“Yes?” I said, turning toward the sound of my name.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe it’s you.”
A tall, lanky, redheaded man-boy walked toward me.
I frowned. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“It’s me.”
I rapidly scanned my mental contacts list, but my search results came up empty.
He cocked his head. “This is my event.”
“You’re LRG?” I asked, my embarrassment rising to a critical level.
“Yeah.” He puffed out his chest. “Cool, huh?”
“Wow, congratulations. Um, I mean. I don’t know anything about video games, but I know yours are very popular.” I wasn’t about to admit I’d been obsessed with his in high school.
“I left high school early to go to college, but only spent a year at MIT before I started working on the first version of Plonk, which of course eventually lead to Fighting Fowls. The rest is history,” he said, talking to me like I was a long-lost friend.
“That’s so great,” I said. “You must be proud to have built such an empire so quickly.”
Before he could respond, Flash made his way to me and wrapped his arm around my waist. LRG’s eyes darted between the two of us, his expression suddenly extremely disappointed.
“Fuck,” he breathed out. “You’re his date.”
“Um, yeah. We’re together,” Flash replied.
“Of course, you are,” he replied, coldly. His face going blank, triggering my first faint memory of something.
I grabbed Flash’s hand, squeezing hard. “Thanks for inviting us,” I said, my hair on the back of my neck tingling.
“Yeah. Ah, I should get back...to my guests.”
He turned and walked into the crowd, and I turned into Flash’s body. He wrapped his arm around me and kissed my temple. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
“Yeah, let’s,” I agreed.
We made our way down the stairs, and back through the private door Tiny guarded, and I tugged Flash to a stop. “Wait, Flash,” I said, digging in my purse for my phone.
“Why?”
“Something’s bugging me,” I said, pulling up Google.
“Babe, I wanna put miles between us and that asshole,” he ground out.
But I wasn’t listening. “Oh my fucking god.”
Flash sighed. “What?”
“Do you remember him?” I asked.
“No, why?”
“He’s Lionel Grundy?”
Flash frowned. “Why do I know that name?”
