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I scanned the stage area and found Timothy off to the left. I waved him down, catching his gaze and motioning toward the dance floor. He nodded back once and headed offstage.

I didn’t often need bouncers here—my patrons were generally pleasant and kind—but our emcee filled the gap when I couldn’t pull staff off the door. Looked like we needed the extra help tonight.

Fucking hell.

Calling a quick apology to my waiting customers, I ducked my head in the swinging door to the back and called for Ben. He came running out of the office a few seconds later, probably hearing the panic in my voice. “What’s up, boss?”

“Trouble on the floor. Help Ryden at the bar?”

His eyes widened as he nodded, rushing down the hall toward me. I spun, the door swinging wildly behind me as I ripped off my apron and tossed it on the counter below the bar top. While I hurried onto the floor, Ben brushed past me and scrambled behind the bar to get our customers served.

Timothy already had the troublemaker almost to the hallway on the opposite side of the dance floor. I figured he was leading him to the empty room next to the restrooms—smart thinking. I’d never gotten around to making it into my office, and Timothy knew that. I used the one Ben had just been in for the convenient location next to the kitchen and close proximity to the bar.

I followed Timothy and the probably drunk man down the hallway and into the room, closing the door behind me. The throbbing bass outside became a dull heartbeat in the near silence. Grabbing a metal folding chair from a stack propped up just inside the door, I crossed to the middle of the mostly empty room and forced the chair open, slamming it onto the decades-old linoleum. Timothy wrestled the man into it, then he and I crossed our arms in front of him, creating a wall of angry muscle between him and the door.

He blinked up at us, and his mouth opened. I just knew what came out of it next would be terrible. “You’rrrrre gon’ pay ‘r thisss!” The rest of his words were so badly slurred I could barely make them out, but I thought he’d complained about Timothy putting his hands on him in colorful language.

Timothy kept his steely gaze on the drunken man, who apparently seemed to realize he was outnumbered and wisely stayed in his seat. “What’s your name?”

“Jassson,” he mumbled, the letters all running together.

“Last name, son,” he barked out, and I held back a snicker, miraculously keeping the stern grimace on my face. This teddy bear could be fierce when the situation called for it, and I found it quite endearing.

“Ja-son Ellllkinnnnnnsss.”

“Well, Jason Elkins,” Timothy started, tone snippy and biting, “you were harassing our customers, so I absolutely had the right to remove you from the site of the altercation.”

Is this dude a cop or something? Or does he just watch a ton of police dramas? Either way, I was fighting a laugh. Also, how the fuck did he understand that garbled mess?

“Fucker! I wasssn’ doin’ ‘nnneeething!”

Timothy lurched forward, just a bit, and to his credit, Jason flinched. “You listen here, Jason, and you listen good. You need to get your shit together. Time to go home.”

I stepped in. “And you’re banned for a year.”

“What?!” the miscreant screamed.

I nodded. “I don’t want to see you around here for a full year, or I will call the police, you get me? And I assure you, they won’t like that you were harassing my patrons.”

It was true. Our local police sergeant and I—along with Jack—were buddies from elementary school. Rowan and I had reconnected a few years back when I found out on social media that he’d married another one of our friends—one of our male friends—and when he found out I’d opened a gay bar, he promised to do everything he could to give us fair treatment. He and his husband were regulars.

Jason’s eyes were wide, and for once, he was silent. Then he stood, and I took an involuntary step back. Despite my size, I was confrontation-avoidant on a good day. “You’ll be ssssss’rry,” he slurred before pushing past us. Timothy and I shared a quick glance and followed him out through the crowded dance floor and up the steps toward the exit. We waited at the front door until he crossed the street.

Once he was out of sight, I turned to Timothy, clapping my hand on his shoulder. “Shit, man. I owe you.”

He grinned. “You owe me nothing. I like putting assholes in their place.”

I laughed, pulling my hand back. “Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He tipped his head toward the interior of the bar and the stage on the back wall. “Guess I’d better get back to it.”

I nodded. “Thanks again.”

He just shook his head, chuckling to himself as if I was utterly ridiculous for saying so.

I turned to Gio, one of two guys who usually manned the front door, and sighed. “Did you happen to see that guy we just kicked out of here?”

He grinned at me. “Yup.” He held his phone in the air. “Saw what happened earlier, so I had my camera ready. Got a pic.”