Pink pink.
Like he’d woken up and decided cotton candy was a personality.
“You’re Benji?” I asked, because what else was there to say.
“I’m Benji Kwon, the best bartender you’re going to interview today, possibly ever, and I’m the most fun you’ll ever have at parties.” He set both coffees on the bar and stuck out his hand. “You’re Finn, you own this place with—” He looked at Mark. “Silver Fox over there, and you’re freaking out because your first two interviews were very qualified and very boring. Am I right?”
Mark choked on nothing.
“How did you—” I started.
“I saw them leave. They had that ‘I’m a responsible adult with a 401(k)’ energy. Which is great, I guess. Love that for them. But also, like, this is agaysports bar in Ybor. You need someone with personality, not someone who’s going to alphabetize your liquor bottles and call it a day.” He picked up the regular coffee and took a sip. “This one’s mine. The diabetes in a cup is yours.”
“I didn’t say I wanted coffee—”
“You do, though. You look exhausted. When did you last sleep? Don’t answer that; it’s written all over your face. Drink the coffee, ask me anything, and prepare to be amazed.”
I looked at Mark, who was trying very hard not to laugh.
Then I looked at the vanilla coffee that had enough sugar to put me in a diabetic coma.
With the reluctance of a child reaching for a snake, I picked it up and took a sip.
It was delicious. Damn it.
“Okay,” I said. “Tell me about your experience.”
“Four years bartending, started at Southern Nights in Orlando—yes, that one; yes, it was intense; yes, I have stories that would make your hair curl.” He said this all in one breath. “I learned to work fast, work clean, and work under pressure, because when you’re slammed with three hundred half-naked, fully drunk people who all want their next drink now, you either figure it out or you die. I figured it out.”
“And after that?”
“I moved to Manifest in Tampa. It’s a craft cocktail spot, very fancy and very pretentious. I learned all the proper techniques and how to make drinks that cost thirty dollars and come with a single ice cube that took four hours to make.” He rolled his eyes. “I left because the owner kept hitting on me—and not in the fun way. I’ve been freelancing since then, working weddings, corporate events, and one bar mitzvah that got out of hand, but we don’t talk about that.”
“Do you have references?”
“I have references, a portfolio, and a hundred fifty-three thousand TikTok followers who watch me make drinks while I explain the gay history ofcocktails. Did you know the Cosmopolitan was invented by a gay bartender in Provincetown? Most people don’t. I teach them while doing bottle tricks. Sometimes I sing. I almost tried to make it on Broadway, so the singing part is fun for me and stops the scroll. It’s a whole thing.” He pulled out his phone. “Want to see?”
“I, uh, sure?” I snuck a peek at Mark. The idiot just shrugged and pretended to be wiping down the perfectly clean bar.
Benji leaned in and turned his phone around. His TikTok was already loaded. I watched him make something elaborate while simultaneously explaining that the martini was named after a gay bartender named Martinez. He did some kind of complicated bottle flip that should not have worked but did, then finished the routine by singing his own adaptation ofFrozenduring the final pour.
The comments were filled with fire emojis and marriage proposals.
“Your voice is insane,” slipped out. “And . . . sweet Mother Mary, you have a lot of followers.”
“I’m very entertaining. Also, I’m hot and have a wide singing range. It’s a good combination.” He said this with zero irony. “But here’s the thing—I’m not just a social media bartender. I’m good at this. Like,reallygood. And I love it, which shows in theperformance and comes through in the quality of the drinks. I can make anything you throw at me, I work fast, I’m great with customers, and I’ll bring in business because people will come just to watch me work. My Insta and TikTok will be free advertising for the bar.”
“You’re very confident,” Mark observed from his perch behind the bar. He’d stopped cleaning and had both fists balled on his hips, one still holding a towel.
“I’m Korean. My mom didn’t raise me to undersell myself.” Benji grinned. “Also, I’m gay and grew up in Orlando. You either develop confidence or you develop a complex. I chose confidence.”
“Can you handle high volume?” I asked. “We get pretty busy.”
“I’ve worked Spring Break on Miami Beach. If I can survive fifteen thousand drunk straight girls on a bachelorette tour, I can survive anything you throw at me.” He paused. “Wait, no, that sounded bad. I love drunk straight girls. They tip amazing and they’re always so excited about everything. But God, they’re exhausting.”
“What about—”
“Actually, no, I have a better idea.” Benji was already taking off his jacket. “What if I just work tonight? Like right now. No pay, completely free,just let me show you what I can do. You can watch me, see if I fit, and if you hate me, you never have to see me again. But you won’t hate me because I’m fucking delightful.”
