it, and swallowed hard.
“You’re doing the eyes,” said Sam.
“I’m not. I just… We talk about personal things.”
“Like when? Like what?”
