“I’m fine,” I managed, my voice strangled. “Just—allergies.”
“Finn,” Brad said, and there was a warning in his voice. “Why don’t you take your break? I’ll handle this personally.”
Translation: Get out of my sight before you make this worse.
I untied my apron without a word, grabbed my phone from under the bar, and headed out the back door into the humid Tampa afternoon. The alley behind Riley’s smelled like fryer grease and the bottom of the dumpster that hadn’t been emptied since Thursday. It wasn’t an inspiring place to decompress, but it was private.
In that moment, I needed private.
The door had barely closed behind me when I doubled over, laughing so hard my stomach hurt.
A plastic mint leaf.
She’d waved around a plastic mint leaf like she was—
I couldn’t even finish the thought before another wave of laughter hit.
This was my life. This was what I did for a living. I served overpriced drinks made from pre-made mixes to people who waved plastic garnishes around like limp dicks while complaining that I, personally, had failed them.
Seven years. Seven years of this. I’d gone to collegefor this.
The laughter died in my throat, replaced by something that felt uncomfortably close to despair.
I leaned against the brick wall and pulled out my phone, needing something—anything—to ground me. A text notification leaped off the screen.
Mark: Hey babe, you working tonight?
Mark: Want to grab drinks after your shift?
I checked the time. Six-thirty. I was scheduled until close, which meant eleven at the earliest, midnight if we were busy.
Me: Working till close. Tomorrow?
Mark: Lunch tomorrow then. 1pm?
Mark: I’m buying.
Me: You don’t have to buy.
Mark: I want to.
Mark: Plus I need to talk to you about something.
Me: That sounds ominous.
Mark: It’s not ominous.
Mark: Okay, maybe a little ominous.
Mark: But GOOD ominous.
Me: There’s no such thing as good ominous.
Mark: Trust me on this one.
Mark wasmy best friend.
He and I had a history, though not the kind that usually made for good stories. Three years earlier, we’d met in a gay bowling league—yes, those exist, and yes, we were both terrible at bowling—and had immediately hit it off. We talked for three hours that first night, exchanged numbers, and went on our first date two days later.
