Mason nodded.
“Speaking of my impending trip, I have a favor to ask.”
“If you need it and I have it, I will provide it.” He tilted his head and waited for me to state my request. The colored backlights of the bar reflected off his graying hair, making him glow like an angel. And that’s what he had been for me more than once over the years.
“I need to borrow your car.”
He frowned. “I don’t have it, so I can’t provide it. Had to take it in to the dealer yesterday for a recall on the transmission.”
“The transmission? That sucks.”
He shrugged. “Could’ve been worse. I could’ve been one of the people who found out the hard way that it needed to be recalled. But that leaves us with a dilemma, because Nicky needs a car.”
One of the waitresses called out an order across the bar, then smiled at me. “Where’s your eighties’ outfit, Nick?”
I grinned and inclined my head toward Mason. “He doesn’t pay me enough to dress like the hipsters.”
She laughed. “You know just being younger than we are doesn’t make them hipsters, right?” She waved and hurried off to take another order while Mason prepared the drinks.
“Back to your problem,” he glanced sideways at me while he pulled a beer, “if you happen to be heading northeast, I might know someone who can give you a ride.”
“I love your optimism, but it’s a big country, buddy. What are the odds?”
“Well, she’s headed to Bucks County, north of Philly. Not sure what route she’s taking, but if that sounds helpful, I could introduce you. She’s a regular. Not so much lately, since she broke up with her dirtbag boyfriend. But she’s here tonight.”
That sounded more than helpful. It sounded perfect. Which would have made me suspicious of nearly anyone else in the world besides Mason.
“An introduction would be great.” I glanced behind me at the crowd. “Where is she?”
“That way,” Mason said, pointing his chin toward the opposite end of the bar.
My heart sank when I spotted the attractive but way-too-young blonde who was named after a season. She’d hit on me on my first night of hosting trivia. Maybe if I was lucky, he meant her quieter friend, Gabi.
“Not Summer. Her friend, Cara Spencer,” Mason said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “The one with long, dark hair.”
As if on cue, Gabi and Summer shifted to reveal their third friend. My heart—and other body parts—jumped to attention. Her long, dark hair was wavy and hung loose halfway down her back. She smiled at something Summer was saying, but the joy didn’t quite reach her sad blue eyes. While Summer was dressed for the eighties theme and the Gabi wore a business skirt and blouse and low heels, Cara was casual-chic in her pure white tee shirt, faded and great-fitting blue jeans, and leather sandals.
“Christ, put your tongue back in your mouth,” Mason chastised.
“What? I wasn’t...” Except, shit, I was. I was lusting after a woman I had yet to meet, a woman who didn’t look any older than her friends. “Doesn’t matter. She’s a kid,” I said, putting my dirty-old-man moment behind me.
I didn’t relish the thought of riding cross-country with a woman who’d sent a jolt of lust-at-first sight through me. But I didn’t have the luxury of behaving like a horny teenager who was afraid to be alone with the hot girl from math class. I needed to man the hell up.
Lyle, one of the young bartenders, walked over to us and stood beside Mason. He pushed his overgrown bangs out of his eyes and stared at me with a too-big grin. “I see Cara caught your attention. She’s newly single.”
“Lucky for you, since she’s about your age,” I said.
“I have a thing for blondes. And I’m kind of dating someone.” Lyle glanced at Cara, then back at me. “But you’re famously single and, what, thirty-five?”
“He’s forty-one,” Mason answered, being so damn helpful.
“You’re well-preserved,” Lyle said, and I wanted to punch him with my old-man fist. “Let’s see, half of forty-one, rounding down to twenty, plus seven, equals twenty-seven.”
I glanced at Mason. “Is he taking a remedial math class or something?”
“It’s the half plus seven rule,” Lyle said. “You know, you can date someone who’s half your age plus seven years, but any younger than that and it’s creepy.”
“I’m not going to date a twenty-seven-year-old because someone on TikTok told you it’s not creepy.”
