After a quick fist pump, Noah used a rotating gun to shoot a new ball into play. He juggled three balls up and down the machine, and Christie couldn’t keep track of the action. Arrows lit up. Bumpers flashed and exploded. The machine rocked as Noah slammed it with his hips.

“Awesome,” Arnold said.

“Awesome,” Noah imitated in a deep voice. He glanced at Christie, whose boredom must have shown on her face. Thirty-something men playing teenage games didn’t thrill her, especially on a first date. With obvious reluctance, Noah took his hands off the flippers, and one by one, the silver balls rolled into the belly of the machine. He gave her an embarrassed smile.

“Sorry,” he told her. “I used to play this game when I was a kid. I just wanted to see if I still had the knack.”

“I guess you do,” Christie said coolly, sipping her cranberry martini.

There was a line to take Noah’s spot at the pinball machine. They were all men who weren’t getting laid tonight, Christie figured. That included Noah. She’d decided that soon after she met him for dinner. He was nice enough, but he acted like a kid, and she wasn’t interested in kids.

“I’m going to get another beer,” Noah told her. “You want anything?”

“No, I’m good.”

He jostled his way through the crowd, leaving her alone. She saw other guys give her the eye, wondering whether to come in for a landing. A few smiled, and she smiled back, but not enough for an invitation.

Christie liked being in demand. After her divorce last November, she’d lost twenty pounds, and she looked good in her shorty skirts again. Dating was a hassle in her thirties, but for now, she enjoyed being single. She’d hooked up a couple of times, and it was strange to be the one to say, “I’ll call you,” when she knew she never would. She was happy to head to work the next morning with a satisfied smile on her face. No walk of shame, just the coffee cup of freedom.

Christie liked the vibe of the Bush Street bar, despite the juvenile pinball machines. It felt like a throwback to the ’90s. Most of the people were her own age, not the usual millennials. A jukebox played Aerosmith at a shattering volume. The drunk Gen Xers danced fast, as if they were still young, but she knew they’d wake up, roll out of bed, and groan at the ache in their knees.