Timothy Adams is a sore loser. We play games on the plane back from New York. It’s been a while since I traveled first class, but with him, I wouldn’t care if we were stuffed in with the bags. Sitting next to him, hearing him laugh and seeing him smile, is amazing and maddening. “It’s a word game app,” he argues, jerking his chin at my phone in his hand for emphasis. “You’re going to win by default.” “That’s not true,” I say, wrenching the device away from him. “Man up and compete already.” He narrows his gaze. “You’re going to attack my masculinity in the middle of a commercial...