Chapter 16
Finn
Ishot upright in bed, my heart already racing, electricity humming through my veins like I’d been plugged into a socket.
We’d done it.
We’dactuallydone it.
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand. 11:47 a.m.
I’d slept for twelve hours.
Holy cow.
I stumbled out of bed and into the living room, where Priya was sitting on the couch in her pajamas, hair in a messy approximation of a bun, watching some daytime news show about a local politician who’d been caught doing something he definitely shouldn’t have been doing.
“He lives,” she said without looking away from the TV.
“Barely.” I rubbed my eyes. “What time did youget home last night?”
“Around one. You were already passed out.” She looked at me. “So? How’d it go?”
I tried to find words, failed, then did what any rational adult would do in this situation:
I spun around with my hands high above my head, fingers wiggling like sparklers, in an awkward, uncoordinated attempt at a celebration dance—
And immediately lost my balance.
My shin hit the coffee table.
And I went down in a tangle of limbs and regret.
“Finn!” Priya was off the couch faster than I thought the woman could move, laughing so hard she could barely help me up. “Are you okay?”
“I’m great,” I managed, rubbing my shin. “That was supposed to be a victory dance.”
“That was supposed to be a trip to the ER.” She was still laughing, pulling me to my feet. “I take it things went well?”
“Things went amazing.” I was grinning like an idiot despite the throbbing in my leg. “Priya, it was insane. We were packed. Like, fire-hazard packed. People were even lined up outside. We ran out of vodka . . . twice! We ran out of ham and onions and English muffins. Rod had to improvise half the menu because we kept running out of ingredients.”
“That is incredible, my Finny.”
I gave her side eye but was too excited to fight back.
“It was terrifying and exhilarating, and I think I aged five years in eight hours, but Priya, it was incredible!” I pulled out my phone. “We should celebrate. Brunch. Right now. Let me text Mark.”
“It’s almost noon.”
“It’s never too late for brunch.”
I fired off a text to Mark, a jumble of words surrounded by the number 69. It was an abuse of the Bat Signal, but I didn’t care. Excitement was its own brand of emergency.
I looked at my phone, briefly considered texting Jacks, then decided against it. Jacks was great—enthusiastic, hard-working, and exactly what we needed—but there was a line between being a good boss and being friends with your employees. The bar environment already blurred that line enough. I didn’t need to smear it into the dirt.
“Mark’s on his way,” I told Priya.
“Of course he is. That man cannot sit still.” She stood up and stretched. “Give me ten minutes to get dressed . . . and maybe ice that shin before it swells up.”
