She glanced sideways, lips twitching. “It’s been seven minutes.”
“Shut up and let me have my personal experience of time, would you? I’m a man in crisis.”
Nicole laughed, a tired but smooth sound that caressed the edges of my discomfort and instantly made me feel better.
“So, no panic attacks?” she asked.
“Only mild existential dread.”
“That’s manageable.”
Another stretch of quiet. The kind that got louder the longer it stuck around. I flexed my fingers, restless.
“I used to do this with my friends,” I said, sitting up straight with a suddenness that made her startle. “Back when we were kids, waiting for the school bus.”
“Do what?”
“Dumb games. Pass the time.”
She eyed me. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
I held my hand out between us, palm up. “Slap game. Fastest reflex wins.”
She gaped at my hand, then at me. “Absolutely not.”
“Scared?”
“Of you? Give me a break. I’ve seen your reaction time. I could parallel park a freight train in the time between you stopping a puck on the crease and getting it into the net.”
She put her own hand out, hovering an inch above mine. Close enough that I could feel her warmth. Close enough that my pulse picked up a notch or ten million.
“On three,” she said.
“One.”
Her eyes flicked to my face, then back to my hand.
“Two.”
I twitched on purpose, and she fell for it, slapping down fast. But she caught nothing but air.
I laughed a little too hard, and Nicole cursed under her breath.
“Cheap trick.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘effective’.”
She reset, lips pulled in a tight line of concentration. This time she waited me out, eyes locked on my fingers, expression all focus and determination. I made it to the count of three before she slammed her palm down, catching me square.
“Ha,” she cried out. “Victory is mine, sucker.”
“My hand,” I said solemnly, cradling my hand to my chest. “You’re supposed to slap, not amputate. I think I might need a nurse.”
She rolled her eyes but her smile lingered, as if she’d forgotten for a second where we were. The smile faded as she realized it too, and she looked away, clearing her throat.
“Your turn to lose,” I said, holding out my hand again.
But she wasn’t interested, and sank back against the wall. “Don’t push it.”
