“Well,” I said, sparing her a quick glance. “We’re all prone to a little madness.” I reached across the car and fingered the green and black bracelet she was never without. “Is that why you always wear this?” I asked, drawing my hand back to the wheel. “Reminds you of Loki?”

“That,” she said. “And the fact that it says Prove Them Wrong.” She flipped the bracelet to the reverse side so I could see the writing. “Loki is constantly proving people wrong. People who assume too quickly or judge too harshly. So, that’s why I love him,” she said, settling back into her seat. “That, and his stunning blue eyes don’t hurt.”

I chuckled, wondering if she’d noticed the color of mine was eerily similar.

“No way!” Amber squealed a few minutes later.

I parked in a free space in TimeWarp’s lot, not bothering to appreciate the eighties-style neon sign that shot across the top of the building or the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that showed off the hundreds of classic arcade games inside. I was too busy memorizing her open-mouth smile as she took it in. The pink in her cheeks, the rise and fall of her chest.

“I’ve always wanted to come here!”

“Why haven’t you?” I asked, killing the ignition and racing around to open her door.

She took my offered hand, the warmth of her fingers sliding over mine like silk. “Brandon never wanted to go,” she said, then blinked a few times, cringing like she hadn’t meant to say that. She took a deep breath, smiling again. “He said only ten-year-olds would like it.”

“How dare he,” I snapped. “I’m eleven.” I winked at her before leading us through the doors.

Instantly, we were transported to a time before cell phones and laptops and endless access to gaming. Eighties music pumped through large speakers hung in every corner of the building—background noise to the chirps, whirs, and tinkles of the rows and rows of arcade games lining the walls and aisles. The smell of fried food, sugary drinks, and metal filled the air—change machines trilling out coins even if all you had was a card to buy them with.

Amber’s gasp was like a pleasant electric shock to my chest. Her hand—still in mine—squeezed slightly as she bounced on her heels. “How do we choose where to start?” She looked up at me, her eyes wide like the choice was as overwhelming as a college application.

Fuck, that was adorable.

I scanned the massive room, the place packed with people ranging in age from the aforementioned ten to some dudes with beards that would rival Dumbledore’s. I spotted a clear path to a Pac-Man machine in the far left corner. “Let’s start there,” I said. “Then make our way around?”