I stared at his hand.
Then I looked at the photos of the empty space on his phone.
Then I looked at Mark’s face, so open and hopeful and certain this would work despite having zero evidence to support that certainty.
This was insane.
This was a massive leap off a cliff without knowing if there was water below.
But I’d been standing on solid ground for seven years, and all it had gotten me was flamingo hat ladies and plastic mint garnishes.
“Okay,” I said, and took his hand. “I’m in.”
“Yeah?” Mark’s grip was firm and warm.
“Yeah. Let’s open a bar.”
“Holy shit!” Mark jumped out of the booth, rounded the table, and yanked me into a hug right there in the restaurant, which was very Mark. Personal space was a suggestion, not a rule. “We’re really doing this!”
“We’re really doing this,” I agreed, and then reality hit. “Oh my God, what are we doing?”
“It’s either something amazing or something stupid.” Mark pulled back, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “Possibly both.”
“Definitely both.”
“We need a name,” Mark said, already pulling his phone back out. “I started a list. ‘The Rainbow Tap,’ ‘Pride Pints,’ ‘The Man Cave,’ ‘The Man Hole’—”
“Those are all terrible.”
“You got better ideas?” He cocked a brow.
“What about ‘Barbacks’?” The word came out before I’d thought it through, but the more I said it, the more it made sense. “People who know bars will get it, but it’s also got ‘backs’ in it—quarterbacks, running backs. That plays into the sports angle without being too on the nose.”
Mark tested the word out loud. “Barbacks.”
“Yeah. Multiple meanings. Works on differentlevels. There’s even something for our dirty-minded gay friends.”
Mark grunted and shook his head.
“Barbacks,” he repeated, his grin widening with each syllable. “That’s perfect. I love it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Hell yeah!” Mark typed it into his notes with the gravity of someone signing a peace treaty. “Barbacks. Our bar. Holy shit, kiddo.”
“Don’t call me kiddo when we’re business partners. It’s unprofessional.”
“Oh, we’re professionals now? I don’t remember agreeing to that.” Mark’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Partners in business?”
“Yes—”
“Notthosekinds of partners, though.”
“Obviously not. We tried that. I can’t date an anteater.”
He snorted. “You’re worse.”
“Which is why we’re better as business partners.” I felt a laugh bubbling up despite the terror. “The straightest gay men in Tampa are opening a bar together.”
