The Three Mrs. Wrights

ever. After all the needy drama that defined her relationship with Dylan, she definitely wasn’t looking for anything, but she knew she was attractive, knew her face and breasts and blue-streaked shoulder-length black hair had an effect, mostly because men were so bad at disguising their interest.
Something she was apparently bad at, too.
Was she interested? Or was the second vodka soda simply doing its work?
“Keep staring at me and you’re going to have to buy me a drink,” the brown-haired man finally said, his eyes still on the TV and a sly smile in his voice.
Fuck it, she thought. Hotel bar in Buffalo. Have a drink with a good-looking man.
Sliding off her stool, she pushed her drink down the bar, leaving a snail trail of condensation behind, and sat down next to him.
He turned, grinned, and offered a hand to shake. “I’m Trip.”
“Lark. I guess both our parents liked four-letter words.”
That made him laugh. He had full lips, appealingly imperfect teeth, and a few threads of silver in his thick head of hair.
“Four-letter words are an essential component of parenting.”
She wasn’t about to ask him whether he had kids.
The bartender was back, hands spread on the bar, grinning like he thought he knew something.
“I’ll have another,” she said, pushing her half-full, half-melted drink toward him because she really didn’t want to overdo it. “And whatever he’s having.”
As the bartender went away, Trip leaned in ever so slightly.
“I was wondering how long it would take you,” he said, not quite making eye contact.
“You’re pretty sure of yourself,” she told him. What was it about him that made her lean in, too?
He shrugged. “Don’t take that the wrong way. Nobody wants to spend an evening in Buffalo alone. Certainly no one should.”
“Well, why didn’t you say hi first?”
Trip studied his bottle of beer, rotating it slowly with his fingers. “Because I’m attracted to strong women. I wanted to see if you were one.”
Her loss for words coincided perfectly with the bartender’s return. Fortunately, Trip thanked him in a way that clearly disinvited him from joining the conversation, and the bartender sidled away and picked up his phone.
“What brings you to Buffalo?” he asked, angling his body so he was close but not intrusively so.
“Games,” she blurted.
“Games?” he asked with a wry smile.
“I’m a . . . board game designer. A Hunter-Cash scout spotted one of my prototypes at a toy fair and invited me to come in and pitch it to them. I have a meeting tomorrow.”
“So you’d be selling your idea to them?”
Lark sipped her drink. It was stronger than the last one, so either the bartender was pouring with a free hand or simply layering the vodka on top, hoping for a bigger tip. Which was a move she could appreciate from her waitressing days.
“I’m not sure they’ll make an offer,” she answered finally. “But that’s why I’m here.”
“Tell me about it,” he said, looking actually interested.
Lark always hated this part. Sketching ideas, building prototypes, and watching people’s kids interact with them was so much fun she never felt time passing. Pitching her creations to people who understood investment, marketing, and sales—and Trip looked like he came from that world—always made her feel dry mouthed. Like a kid who really didn’t know how the world worked.
On the other hand, this was perfect preparation for tomorrow.
“It makes science fun for middle schoolers,” she said after taking a deep breath. “I designed it specifically for girls, because I always wanted to be a scientist, but I struggled with math and science in school.”
“So you created the tools?”
“I worked with some grad-student friends at UCLA who are studying how girls learn and came up with a board game that’s also a chemistry set.”
“Interesting concept.”
He was doing a perfect job of listening even if his main goal was to get into her pants—the thought of which didn’t sound nearly as bad to her as it should.
“There are very basic, nontoxic agents that combine in different ways to create different outcomes. The game itself is kind of like Life, where you’re navigating a career, only here you’re trying to become a successful scientist. At key points you win things you get to pour into your beaker. And when you complete the game, you get the activating ingredient that does something simple but cool, like making the solution change color, or give off a puff of smoke, or suddenly crystallize.”
She liked the way Trip waited until he was sure she was done before he spoke. And when he did say something, it was another question, not a piece of advice or an excuse to turn the conversation back to himself.
“Can you play it more than once? Seems like it might be one and done.”
One and done. Lark felt a pleasant shiver with the thought.
“There are different possible outcomes each time, and enough supplies for four players to play six times before you have to order a replacement pack or an upgrade. Most board games are only played several times after they’re purchased anyway, so some parents may feel satisfied even if their kids only play once or twice.”
“What do you call it?”
“Activate! There’s probably a better name. I kept playing with the word solution, but I couldn’t figure it out.”
“Does it work?”
“Every time.”
He tipped his beer bottle back and swallowed, then picked at the label while nodding thoughtfully. “I don’t really know the market, but it sounds like a terrific idea. And from the sound of your voice, I sense you might have a hard time letting it go.”
As if she had the financial freedom to turn down a reasonable offer. Now she was getting nervous about pitching, and she really didn’t want to think about that right now.
“What do you do?” she asked.
Finally, he locked eyes with her. His brown irises were warm. “I could tell you, but I think we’d both be bored. And bored is the last thing I’m feeling right now.” He paused. Smiled. “How about I tell you in the morning?”
Lark