I throw a look over my shoulder, in time for Jake to level me with a curious stare, and then trivia night officially begins, and I pour someone a gin and tonic before mouthing the answer to him the second he’s done scribbling his own. It continues like that for a while—hear a question, serve a drink, match Jake’s answer with mine while nobody’s the wiser—but when the first round is over, my seven correct to his eight, I still don’t move any closer.
Riley, as usual, kicks my shoe. “You’re not mad at him.”
They’re not asking, but I shake my head anyway. “No, not at all.”
“Are you scared?”
“Of?” I ask, clearing a few empty bottles from the bar and smoothly popping the caps of their replacements.
“Jake riding a motorcycle again. Or crashing a motorcycle again, I guess. Beau and Adrian told me what it looked like the night he got hurt, and—”
“He was here last week,” I interrupt, my voice firmer than it needs to be. It wasn’t until the afternoon I brought Beau and Adrian a case of wine and two bottles of whiskey that I’d heard the details of what they’d seen on the off-ramp. How far Jake must’ve skidded. How ridiculously heavy the bike was. The blood that seemed to be everywhere, an image my big bear of an ex couldn’t shake for a couple of days. I swallow around the reminder of it now. “If I were scared, don't you think it would’ve bothered me then?”
Riley smiles. “You were busy with the party, and he drove his car last week.”
“Of course he did. I don’t know how you know that, but it feels right that you know that.”
“You haven’t answered my question,” they say, steady as they stare and their eyebrow piercing shifts higher.
“Nah, I’m not scared. I was concerned the night it happened, and wouldn’t have wanted him to get back on a bike too soon, but that old man knows what he’s doing, and it wouldn’t do me any good to be afraid of it.”
Riley nods, and it feels like I got away with something. I gesture toward the beer garden, willing to miss the start of round two while I check on anyone drinking outside tonight. I love it out there, and I give myself a few seconds after I first push through the door to take it all in. The string lights hanging overhead areprobably more trendy Pinterest wife than gay shitkicking beer lover, but maybe it’s good to take people by surprise once in a while. We have large picnic tables lined up in two rows of three, a bathroom tucked into the corner, and a muted version of the music people dance to when they’re not taking a test for fun. I’m not sure whether any of the details are the draw for me, or whether it’s simply the relaxation that comes with drinking outdoors. The freedom that comes with a deep breath and quiet conversation.
I’m romanticizing it, probably, but I might as well get starry-eyed over a beautiful night if I’m not looking for someone to fuck me in a dark corner of it.
There are seven people out here now, the most interesting among them a tall, gorgeous nerd curled over the book he’s reading. The other six are coupled up at a single table, and I push away from the building to check on everyone. None of it takes me long, but by the time I’m sliding behind the bar again, I only catch the very end of question ten and the careful tilt of Jake’s head.
I really need to go over there.
But because I’ve already started working this end of the bar, and because Zach is distracted by two of the men bent rather beautifully over the pool table—his good tip is probably a sure thing now—I get waved down for half a dozen tequila shots. Once I’ve poured those and handed over the requisite salt and limes, I hear the host announce the next round, and I’m ready to duel with Jake. Two underage kids with terrible fake IDs derail me, and I sigh.
Sending them on their way doesn’t take long when they don’t put up a fight, but then I’m grabbing three more beers and a shot of whiskey, and I can’t do much more than turn to give my friends a thumbs up or down for each question as the host rolls through them. I make it to them, finally, for the last one, standing just behind where Riley has leaned across the bar to brush a finger over a cut on one of Beau’s knuckles.
“Here’s the last of round three,” the host says. “What do you get if you multiply all the numbers on a roulette wheel?”
“A fucking headache,” Noah snorts.
Adrian half chokes on his Jack and ginger, and I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Riley legitimately giggle before, but Beau is enamored by both of them while I look at Jake. His pencil is already down.
“You knew it immediately,” I say.
“So did you,” he fires back.
“Oh, great,” Noah starts. “Is this where we find out that Darren used to be a flair bartender in Las Vegas, and Jake is a high roller who regularly stays in a penthouse on the Strip?”
“Hey, why can’t I stay in a penthouse?” I ask.
Beau smiles. “I’m sure you’ve been invited to plenty of penthouses, you pretty, pretty woman.”
I roll my eyes and meet Jake’s again, suddenly curious about his gambling habits and whether he’d look better all dressed up for dinner and a Vegas show, or in nothing but some wet swim trunks while sipping a cocktail from a poolside cabana.
I wonder how hard it would be for me to find out.
The trivia host rolls past us, ignoring Jake’s paper as he goes,and then Noah looks back and forth between Jake and me.
“Okay, what was the answer?”
“Zero,” Jake says.