I took a sip.
It was citrusy and sweet, with a kick that suggested there was more alcohol in it than the pretty colors implied.
“This is dangerous,” I said.
“That’s what I said. Benji told me to ‘trust the process.’”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Probably, but he’s very good at his job, so I’m choosing to trust the chaos.” Finn glanced back at the bar where Benji was now juggling bottles again. “I should get back. But stay? Please?”
“I’m not going anywhere. I have a sunset to finish.” I hefted my glass in salute as Finn’s hand reached down and squeezed my forearm. The electricity in that touch shot up my arm and down my body before zapping the shit out of my toes. Before I could think or speak or do anything, Finn had turned and vanished again.
I watched him move through the crowd, returning to his spot behind the bar beside Benji. He made drinks, talked to customers, and occasionally laughed at something Benji said. The pink-haired bartender was a force of nature, efficient chaos thatsomehow made it work, with more style and flair in his little finger than my whole body possessed.
Time passed.
It was measured in drinks.
I’d had two. And damn, they were strong.
The bar stayed packed. The energy never dipped. Benji started another sing-along around eleven-thirty—this time “Defying Gravity” fromWicked. Magically, the entire bar knew every word.
I was halfway through my third Gay Agenda when Finn reappeared at my table.
“So,” he said. “I did something possibly insane.”
“What?”
“I told Mark and Benji I’m taking the rest of the night off.”
I blinked. “You did what?”
“Actually, they kind of told me to leave. Benji pushed me toward your booth and said if I didn’t take you somewhere romantic he was going to ‘do it himself and not in a good way.’” Finn was smiling, but there was nervousness underneath. “So, counselor, want to get out of here?”
“Are you sure? It’s packed—”
“Benji and Mark have it covered. Jacks might die of exhaustion, but he’s young. He can recover from a little death.” He was fidgeting with his bar towel. “Unless you’d rather stay? Or go home? I don’t wantto assume—”
“Yes,” I said too quickly. “I want to leave with you.”
Finn’s smile was blinding. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Good. Great.” He was still fidgeting. “I have no idea where we’re going. I didn’t plan this far ahead.”
“That’s okay.”
“Is it?”
“It’s perfect.”
Finn tossed his towel on the table, apparently not wanting to risk getting sucked back into his work. I stood, and we navigated through the crowd toward the door. Benji spotted us leaving andwhooped, making several customers turn to look. Mark gave Finn a double thumbs-up from behind the bar. Before we stepped onto the sidewalk, the whole bar was applauding.
Finn’s face turned red, but he was smiling as he waved and shoved me outside.
The Tampa night hit us—humid and warm, with just a hint of the bay’s brine. The noise from Barbacks faded behind us as we strolled, replaced by the ambient sounds of Ybor on a Saturday night. I heard music from other bars, laughter, and the distant sound of someone’s car stereo.
