Page 16 of The Decadent Gift (The Gift 3)
Adrenaline rushed through me, and I thrust up my arms in victory. “You’re killing it, kid.”
Carson didn’t even blink. His concentration was epic as he plowed through the jackpot combinations. “Let’s see how high I can go,” he said, all intense and gamesman-like as he continued crushing it.
“Keep it up, buddy. Keep it up,” I encouraged.
As the ball lolled, taking its time rolling back down, he glanced at me, a grin on his freckled face. “You’re like a cheerleader, Jake.”
“You bet I am,” I said, owning that title. “I’ll bring pom-poms next time.”
He laughed, then returned to the flippers, whacking the ball once again.
“Who’s the man?” I shouted, pride gleaming in me.
“I’m not the man. I’m the master,” he said, in a pitch-perfect imitation of me.
I froze, set my hand on my chest, and gazed heavenward. “Be still my beating heart. He’s quoting me back to me.”
Carson laughed and returned to the game, but soon lost.
He patted the machine, and I told him to pose for the camera. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I snapped a pic and sent it to Christine.
She replied right away.
Christine: Corrupting the youth. I love it. Will he become a pinball master by age thirteen like you?
Jake: As long as he keeps learning from the great one. But truth be told, I think he’s already there.
I showed the message to Carson, who smiled.
“I do think I’ll be a pinball master soon. But what will you do when I become better than you?” His expression was dead serious. The stinker. I huffed like I was offended.
“This is the thanks I get for teaching you my finest skill? You’re already planning to take me down?” I shook my head as I guided him with a hand on his back toward the snack bar of the pinball arcade. “I guess the apprentice is indeed becoming the master,” I said with a dramatic sigh.
He patted my arm as we approached the counter. “It’s okay, Jake. You can apprentice with me someday.”
I pressed my palms together in an over-the-top thanks. “So generous of you. I am grateful you appreciate your elder.”
He stared longingly at the cheese pie under the glass. “And I am grateful for the slice of pizza you’re about to get me.”
This kid. His sarcasm was top-notch. I loved it.
I ordered, and we sat down, chatting about pinball, basketball, teachers, and other topics essential to a fifth-grader.
As I spent the rest of the early evening with my nephew, I couldn’t help but think that my sister had been right.
I’d needed time away from the office.
I felt lighter, freer. Physically less tense.
Time with this kiddo always set me at ease, reminding me of what was good in life.
Carson asked me to tell him again about my victory in the pinball championships when I was in middle school, and as he devoured one slice of pizza, then another, I regaled him with tales of my glory days.
He wiped the napkin across his mouth. “We should enter a competition. Together, as a team. I researched pinball. It turns out they have mixed-age competitions, so old guys like you and young guys like me can pair up.”
I held up a hand. “Do you know I am thirty? Thirty. That’s not old.”
“That’s old,” he said matter-of-factly.
“It’s not old.”
“It’s pretty old.”
“You’re just like your mother,” I said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Then take this as one too. I’d be honored to be your pinball partner,” I said. “Also, I’m still the master.”
He eyed me skeptically, then smiled. “If you say so.”
As we left the arcade and got into my car, I was so damn glad that, for the first time in months, I wasn’t mired in contracts.
Though a peek at my email told me there would be plenty waiting for me on Monday. The tension that had eased crept back into my shoulders as I pictured what I’d be facing when the next work week started.
But I remembered my business goals—help my parents with retirement and make sure I was all set too. As well as the personal one Christine had reminded me of—don’t drive myself into the ground.
One glance at my pinball comrade told me the evening off had been worth it. Besides, I had no major plans for the weekend, so I could sneak in some of this work on Saturday morning, no problem. Maybe during the day too.
I dropped Carson off at his home and gave my sister a quick hug at the door.
“We had a blast.”
“Thank you. He loves spending time with you,” she said.
“Can’t fault him for good taste.” I winked.
“So cocky,” she said, laughing.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I ruffled her hair. “Love you, sis.”
“Love you too.”
I returned to my car, cycling through my Webflix options for the evening. Would I finish out that new heist series where the hero was racing against the clock to foil the world’s greatest criminal masterminds? Or was I in the mood for something a little lighter? A new episode of Spying on My Neighbor had dropped, a quirky adult cartoon about a guy who was a naughty librarian and—wait for it—spied on the woman next door.
