Me: I’d really like that. Coffee. Or dinner. Or whatever.
Me: Give me a week to figure out staffing, then I’m all yours.
Chase: All mine? Careful what you ask for.
Me: Oh, God. I just meant for a date or coffee.
Chase: Oh, I wrote it down. We make notes of calls, you know.
Chase: Just teasing. I can wait a week.
Chase: It’ll be worth it for the bartender who makes mediocre beer seem incredible.
Me: Our beer selection is not that mediocre.
Chase: Prove it. Take me out and let me try more.
Me: That’s just you asking me to take you to other bars.
Chase: Or you could just take me here on your night off. Give me a private tasting. Very exclusive.
Me: Are you flirting with me using beer as a metaphor?
Chase: Is it working?
Me: Maybe.
Chase: I’ll take maybe. See you soon, Finn.
I set my phone down on the bar and looked at Mark, who was watching me with that insufferable knowing expression.
“So,” Mark said. “Hiring a bartender.”
“Hiring a bartender,” I agreed.
“And going on a date with a hot lawyer who makes puns about wet dreams involving yourtostones.”
“There were no dreams! Don’t you start—”
“Too late. Already started.” Mark pulled out his own phone. “I’m texting Priya. She’ll want to know about this.”
“Mark—”
“She’s going to find out anyway. Might as well be from me. This way we can collude properly.”
He was already typing. I could have stopped him. God knows, I should have stopped him.
But honestly? I was too busy staring at my phone, at the text chain with Chase.
“Make a note,” Mark said, still typing. “Post bartender job opening tomorrow. Schedule interviews for Saturday. If we can find someone sooner, you can get laid sooner.”
I ignored his jab and grabbed my napkin-turned-notepad and wrote:
Post job opening.
Interviews Saturday.
See Chase again.
