“What happened?” Jacks leaned forward slightly.
“I called him a guinea pig and then stood there like a stalker with an ankle bracelet while he ate.”
“That’s not flirting; that’s peeping,” Priya observed.
“I’m aware.”
“But he liked the burger?” Jacks asked.
“He moaned.”
“He what?” Mark’s grin was feral.
“Moaned. Like—” I gestured helplessly. “Like he was coming in his fancy dress pants right there at the table. He said it was the best thing he’d eaten in a long time, which I’m sure it was, because Rod isamazing.”
“No, no, no.” Priya waved a hand. “Back to the moaning. You can’t skip the best part.”
I blew out a breath and ran a hand through my hair. I needed a cut. It was falling into my eyes.
“I was standing right there and he just—” I made a sound that was supposed to approximate Chase’s moan but came out more like a dying animal. “Like that, but better. More . . . sexy.”
Mark was trying not to laugh.
Priya had given up and was actively cackling.
Jacks looked confused but supportive.
“So he liked the burger,” Mark managed.
“No, he loved the burger.”
“And even after he told you to ride him like a mule, you still didn’t flirt.”
“He didn’t—”
“Finn.” Priya leaned across the bar and grabbed one of my hands. “You must do better. Think of the baby gays. You are their role model now, and that man just walked into your bar, ordered food, and is sitting twenty feet away from you. Do this for the children.”
I reclaimed my hand and covered my face, moaning.
“There!” Jacks straightened. “You can go moan at him. Talk his language or whatever.”
Mark doubled over while Priya covered her mouth and turned away.
“I hate all of you. Seriously.” I set the glass down and picked up another. “He’s working. I’m working. It’s not the right time.”
I glanced over at Chase’s booth. He was staring at his papers with the intensity of a dessert sun, eating the burger with one hand while making notes with the other. He looked focused and professional . . . and adorably rumpled.
“See? He’s busy.” I motioned toward Chase’s table.
“So talk to him when he’s done eating,” Mark said. “When he’s paying or about to leave. Just . . . talk to him.”
“And say what?”
“I don’t know. ‘Hey, I’m glad you liked the burger. Come back sometime.’ Simple.”
“That’s not flirting; that’s customer service.”
“Write your phone number on his check,” Jacks suggested.
