Scully chuckles knowingly and goes to serve a customer, leaving me to watch Beck with soft eyes.
“Hey, barkeep.”
I snap to attention, finding David Stoneman in front of me. “Yessir. What can I get you?”
“How about a round of shots?” He puts his credit card on the counter.
“Cool,” I say, reaching for some shot glasses. “But your money’s no good here. How many, and what kind?”
“How many glasses you got? What does our new rookie go for? Whiskey? Tequila?”
“Actually, the weirder the better.” I grab a bottle of pickle-flavored vodka. “It’s a local thing. Kinda briny. Very polarizing.”
Stoney hoots. “Let’s gooooo! If I get ’im drunk, I’ll make sure he gets home safe.”
“Actually, that’s my job tonight.”
He shrugs. “Awesome. Then I can get drunk too.”
And then he does, right along with most of the bar.
The exceptions are Coach Powers, who always keeps up appearances, and his boyfriend, Jethro Hale, who doesn’t drink. They’re sitting at the bar in front of me watching a tied West Coast game that’s headed for a shootout.
“You want me to turn it up?” I offer. It’s so loud in here tonight.
“No need,” Hale says. “The sloppy positioning is loud enough without the announcer’s voice.”
Powers gives him a fond glance, and I grab Hale’s glass and refill it with soda water. “Thanks for your hospitality tonight,” Coach says.
“Trust me, you guys are worth every penny.” I put a fresh lemon wedge in his boyfriend’s drink. “Every time you all come in here, I get a bump in traffic. It matters to this cash-strapped small business that you show us some love.”
Powers gives me a thoughtful nod. “We always have a good time here. Are you still planning a new screening room in back?” He tips his head in the direction of my latent dreams. “It’d be easier to throw more business your way if you did.”
“I consider it every day,” I promise him. “But I don’t like the sky-high interest rate the bank is offering me, and I don’t have the cash just now.”
Hale looks away from the screen and frowns at me. “How much money would you even need? Maybe let some of us invest? Can’t be much more than a half million.”
“A half...” I sputter. “It’s so much less than that. For two-fifty I could build something great and fix the leaky roof all in one go.”
Hale shrugs. “Two-fifty, split a few ways? I reckon we can get that done without breaking a sweat.”
“We couldn’t let you…”
“Yes, we could,” Scully thunders. “Jesus, Forest. Accept the help. They’ll earn…five percent or whatever, and we’ll get this thing paid off in a couple of years. Nobody works harder than you. You’re a safer bet than Fort Knox, at this point. And think of the viewing parties people could throw here.”
My face flushes, because I know he’s right. But it’s still hard to ask other people to take a risk on my dream. “He’s, uh, right. It would be pretty great to get that project going. I will, um, write up a plan and show it to you after the playoffs?”
“You do that,” Hale says, his eyes on the shootout again.
Scully punches me in the arm. “That was really hard for you, wasn’t it?” He laughs. “Hard to teach an old dog new tricks. Heads up, though. Somebody’s hitting on your guy.”
My chin snaps up, and I see Beck holding a beer and leaning against the wall. And there’s another guy—a bar patron I’ve seen once or twice before—propping his own arm against the wall in a not-so-subtle way, casually boxing Beck in, as if staking a claim. “Oh, hell no.” I throw down my sponge.
“Don’t do it,” Scully says. “Wait—I take it back. By all means do whatever toppy thing you’re about to do. And then clock out, okay? Izzy and I can take it from here.”
I’m already halfway across the bar.
Forty-Two
