Page 37 of The Revenge Game

“Sure. Go for your life.” Dave rocks back on his heels, his sales-guy energy barely contained even when standing still.

I quickly code a background housekeeping routine that will quietly sweep out junk files and optimize resource usage.

“That should hopefully help,” I say when I finish.

Dave cautiously stabs at his keyboard before opening and closing a few programs with increasing enthusiasm.

“Hey, it’s going way faster. Thanks so much, mate,” he says.

“Not a problem,” I say.

Helping someone gives me a nice sense of satisfaction.

As I turn away from Dave’s desk I almost collide with Justin, who’s just arriving back in the sales department. He’s got his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he juggles three different sports catalogs.

My eyes catch on his workspace that he’s heading toward, all Texas sports swagger with its Houston Texans merchandise and a photo of him in his football uniform from college.

My stomach swoops. Justin the football player. The photo shows him mid-throw in a perfect quarterback stance.

I remember watching him sometimes out the computer lab window when the football team was practicing on the field, mesmerized by the gracefulness of his movements.

I quickly step backward, my hip connecting painfully with Dave’s desk.

The Justin in the flesh spots me. His face lights up in a way that makes me feel dizzy.

“I’ll send you those projections ASAP,” Justin says into the phone. “Yeah, you too. Have a great day.”

Before I can escape, Justin finishes his phone call and sends a warm smile in my direction.

“Hey, you’re saving someone else’s butt today?”

“Ah, yeah,” I say. “I mean, I was just helping Dave.”

He perches on the edge of his desk, absently straightening a set of reports. “You’re like a superhero, swooping in to save the day.”

“Yeah, well, if Marvel ever decides to make a movie about a guy who stops printers from becoming sentient and taking over the world, I’m their man,” I respond.

Justin grins. “I can see it now. IT-Man, saving spreadsheets in distress and defending helpless hard drives from the villainous forces of coffee spills and questionable downloads. Coming soon to a computer screen near you.”

“More like IT-Man, battling the sinister forces of pop-up ads and suspicious attachments. With his trusty sidekick, The Reset Button,” I reply.

Justin laughs, and I find myself basking in the sound of his laughter despite myself.

“Oi, Morris!” Pete’s voice booms across the office. “Come check out these stats from United Sports. They’re more pumped than Dave after leg day!”

Justin’s whole demeanor changes like someone’s flipped a switch. His shoulders straighten and his smile morphs into something more generic.

“Hit me with them,” Justin says. “Though if they’re anything like your golf swing last week…”

“Mate, we agreed never to speak of that again,” Pete groans, throwing a stress ball at Justin’s head.

My stomach churns as Justin effortlessly catches the stress ball and lobs it at the trashcan. This is more the Justin I remember, all masculine posturing and exaggerated gestures.

“You okay, Drew?” Dave asks, and I nod, already backing away.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “Just…um…let me know if you need anything else.”

I don’t look at Justin as I retreat toward the stairs, the sales team’s laughter following me.