“There’s a zero on the wheel,” I add, maybe just to play along for another moment or two. “So, it doesn’t matter how many other numbers there are—multiplying anything by zero will always equal zero.”
Noah takes that in, and a wink from Jake goes unacknowledged by me when I disappear again. I make a sweep of the room being largely ignored by Zach, grateful for the way most of the crowd has been too engaged with fun facts to notice, and I breeze through drink refills with no need to think all that hard. Everyone is gearing up for the last regular round before the fifth and final one, but I find myself in the beer garden again. The group of six has left, either helping themselves to the darkness on either side of the building or cutting through the bar while I was busy fantasizing about Las Vegas, but the reader is still buried in his book, and I leave him to it.
And maybe I don’t have a choice about that when Beau backs me against the wall, his deep brown eyes close to a suspicious glare.
“Hmmm. You’re not mad at me,” he says.
“Why does everyone think I’m mad tonight?”
“Because it’s your favorite night of the week, but you’re not spendin’ it with any of your favorite people. You could pop a hundred bottle caps, chug a beer of your own, and still beat everyone but Jake at this shit. I’ve never seen you focus so hard on a liquorpour in the decade I’ve known you, nor do you usually hand over that side of the bar to Riley, so yeah, my first guess was that you’re mad.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff. “You love Riley.”
“I do, and that was definitely not my point.”
“Right. Because your point was that I’m not mad.”
Beau growls, and it’s strange that I still remember what the sound tastes like. “Adrian wanted me to thank you again for giving us the lead on that tapas place.”
“Yeah? Did you guys get that worked out? Will they cater the opening?”
“We did, and they will. Do I even want to ask how many restaurants let you ‘sample’ something before you picked a favorite?”
“Wasn’t like that,” I tell him. “I only made one stop.”
He chuckles a little at that. “He was that good, huh?”
“He—who was good?” I ask, my cheeks warm in a way that’s always been more Beau’s thing than mine. I don’t think Jake told him we were out together, but they’ve been sitting next to each other at the bar tonight, and I’ve been anywhere else, and maybe—
“Whichever tapas chef gave you a taste test.”
I laugh. From anyone else—or spoken to anyone else—Beau’s words might angle close to cruel, but the past year or so notwithstanding, he’s been with nearly as many people as I have, and I know he doesn’t care whether I’m fucking my way through a couple of restaurants a night. And I might argue that if I’d reallyhooked up with someone at the Spanish restaurant, then he and Adrian would’ve gotten a hell of a deal on the catering, except that his assumption saves me from having to explain that I took a friend out for a nice dinner and never made him come.
“The food was good, and the gallery opening is gonna be incredible. And Adrian is very welcome,” I say. “Are you gonna fuck off now?”
“Mmmm, are you still takin’ me out for my birthday next week?”
“I always do.”
“And I can give you more shit then?”
“You always do,” I chuckle.
Beau gives me a kiss on the cheek before he flips me off with a smile, and I knock his cowboy hat sideways just because I can. A second later, I follow him inside and can’t help but look down the bar at the way Jake is laughing at something Noah must’ve said, and Riley delivers another Guinness, and Beau stands just behind Adrian to rub his shoulders until he moans.
The trivia host moves on to the next question—I don’t even know what number they’re on—and I restock a couple of things and clean a few others. Zach is actively working again, so he ducks behind the bar for anything he needs, and I drift closer to Riley when I need to make room, staying there long enough to be stumped by a question Jake doesn’t know either. I’m busy closing out a tab and handing out another draft beer when I hear the host wrap things up, and when I turn around again, Adrian is sliding off his stool and into Beau’s arms. They haven’t beenplaying anyway, so they don’t need to stick around for the final round, and the goodbyes are predictable when there are hugs and kisses and some version of a polite nod between Adrian and Jake. Riley blows a kiss, and I do the same from further away.
With a bit of a break for scores to be totaled, I have time to handle a quick wave of requests from our liquor guy, four 50somethings who have nothing on Jake, and a slick regular I’m convinced will run for office someday. We all trade smiles before I turn toward the register and Riley lands next to me, their hands wrapped around a towel. It’s a tell, and I’m ready to give them my attention for whatever they need.
“Do you think this grand opening party is a plus-one kind of thing?” they ask.
Oh. Well. The compassionate and selfish parts of me collide, and I swallow hard just to censor a response or two. “Did you not want to ask Beau, or did you just not get a chance tonight?”
“Didn’t get a chance. Not with everyone—”
“Yeah, no. Totally get it,” I say when Riley trails off and looks somewhere over my shoulder. “And I think you’re absolutely welcome to bring a plus-one. I can’t imagine Adrian would have the slightest problem with it, but I—do youwantto bring someone?”
They frown, and the host announces the final round, and I run someone’s credit card and twist the cap off a bottle for someone else. The night is winding down now, and my focus on Riley has barely wavered, but it hasn’t helped me get an answer any sooner, so I try a slightly different approach.