Page 92 of Glitched Play

The older man at the end of the table—Witt’s dad—leans back with a slice of pizza in one hand. “I’ll date when Witt does.”

Silence.

Then the entire table erupts.

Witt freezes beside me.

Parker nearly falls out of his chair laughing. Noelle covers her mouth. Birdie looks delighted in a way that should probably scare everyone.

I, unfortunately, choke on my soda.

Witt looks at his dad. “That seems unnecessarily punitive.”

His dad shrugs. “Then I’ll stay single forever.”

“Statistically probable,” Witt says.

I press a napkin to my mouth to hide my smile.

Birdie points between us. “I don’t know. The odds may be changing.”

Witt stands. “I need air.”

Parker laughs harder.

I watch him walk toward the back exit, shoulders tense but ears slightly pink.

Ears.

Pink.

Oh no.

I might be in trouble.

Later, after cake and presents and one very intense round of air hockey between J.D. and a seven-year-old, the party finally begins to wind down. Kids fall asleep against parents. Adults collect jackets and leftover pizza boxes. Witley clings to her dinosaur habitat like she has been handed treasure.

She hugs Witt again before leaving. “Best present.”

Witt nods solemnly. “Correct.”

She giggles. “You’re funny.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t argue further.

That alone tells me she won.

When we leave the pizza place, the night air feels warm and heavy. The arena glows a few blocks away, all glass and steel and lights, the penthouse waiting high above it. Witt walks beside me without speaking, hands in his pockets, pace matched to mine.

I don’t know when he started matching my pace.

Maybe tonight.

Maybe earlier.