“This is pathetic,” I told my empty office. “I’m so fucking pathetic.”
My empty office didn’t argue.
I stood and grabbed my keys. I left the Patterson file on my desk—prepared enough was good enough for once—and walked out.
I could hear Barbacks before I reached it. The roar of the crowd, the sound of TVs blaring, and a myriad of voices all blended into the chaotic energy I was starting to associate with Finn’s bar.
I pulled open the door and was hit with the wall of sound and heat and humanity. The place was packed—even more packed than last Sunday. Every seat was taken, and people stood everywhere. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the TVs showing the last seconds of the Lightning game.
I scanned the crowd, looking for—
Finn.
He was behind the bar with Benji, both of them moving at lightning speed (pun intended), pouring drinks, taking orders, and somehow managing to keep up with the chaos. Finn’s hair was mussed, and his black T-shirt clung to his chest and arms. He looked stressed and focused and completely alive.
God, he lookedbeautiful.
Then his head snapped up like a deer sensing the sudden presence of a predator. Our eyes met, and his face broke into a wide smile. I raised my hand and offered that same dorky wave from this morning—because apparently that’s what I did now.
Before I could even process what was happening, he was moving.
Out from behind the bar.
Weaving through the crowd.
Coming straight toward me with purpose and determination and something that looked like urgency.
And then Finn was grabbing my wrist.
Not gently.
“Finn—” I started.
He didn’t answer. Just pulled. Hard.
I stumbled after him, trying to keep up as he navigated through the packed bar. “Where are we—”
“Move!”
He was walking fast, practically dragging me, pushing past people—“Excuse me, sorry, coming through”—pulling me along like he was on a mission and I was cargo.
We passed tables.
Passed the bathrooms.
And kept going.
We shot through a door marked “STAFF ONLY,” entering the kitchen where a stocky guy with a graying goatee looked up from a stove and raised his eyebrows.
We kept moving.
Down a short hallway.
To a door at the very back.
Finn pulled me inside, slammed the door shut behind us, and turned the lock with a definitive click that echoed in the sudden quiet.
I stood there, utterly baffled, trying to process what had just happened.
