“No,” Jacks argues. “I’ll open a tab.”
“Respectfully, I’m out with my girl for the first time since we got together.” I pull Wren into me, and wrap my arms around her, kissing the side of my head. “We’re celebrating, so let me.”
Jacks shakes his head. “Fine, but you have to let us next time.”
“Are Donovan and Enzo coming?” I ask.
“No, they had a family thing,” Chloe says.
“Alright, is everyone drinking their usuals?” I ask.
My friends nod. “Cal, what are you drinking?”
“I’ll just have a beer.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll help you with the drinks,” Wren says. We make our way to the bar. There’s a moderate crowd, and we push our way to the front, catching Tony’s attention.
“Give me a second, y’all,” he says. “Frank had to leave, so I’m back here by myself.” His eyes shift to Wren.
“Babe, you should help him,” she suggests.
“What?”
“You know how to make drinks. Look how swamped he is; I’m sure he could use the help.”
“I can’t do that. Can I?” I chuckle.
“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind.” Tony says, looking toward the people gathering next to the bar.
“Y’all are both serious?”
“It’s fine,” Wren says. “Jump back there. And I’ll go get the girls to help me carry the drinks,” she encourages.
“But I was looking forward to dancing with you,” I whine.
“Just help him through the rush, and then you can pick the song.” She winks, and I let out a chuckle.
Something tells me I'm missing something, but Tony’s a friend, and the bar is packed. Wren disappears into the crowd, and I run around, joining him on the other side of the bar. “Tell me what you need me to do,” I say.
“I’ll take over here, and you can take over there.” I nod then head to the opposite side.
I work nonstop, taking orders, making drinks, and talking to the bar goers. Tony and I work in tandem, and while it’s hard work, it feels more like play, and outside of the past week with Wren, it’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
Wren finds me from across the bar and smiles wide, giving me a thumbs up. I shake my head, topping off a vodka soda with carbonated water and then handing it to the man in front of me.
“What can I get you?” I ask the next man waiting to order.
“Two beers and a dirty Shirley,” he says.
I flip around to grab the beer from the cooler, and someone catches my eye, but it’s not Wren. Leaned up against the bar, watching me work, is Jerry. He nods in my direction, and I nod back, grabbing the beers, and then getting started on the cocktail.
“Hey, bartender,” Wren says, bouncing over to the bar.
I chuckle. “Do you need a refill?”
“Please,” she says. “Gray also needs another martini.”
