"He's judging us," I mutter to Devon.
"Obviously. That's his whole thing." Devon's making two drinks at once now, somehow not spilling anything or mixing them up.
Show-off.
A couple approaches the bar, young, maybe mid-twenties, clearly on a date based on the nervous energy radiating off both of them. They both order wine, and they're doing that thing where they keep glancing at each other and smiling.
It's actually kind of cute.
Hendrix waddles over to them, head cocked to the side in that way that looks curious but definitely isn't.
"Kiss kiss."
They both laugh nervously. The girl reaches over to pet Hendrix, who tolerates it for exactly two seconds before backing up.
"Kiss kiss," he repeats, more insistent now.
"I think he wants us to kiss," the guy says, grinning.
The girl giggles. "Okay, okay." She leans over and gives him a quick peck on the cheek.
Hendrix screeches.
Not a happy screech. An offended screech. The kind of screech that says "how dare you insult me with that pathetic excuse for affection."
The couple jumps, startled.
"KISS KISS!" Hendrix is flapping his wings now, hopping from foot to foot, working himself into a frenzy.
"I don't think that was enough," the guy says.
"He's very demanding," Devon adds helpfully from behind the bar, not helping at all.
The couple exchanges looks, a whole conversation happening in a glance. And then they're going for it. Full makeout session right there at the bar, the guy's hand in her hair, her hand on his chest, and they're clearly enjoying themselves.
Hendrix watches like a supervisor conducting a quality control inspection.
After about fifteen seconds, he seems satisfied and waddles away with a quiet "What the puuuck?" that sounds almost approving.
The entire bar bursts into applause, and the couple breaks apart, both flushed and laughing.
"Best first date ever," the girl declares.
"If we get married, we're inviting the bird," the guy says.
I'm grinning as I slide one of the flyers toward them. "His name's Hendrix, and he accepts payments in the form of compliments, chaos, and you two showing up for our charity game."
The guy grabs the flyer, the girl reading it over his shoulder. "What do you think?" he asks. "Second date material?"
She looks at the ceiling, faux-contemplating, but there are dimples etched into her cheeks as she fights a smile. "More like… fourth date? Seems like we have work to do until then."
He grins. "That can be arranged."
The bar's really packed now, every table full, people standing in groups, and my team has basically colonized the entire back corner. Petrov's teaching someone how to say something in Russian. Becker's doing card tricks. Jinx keeps checking his jacket pocket every thirty seconds like clockwork.
Devon's disappeared into the back to grab more napkins or something, and I'm handling the bar solo for the first time, which is terrifying, but I'm actually managing not to destroy anything.
The door opens and Leila walks in, followed by Washington.
