"We know," Marcus says. "We've got this."
The bar returns to its previous chaos level—which is to say, extremely chaotic. I'm making drinks, taking orders, trying not to trip over my own feet or the three dogs currently weaving between everyone's legs.
I'm debating whether the drink I just made counts as a martini when a woman sits down at the bar.
She's gorgeous—dark skin, killer bone structure, hair in perfect twists, dressed like she has her shit together in a way I can only aspire to. She's wearing this emerald green wrap dress, and she looks comfortable, confident, like she belongs anywhere she decides to be.
I immediately want to be her friend.
"What can I get you?"
She considers for a moment, looking at the bottles behind me, then back at me. "Surprise me."
"Brave choice." I'm already grabbing bottles, moving on instinct. "My surprises are either brilliant or criminal. No in-between."
"I'll risk it."
I make something that's probably against the law—vodka, cranberry, lime, a splash of elderflower liqueur because the bottle was pretty, and a prayer—and slide it across the bar.
She picks it up, examines it like she's a wine critic, takes a sip.
Her face does something complicated. Something between impressed and horrified, settling somewhere around bemused disgust.
"It's awful," she finally says.
I burst out laughing. "You're honest. I like that. I'm Devon."
"Leila."
We shake hands across the bar.
Behind her, Groover attempts some kind of trick shot with a wadded-up napkin, trying to land it in Snooze's empty beer glass. He misses and hits Jinx directly in the face.
Jinx, who was mid-drink, chokes and then immediately retaliates by throwing a handful of peanuts at Groover.
Groover ducks. The peanuts hit Wall instead.
Wall throws a coaster.
It escalates immediately, as all things with this team do.
"Don't mind them," I say to Leila, who's watching the chaos unfold with wide eyes.
"Are they always this...?" She trails off, searching for a word that probably doesn't exist.
"Chaotic? Yeah. This is them behaving."
"Terrifying."
"You get used to it. Mostly."
We watch together as Petrov tries to mediate the napkin-peanut war and somehow makes things worse by accidentally knocking over someone's drink. The wet napkin war has now involved six people and counting, and someone's trying to use the shelter dogs as shields.
Mama Paws is going to kill them.
Leila's still watching, and I can see her trying not to laugh. She points discreetly at Washington, who's currently trying to restore order. "That one looks stressed."
"Oh yeah." I nod, leaning on the bar. "He's the only adult in the room. I swear he's aged ten years in the past week trying to keep everyone in line."
