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“Yeah, yeah. Save it.” She pulled out her order pad. “Have you gotten the chance to look at the seasonal menu?”
We all nodded, because like responsible millennials, we’d checked out the menu online and decided what we were getting before we got here. We ordered our drinks and every tapa on the menu, then sat back and enjoyed the music as it switched from dinner music to something people could dance to. The last bit of tension that had lingered around my shoulders finally faded.
Okay fine, maybe going out wasn’t theworstidea.
“I know we don’t talk about work when we’re out, but I have to ask. Are we seriously only taking local jobs for the next six months? Is that smart?” Izzy asked.
“Local to us is a two-hour plane ride. It’s not like we’re confined to the city and nowhere else,” Tyler said.
“We’ve busted our asses the past few years. This is the longest break between ops we’ve had since we started. Bridge City’s rates have tripled, and we’re turning down international work because we don’t have the capacity to do it. There aren’t enough hours in the day. We need to take time for ourselves. Or at least slow down. It isn’t healthy for us to have a few days to recharge before we dive into mission after mission.” Jessen was right. For every job we took, we turned down eight more, and we were all on the verge of burnout.
“I’m exhausted,” Adrienne said, slicing her hand through the air. “And I have no time to spend all this money I’m making.”
“There’s a tournament coming up, and it’s local. I registered,” Izzy said like it was no big deal, but it was. She would have become a professional fighter like her dad if she hadn’t joined Ghost Unit. He’d moved his gym, Underground MMA, from Long Island City to Portland to stay close to her once she’d made this her home base.
Chris’s eyes lit up, and she bounced in her seat.
“No. If you act like that, I am not telling you anything more,” Izzy said, stopping Chris before she started. The way Chris’s face fell had me hiding my smile behind my drink.
I took in each of my friends, thankful that I had them in my life. Relieved that they’d come with me and restarted their lives here. If I could go back and change the past, I wouldn’t.
Our food arrived, and so many plates covered the table that we couldn’t put our drinks down while we ate. Jessen dug into her food but paused between bites to tell us about her last date. “I made another one cry, guys.”
I glared at Tyler after she smacked my back a touch too hard when I choked on my food from laughing.
“Oh, sweet dear Jessen, please tell the class what happened.” Izzy put down her fork and propped her chin in her hand.
A deep pained sigh came out of Jessen. “It was supposed to be drinks and light conversation. And then, you know, I asked him where he was at in life. Not like a therapist at all, I swear.” Jessen pointed her fingers at each one of us, like she knew what we would say before we said it. “Just like, are you looking for a good time or something more? He shrugged his shoulders. There was this sad dejected look on his face. And like, how could I ignore it? So, I asked him what was wrong.”
My teammates covered their faces. Adrienne banged her head against the table. I gave Jessen a pitying look.
“It wasn’t like I went all therapist on him.” Her cheeks turned red. “I said that I was a safe space if he wanted to talk. By the end I learned he was only there trying to get over his fiancée leaving him for his brother. There were tears, and I recommended a therapist I thought could help him.” Jessen’s mouth twisted into a frown as she moved food around her plate with her fork.
“Stop doing that!” Izzy shouted, gaining the attention of the table next to us. One glare and a well-placed stabbing motion with a knife from Tyler had them turning back around.
“How do you always find the worst guys?” Chris said, patting Jessen on the back.
Izzy continued, not giving Jessen a chance to respond to Chris. “You do this every time. Stop letting those wounded faces get to you. Not everyone needs you to help them. It was supposed to be a date. A fun, flirty, maybe bring-him-home-at-the-end date. Next time one of them goes all dejected therapy case on you, pay the tab and run the other fucking way, Jess.”
Adrienne jumped in. “Izzy’s right on this one. It sucks about his fiancée and brother, but like, if he’s still so screwed up over it, he shouldn’t have been on a date in the first place. That’s shitty for the person he decides to go out with before he’s ready. Did you even do a background check on the guy?”
Tyler snickered. “Background check? I bet she thinks they’re being honest on their profiles when they put down that they’re six-two.” That had the rest of us laughing. “Get off the dating sites. Meet someone the old-fashioned way, like at work or something.” Tyler, the most anti-relationship human in existence, was giving out dating advice. Just how low had we stooped?
Adrienne rolled her eyes and took a delicate sip of her drink. “Right, Ty. Because we meet such wonderful men in our line of work.”
An old-school rap song came on, and Jessen practically drooped with relief when we all made our way to the dance floor. I moved my body to the rhythm of one song, then the next, laughing with my friends.
A cheer from the bar on the second level had me snapping my head in that direction. A group of men, all in button-down shirts with their sleeves rolled to their elbows, stood on the second-floor bar hooting and cheering as two guys chugged pitchers of beer.
“You can take the boy out of the frat…” Adrienne leaned down and spoke into my ear, a laugh in her voice. “But you can’t take the frat out of the boy.” I dropped my sweaty forehead onto her shoulder and laughed.
Movement in the dark corner caught my eye.
I tried not to look, but like always, I couldn’t stop myself from glaring in that direction. Oh, goodie. Redemption was crashing my night. At least I didn’t stop dancing.
Four of the men from the motorcycle club stood in the corner of the second-floor bar, everyone giving them a wide berth so they didn’t have to share their space. I wished there was a way I could kick them out or work out some sort of agreement that they’d stay away from my favorite places.
Colt—club name Grim Reaper, or Reaper for short—moved into the light to lean against the railing. He’d gotten his road name and head enforcer position a few years ago, after years of floundering to find his place. I was gone by then, but I’d heard from Uncle Wolf how perfectly suited he was for the role.
