Chapter 8
That evening Alan orders a pizza for dinner, which he and Brooks share at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. Brooks isn’t entirely there—he has his phone in one hand, typing with his thumb, as he holds a slice of pizza in the other. Texting his little girlfriend, no doubt. Alan waits. At one point, the phone dings and Brooks grins at something before setting it down.
“What happened? Her battery die?” Alan jokes.
Brooks shakes his head and checks the screen, even though no other texts have come in. “It’s dinnertime. Her mom says no phones at the table.”
“Good idea.”
Before Brooks can react, Alan plucks the phone off the breakfast bar and tucks it into his back pocket.
Brooks gives him a wounded look. “Hey! Give that back!”
“Finish eating first,” Alan says. “I have to tell yo
