“What did he say when you told him that?” Jake asks.
Riley shrugs. “He sort of laughed. Said it was a shitty thing to do on Christmas, but at least I had an opinion for once. I stood in the middle of my living room, and he went to gather the few things he’d left around. Then he came back and said he didn’t have time to worry about the rest when he’d already found someone else to meet him for dinner.”
“Jesus,” Adrian breathes.
I look from him to Beau to Jake and back again, unsure which one of them is most likely to spit fire. I’d do just about anything for Riley if I thought they needed my help, but the other three are more likely to interrupt Ethan’s brand new date and bloody his dessert.
“There’s not much happening tonight, but when we get more people in here again, you’re welcome to show off the keg room to anyone you meet. I’ve got you.”
Adrian chokes on whiskey. Beau glares at me.
“Darren.”
“What? You give your brilliant advice, and I’ll give mine.”
“I haven’t seenyoushow off the keg room in a while,” Riley says. “Should I worry that you’re trying to pass the baton?”
“Careful,” Jake warns, a small smile barely hidden. It surprises all of us, I think. “You’re dangerously close to euphemism territory, and I can’t imagine you’re interested in Darren’s baton.”
That sets off a round of laughter among people who deserve it, and I glance at Jake, suddenly aware that the joke was an attempt to distract everyone—himself included, perhaps—from the question of why I haven’t been fucking around on my shifts. When I meet Beau’s eyes next, I’m not sure it was a success.
And I don’t want to explain myself to either of them.
“Well, as much as I would love to stay and chat about my ex-husband’s sexcapades, Adrian’s sister is expecting us.” Beau empties his bottle while Adrian throws a twenty on the bar, and I scowl at the bad example I know Jake and Riley will follow, my tips just fucking fine without their help. Maybe Beau thinks my expression is about something else, because he slides off his stool and winks. “We can talk about his sudden aversion to workplace hookups another time.”
The two of them say their goodbyes to Jake and Riley, and leave without giving me any more shit about things they don’t understand. No refills are needed where I stand, so I do a quick sweep of the bar, and the few people left are doing just fine. When I return, there’s a quiet conversation happening in front of me, and I’m happy to leave them to it, but Riley looks up at me, blue eyes so goddamn wise and still unsure.
“You guys are happy, aren’t you? About the breakup?”
“I don’t thinkhappyis the right word for it,” I say. “And not to pick on the guy who already lost big tonight, but he's an idiot tothink you lack opinions, and it's why I don’t believe for a second you ended things with Ethan to pleaseus.”
Jake taps the back of his finger against Riley’s beer bottle. “We’re happy foryoumore than we’re happy about what you did.”
“And you’re eager to help me find someone new.”
Riley directs that one to me, so I shake my head. “Only if you want me to. There’s no way you actuallyneedanyone’s help with that. You’re stunning.”
“So, how long until you fuck a musician or two as part of the audition process?” Riley asks, nodding toward where the bull used to be.
It’s an obvious deflection, but I don’t have a habit of making them uncomfortable, perfectly content to let it be the other way around. And I’m about to deflect, too. Still, before I say anything, I look at Jake and wait for him to nod.
He does. I speak.
“V’s gonna want you to hear these auditions too, so I’m sure you’ll be around to see plenty, but I—I’m already in touch with someone who wants to bring a band in here.”
“In touch? Is this a 'friend' of yours?”
Their use of air quotes makes me smile despite everything else. “Just about the furthest thing from it. He’s my father.”
I’m proud of myself for getting the word right this time, and I catch Jake when he washes down a comment about it with his Guinness. Riley’s confused though, and they lift their beer to buy time. It’s unnecessary when they can just ask—and I alreadyknow they will—but I walk to the end of the bar and back just to make everything easier.
“I don’t remember you ever mentioning your father before,” Riley says when I return. “I usually remember things.”
“Yeah, no, this is on me, not you. He left my mom when she was pregnant with me. He’s never been worth a conversation. I didn’t even meet him until last night.”
“But he knew we’re looking for a band?”
“Saw it online, yeah,” I confirm. I leave out the details of the message in October because it only reminds me I exist most often as a memory, and my father's comment then changes nothing about lunch plans now. “Came by last night to talk—about the band and about getting to know me, I guess.”