“That’s great. I’ll tell Rod.” I was still standing there like an idiot. “He’ll be happy to hear it.”
I should go back to the bar or to the kitchen to tell Rod about his happy customer or check on Jacks and the glasses or look at our social feed to make sure the posts—
“The bar seems busy.” Chase saved the man drowning before him. He then glanced past me toward where Mark was wiping down the counter and very obviously pretending not to very obviously watch us. “Looks like business is picking up.”
“Yeah. The weekend was nuts. We’ve got all these ideas about promotional nights and karaoke and sports watch parties and more gay TV show nights. Priya thinks trivia’s overdone, but Jacks loves the idea, says he played a lot with his team when he was in college. He played football. Tight end or some other sexual-sounding position. And Wednesday nights are a thing now. I don’t know if this’ll translate into baseball season when hockey is over,but we’re sure going to try. Guess I need to buy a Rays jersey. Do you like baseball? I never watched much . . . except for the World Series. I always watch that. My dad was obsessed. He even wore a cap inside out just to help . . .” I was rambling. Oh, God, my mouth wouldn’t stop. Why was I rambling? I was a smart, well-spoken adult who apparently needed mouth Imodium. Did they even make Imodium for the mouth? Was that too much mixing up of the ends? Fuck, I was doing it again.
Chase’s grin now showed a pearly set of teeth. “Sounds exciting.”
I nodded like a Labradoodle on crack. The only thing missing was a pair of floppy ears. “We had like sixty people for the game, ran out of Yuengling in the second period and had to switch everyone to Cigar City, which worked out because it’s local and people seemed to like it . . .”
I stopped talking because the skin around Chase’s eyes was crinkling in the most adorable way. Was he smiling at me? With me? Was he amused or horrified or . . .
No, it wasn’t just a polite smile. It was a genuine, crooked grin that made my stomach do something complicated.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m—it’s been a long night.”
“Want to sit? You can share my beer. It’s alittle warm, but I like Cigar City at any temp.” Chase’s hand motioned to the empty booth across the table. My head tracked the line, as though I might find an angry adder flicking its nasty little tongue.
“Uh, yeah, I’d love to, but I’m working, you know. Bar and shit.”
Chase spit beer across the table. He’d just taken a long pull when the words “bar and shit” crapped their way from my brain and out my fucking blowhole.
“Oh, fuck . . . I mean shit . . . crap . . . I’m sorry.” I fumbled for my towel, dropping it to the ground before bending down to grab it, then banging my head on the bottom of the table. By the time I made it upright, Chase was laughing.
And damn it, the sound was a glorious, low rumble. He might’ve spoken like a tenor, but his laugh—it was all kettledrum and whiskey.
I tore my eyes away and dove at the spattering of beer. My towel moved in a panicked blur.
“Don’t apologize. I like hearing about it.” Chase glanced toward the bar again, where Mark was now aggressively organizing bottles anddefinitelystill watching us. “I think the old man might want you back behind the bar.”
I looked back at Mark, resisting my own urge to laugh at him being called “old man.” That wouldcome in very useful later. The moment our eyes met, Mark made a very pointed gesture that I interpreted as either “sit down and talk to him” or “I will murder you if you come back here right now.” It was always hard to tell with Mark.
I turned back to Chase and shrugged. “Mark threatened my life if I didn’t take a break and come talk to you.”
Chase’s brows raised. “Did he now?”
“Apparently I’m ‘wound tighter than a drum’ and ‘need to remember how to be a human’ and ‘for the love of God, Finn, just go talk to the hot lawyer before he leaves again.’” I realized what I’d just said. “I mean—he said that last part. Not me. I didn’t call you—I’m not saying you’re not—”
“He thinks I’m hot?” Chase’s smirk returned. “Maybe I should go sit at the bar and talk to him.”
My mouth opened. I blinked. Then blinked again.
The kettledrum caught me off guard that time as a smooth hand reached out and gripped my forearm. “I’m teasing, Finn. There’s someone else here I would much rather get to know.”
My eyes kept doing that dumbfounded blinking thing, but my mouth finally worked. “There is?” I asked like the idiot I was, a surge of something annoying warming my skin. I then looked behind me as though searching for the aforementioned objectofmylawyer’s affection.
Chase’s grip on my arm tightened, then released. “Are all Irishmen this bad at flirting?”
My head spun, and my eyes locked onto Chase’s. “We’re a right happy people, thank you very much.”
Chase snorted into his beer glass, then looked at the empty seat across from him and pleaded his case. “Your Honor, please direct the witness to answer the question I asked, not one he prefers.”
“I didn’t . . . you . . . that’s not fair.”
“Never said I played fair. Lawyer, remember?”
I slung the towel over my shoulder, feeling the sting of it snap on my back. Chase’s eyes sparkled at my discomfort.
