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  ART NICHOLSshook his head at his business partner. “Don’t

  we have enough going on?”

  “You tell me that every time we talk about expansion.” Gavin Doenecke rolled his eyes. “Because we’re always expanding. Dude, we’ve been at this nearly twenty years. When do we get to enjoy the fruits of our labor?”

  Gavin looked confused. “Every day?” Art sighed. Gavin’s idea of “fun” was beating the competition, something he had enjoyed since they started out together. At first, Gavin had been Art’s best friend, then his manager, and finally his business partner, urging Art forward at every step. Art’s career as an extreme skateboarding superstar would never have happened without Gavin signing him up for every contest and exhibition on the circuit back when they were both eighteen and avoiding college. His second career as a skateboard magnate, running a magazine and a clothing brand along with licensed merchandise such as skateboards and video games, would never have happened either. He knew otherwise he would be some old, flabby former skater in the suburbs with an indifferent wife and a job he hated, so he could not really get angry at Gavin for being pushy.

  Sometimes, though, he wanted to relax and enjoy being a millionaire with a one-acre skate park in his backyard. Not that he ever got out and used it anymore, not since his breakup with Derrick. His son Mark was the rising star now, carrying on the family brand with his own outrageous tricks and broken bones. Not to mention his own sex-crazed groupies, which Art tried not to think about too much.

  “Look, Art, this is a really good opportunity. The XGames have no real competition, but it’s a huge deal now and the lower-level competitors don’t have any place to make a name for themselves. This circuit”—he pointed at the flier for the UrGames—“this circuit has proven to bring out the up-and-comers, and has a good rep. They need a brandname backer, and if you don’t put your name on it, someone else will. And I know how much you love helping out ‘the little guy’.” Gavin made air quotes with his fingers.

  “Try to remember that we were ‘little guys’ once, man.” Art leaned back in his chair. It was pretty much a foregone conclusion that he was going to follow Gavin along on this, because he usually (always) did, but he wanted to put up some kind of fight. He was thirty-six years old, his son was seventeen, and he had two divorces under his belt. That was not counting the long-term relationship with Derrick that he had held on to until right after he turned thirty-three, which did not count because that relationship had been so far in the closet even Gavin had not known about it until Art ended up broken-hearted and drunk on Gavin’s porch after he got dumped. He thought it was weird that Gavin cared less about his bisexuality than Art did, but that was pretty par for the course for them: Gavin took everything in stride while juggling thirty things, and Art stressed out about which shoes to wear when he got dressed in the mornings. It made them a good team, Gavin focusing on the business end while Art obsessed about skating, but now it was starting to wear Art down. He had not done more than skate across the parking lot of the business office in years, his son was out on the circuit more often than he was home anymore, and without those anchors, Art felt lost. Everything he used to count on to fill up his life felt empty to him or had moved on.

  Gavin sighed as if his whole life was being repressed by Art’s altruism. “Dude, would you just—”

  “Fine, fine. Whatever. I’ll sign on. Who runs that anyway?”

  “A friend of Mark’s….”

  “Oh goddammit, you know how my son feels about us meddling with his career.”

  “No no, not like that. Mark’s the one who introduced the guy to me.” Art frowned; that was a new twist. Gavin nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I was surprised. But this guy, apparently his sister is some hotshot skater girl, and he wanted to set up a co-ed circuit for her. Sharp as a tack, man. He’s smart, some kind of professor, and he got this up and running three years ago, and already it’s made a name for both him and the girl.”

  “How old is he?” “Dunno, midtwenties or so, I’d guess. Only met him once. His sister is around twelve now, I think. Fourteen? Don’t know. He’s older than Mark, and Mark’s nearly aged out of the circuit anyway.”

  “We’ll have to expand it beyond teens to—”

  “Yeah, that’s on the three-year plan.” Gavin shoved a bulky file at him. “Seriously, this guy doesn’t need me. He just needs the brand in order to up the ante on advertising and to bring in the reporters and TV crews. We get your name on this now, and we’ll finally give Tony Hawk some real competition.” Gavin grinned like an evil genius who just discovered kryptonite.

  Art rolled his eyes in turn. He liked Tony; the guy was genuine but had beaten him to the scene by five years, which Gavin took as personal offense. The competition between Art Nichols and Tony Hawk was mostly dreamed up by Gavin and gossipmongers, and Art tried to ignore it. Fortunately, so did Tony, who was a father himself and so sometimes called Art to let him know how Mark was doing on the road. The industry was big enough for both of them, something else Gavin took personal offense at whenever Art pointed it out.

  “I want to meet this guy.”

  Gavin nodded. “I’m flying him in next week, after the lawyers hammer things out. He’ll probably bring his sister.” “Sure, whatever. Tell him I want to see her skate. If we’re partnering on this, she’s going to be in the spotlight and I want to know how good she is.”

  Gavin seemed surprised by that. “You do?”

  “It’s a family thing. He’ll be all puffed up that I care.”

  Gavin nodded thoughtfully. “You still surprise me with your unconventional business sense sometimes.”

  “You’re just still mad that the video game was my idea.” Gavin gave him a sour look before leaving. As well as they worked together as a team, the heated teenaged competition between them had never really gone away, and Art loved the fact that going head to head with Gavin still felt as fun as skateboarding used to be for him.

  JACK MARTINEZ had to take time off from classes to make

  the flight out to California. His sister was ecstatic to be meeting Art Nichols in person and that her personal hero wanted to see her skate, and it was all she talked about in between practice sessions and meals. For all that Diana was a hardcore skater girl with scars and torn jeans and lewd graphics on her decks, she was still only fourteen and spent all of her spare time screeching at her girlfriends on the phone, or texting them, or “Facebooking her squee,” as the girls called their overexcited fangirl squealing over celebrities Jack had never even heard of. Jack wondered if he could change the focus of his dissertation to an ethnographic analysis of the word “squee,” but his advisor cringed and mutely waved her hands around in horror before loudly reminding him that he was getting his doctorate in engineering.

  Diana lived with him most of the time; their father had walked off years ago, and their mother was a disinterested parent who preferred spending her time as a “scrapbooking consultant.” She had never cared about Jack’s academic ambitions or Diana’s love of skating, and was more than happy for Jack to take over parental duties like getting Diana to meets. He did not quite hate his mother for that, but it was a close call, so he was glad when pursuing his doctorate took him four states away from the family home. He rented a cheap, run-down bungalow with a room for Diana and transferred her over to the local high school associated with the university. Their mother signed the paperwork and otherwise barely noticed. The over-ten-year age difference between him and Diana worked to their advantage, and in fact most people assumed he was her father when he took her out to competitions.

  The airline assumed the same thing, and Jack was not about to disabuse them of the notion. It cleared a lot of hurdles, as he’d discovered a long time ago when he finally got old enou
gh to be mistaken for a father instead of a brother. Diana rolled her eyes but played along, always terrified that some authority would try to drag their mother into the equation and screw up their plans.

  Gavin Doenecke had made all the arrangements, and since they were flying business class, Jack and Diana got town-car service to the airport and were allowed into the members-only flight lounge while they waited to board. Jack allowed himself a decent microbrew and Diana slurped her Shirley Temple.

  “He has his own skate park,” Diana mumbled into her straw, looking star-struck before they were even on the plane.

  “So you said. Like, forty times.”

  “Shut up. He’s a god.” Jack nodded in agreement with that. Art Nichols was gorgeous, and Jack thought (having been subjected to any number of photos of the man over the years by Diana) he just got better as he got older; but then, Jack had a marked preference for older men, which he tried not to let Diana find out about. He was not in the closet, and even their mother knew he was gay, but he wanted to set a good example for his straight fourteen-year-old sister by not waxing poetic about men old enough to be her father. Fortunately, her romantic crushes seemed to be on other skaters roughly her age and some twink named Justin Bieber. Jack was happy to encourage that, if it kept her out of the dating pool until she was, oh, at least twenty. Or thirty.

  “You really think he’s going to back the games?” “As far as James is concerned, it’s a done deal as long as you don’t screw it up.”

  “James did not say that!” “No, but I did. Our lawyer can only do so much, and he says the paperwork is tight. But it’s not signed, and until then you are on best behavior.”

  She scowled at him, then jumped as her phone buzzed with a text message. Jack was forgotten about as she furiously started to type a reply, and he was happy to enjoy the rest of his beer in peace. He did not really know what to expect from Art Nichols, but if Gavin Doenecke was anything to go by, they would have to stay on their toes the whole visit. Nichols and Doenecke had ridden the revolution Tony Hawk started to fame and wealth, and they had done it by working hard and ruthlessly. Jack did not think those two were going to make them jump over hurdles, but he knew for a fact this was not a social call; they wanted to size him up and figure out how his sister fit into things.

  The irony was that Jack started his own circuit because one day at a competition, some teenaged jackass turned to his then-nine-year-old sister and called her a girl. It was totally ironic, because she was a girl whose helmets were mostly pink. Though she was one of the best skaters at the park, if not the best, she ended up crying in Jack’s lap in their car because of the implied insult. Jack explained that the boy was just pissed because he knew she was the better skater. Diana sniffled that she could not prove that, so it did not matter, and Jack created the UrGames on the spot, putting some of his financial aid to what his advisor called “unconventional use.” The competitions were based on a combination of daring and technique more than raw power, evening up the balance between the boys and girls. The classes were based on size, weight, and points rather than age or sex. The whole thing had been a way to give his sister an edge of confidence, but the meets took off, and parents tripped over from three states away to give their sons and daughters an even break. Jack spent as much time on managing the growing circuit as he did on his doctorate, and found that he enjoyed it more. Fortunately, it was also more profitable than his studies, and, with Nichols signing on, might even start paying for his doctorate after another year. In the meantime, Diana was now old enough to get sponsored, and with luck, that would not only pay for her competition dreams but also finance her college education (which, he explained nearly every day, was nonnegotiable).

  Boarding was announced, and Jack tried not to think about how much rode on this meet-and-greet as he drained his beer.

  ART was not an early riser, so by the time he made it down to the kitchen, his chef Maria was setting lunch out for Gavin.

  “Don’t you have your own kitchen?” Art grumbled, grabbing a cup of coffee and sitting down. “Yes, but it doesn’t have my own Maria.” Gavin grinned at the matronly woman, who rolled her eyes as she set down a steaming bowl of stew. She stopped to cook a fried egg to put on top of Art’s bowl of stew; she had strange ideas about his breakfast, but they were always delicious so he never argued.

  “Why are you here?” Art rephrased the question. “Jack Martinez and his sister get in today. I figured we needed to go over the schedule.”

  “Where are they staying?” “I set them up at the nice Hilton downtown. I was going to reserve them a town car, but Martinez said he’d rather rent a car. Our first meeting is dinner; I thought the steakhouse?”

  Art nodded. “Yeah, sounds good. Oh, glad you reminded me.” He pulled out his phone and called the grounds-keeping company, asking for them to come out and clean off the skate park and make it ready for use the following day. He knew he’d pay extra for the last-minute service, but that was what money was for, as far as he was concerned.

  “And that brings us to tomorrow. I’m giving them a tour of the offices, introducing them to Harold, and then we’ll head over here.”

  Harold was their skateboarding editor of the magazine, who would probably find the girl fascinating and try to interview her. It was a win-win for everyone, so Art nodded.

  “The sister, Diana, just turned fourteen. She’ll skate, you’ll give her kindly paternal feedback, and then I’ll have Josh spend some time coaching her while you and I sit down to talk business with Jack.”

  Art ate his stew as Gavin rattled off the schedule. It was flexible enough to give them time to rearrange things if it went south, but was full enough to wow the Martinezes and seal the deal for all parties.

  “They leave the day after, so I figured, have them over for breakfast after they check out of the hotel. Diana will probably want to skate again, if there is enough time.”

  “Fine, sure. I would too, at her age.”

  “As opposed to now, when you only touch a board in photo ops,” Gavin said with a sour tone. Art gave him a surprised look as Maria bustled out of the area to go count cans in the pantry or something. “What the hell?”

  Gavin slapped his spoon down. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said last week, about wanting to sit back and enjoy the benefits.”

  “And?” Gavin rubbed his face. “Shit, Art, I’m your best friend, not just your business partner. So listen to me, okay? You? Are not a happy man. I can’t see you sitting back and enjoying anything.”

  “I’m totally happy, dude.” “Totally not. You’re miserable, you lurk around this mansion like it’s a prison when you aren’t in the offices casting gloom wherever you go, and I haven’t seen you step on a board in… shit, years, I guess. A long fucking time.”

  “Oh yeah? It’s not like I see you doing ollies much anymore.”

  “Yesterday. I was showing Sara how,” Gavin said triumphantly.

  “Your daughter is three.”

  Gavin nodded as if that was reasonable. “How old was Mark when you got him his first board?”

  Art grimaced, because Mark had been four at the time. “Whatever. The point is, I’m happy.”

  Gavin sighed heavily. “Okay, man, sure. Look, I’ve said my piece.” Art let the conversation end, because he did not want to admit to himself—much less to Gavin—how close to the truth he was. Nothing was really much fun anymore, and Art had thought that was part of getting old. Now he was not so sure, and on top of that, he really did not want to think about it at all in the first place.

  DIANA changed clothes three times before it was time to leave for the steakhouse, which only surprised Jack because he did not believe she could have smashed that many fashion options into her carry-on. He finally dragged her out of their room with a threat of leaving her behind.

  The GPS in the rental car got them to the restaurant with only one wrong turn, and they arrived right on time. It was the kind of place with valet parking,
but Jack parked far away from the door and they hoofed it over to the entrance. The hostess did not refuse them entry, so Jack supposed that they had at least met the dress requirement.

  “We’re expecting Art Nichols and—”

  “Of course!” The hostess turned on a dime from professionally polite to energetically friendly. “This way!” She led them through the main dining room to a small, not-quite-enclosed booth toward the back. Jack knew Doenecke and Nichols from their pictures, so he was pretty confident walking up with firm handshake and a polite “Mr. Doenecke, pleasure to meet you.”

  “Back at ya, Jack. Call me Gavin.”

  “My sister, Diana.” “Mr. Doenecke!” Diana grinned wildly. While Gavin Doenecke never actually placed with his skating, he was still a legend if only for being Nichols’s manager and right-hand man.

  “You too: call me Gavin.” Gavin smiled back at her and waved them to their seats. “Art’s on his way; got stuck in some traffic coming in from the ’burbs.”

  “I know how that is,” Jack commiserated while Diana tried not to get flustered by the mention of her hero. “Everything on the menu is excellent; this is one of my favorite restaurants in the city. Also a good list of beers on tap, if that’s your thing.”

  “It’s totally my thing.” Jack grabbed the drink menu and scanned the offerings. Nichols showed up right when the waiter set down their drinks. Diana had managed to order a Shirley Temple again, successfully playing the angle that Jack would not want to make a scene about her drinking that much sugar just a few hours before bedtime. He glared at her, but she smiled back, serene in her triumph.

  “Sorry I was late. Jack Martinez?” Nichols held out his hand, and Jack just stared at it for a second. In person, Nichols was a bit leaner than he appeared in photos (which Jack thought he probably should have expected) and was taller too; most skaters were on the short side, taking advantage of a lower center of gravity. Nichols, though, was at least six feet tall. His hand was long and elegant, but looked incredibly strong and had a dusting of hair across the back. Jack tried not to think about just how furry Nichols might be under his clothes, and, flushing at the thought, stumbled to his feet and grabbed the proffered hand to shake.