He wastes no time, and I do respect that. “Hit me.”

Spreading his hands out wide, he makes the universal sign for I’m-about-to-give-an-elevator-pitch. “Picture this. Instead of How’m I Doing rating my own sexual performance, what if it’s used to rate your partner’s?”

I blink, rubbing my ear. That can’t possibly be how he’s decided to pivot on his idea. “That’s your plan?”

He nods proudly. “You’d use the app to write up the person you just got busy with. Like a sexual Yelp.”

I part my lips to speak, but I’m not sure words exist to describe how awful that would be.

Dale misinterprets my silence. “Brilliant, right? You could share information about someone. Rate them like an Uber driver. Let the next person know what they’re getting into.”

“No pun intended,” I say drily, recovering speech.

“Right. No pun.”

That’s the problem.

An expectant look in his eyes, he waits for my blessing. I scratch my head, trying to figure out exactly how to combine the words in the right order to tell him never do this, when he holds up a finger and says, “Or, my other idea is something to do with pizza. Because I like pizza, and everybody likes pizza, and maybe I should make an app where you rate your favorite pizza places and share ideas for great and unexpected toppings and combos.”

My smile spreads of its own accord, and I clap his shoulder. “Go in that direction. Pizza is awesome. Pizza is good.”

I leave the gym and head to my office. In the lobby, Claude raises his face and waves. “Mr. Parker, did I ever tell you about my cousin?”

I stifle a groan but slap on a smile. “The one who wants to play professional miniature golf?”

Claude chuckles and shakes his head. “Not him. I told him he needed to figure that out on his own. No one was going to ‘GoFund’ him and his dumbass idea,” he says, sketching air quotes, and I’m glad Claude set him on the right path. “This is my other cousin. Gracie. She’s eleven and goes to school in the Bronx, and they’re trying to take a trip to the planetarium next week. You know that one where Neil deGrasse Tyson does his thing?”

“He’s the man. I love that guy.”

“They’re trying to go there. Isn’t that cool?” He’s beaming, and I don’t even wait for him to ask for the money.

“You need me to fund it? I’ll do it.”

“What?” He jerks back, clearly flummoxed.

“Oh, I thought you were asking.”

“No, but I’m sure they do need some help. I was just telling you about it ’cause I knew you liked him. I like that dude as well. I like to watch him on TV.”

“Claude, let me take care of it. It would be a pleasure.”

As I make the offer officially, an idea blasts into my brain. Unexpected, but completely awesome. Because that’s what ideas do. They pop out of nowhere. I’m eager as hell to head upstairs and work out the details.