I nearly dropped the bottle I was holding. “What?”
“We’ve banked two thousand three hundred dollars in two hours.” Mark’s grin was blinding. “Finn, we’rekillingit.”
“That’s—how is that even possible?”
“Word of mouth, social media, Benji’s TikTok following. Probably all of it together.” Mark gestured at the packed bar. “We’re becoming a destination, just like we hoped.”
I looked around, taking everything in for the first time since the rush had started.
Every seat was full.
People were standing three-deep at the bar.
The noise level was somewhere between “concert venue” and “airplane taking off.” TVs showed the Lightning dominating on ice.
Rod was sweating through his chef’s coat in the kitchen, but the food kept coming.
This was success. Like seriously, a massive success.
“Finn, I need two Pirate’s Pucks and a—what’s that blue thing?” A customer was pointing at someone else’s drink.
“Gay Agenda,” Benji supplied without missing a beat. “It’s got vodka, blue curacao, pineapple, and gay rights. Very popular and fruity, just like me.”
“I’ll take one of those, too.”
I got back to work, mixing drinks, pouring beer, and keeping up with the endless stream of orders. The second period wound down—Lightning up 3 to 1, the crowd getting louder with every minute—and finally,finally, there was a brief lull as people headed to the bathroom or outside for air.
I leaned against the back counter, catching my breath, wiping sweat from my forehead with my bar towel. Benji kept filling glasses and chatting with the enthusiasm of a teenage girl who’d just been introduced to social media.
That’s when I looked up.
And saw Chase.
He was standing near the entrance, scanning the crowd, and when he spotted me, his face broke into that smile—the genuine one, the one that made my chest do the complicated thing—and he waved.
It was that same dorky, enthusiastic, Disney princess wave from this morning, except this time it was over the heads of approximately thirty drunk gay men.
I felt my own smile spread across my face. It was impossible to stop.
Jacks materialized next to me, following my gaze. He elbowed me—not gently—and grinned.
“Yo, boss,” he said, loud enough to carry. “Yourman is here. You should take a break.”
“He’s not my—”
Benji looked up from the drink he was making, following both our gazes to Chase. His eyebrows went up—way up—and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face.
“Ohhhhh,” Benji said. “The lawyer!”
My face burned with the heat of a thousand suns.
I looked at Chase, who was still standing there, still smiling, waiting. Then I looked at the bar, at Jacks and Benji, who were both giving me encouraging nods.
And I made a decision.
Tossing my towel on the counter, I darted out from behind the bar, weaving through the crowd.
“Excuse me, sorry, coming through—”
