Page 78 of Play With Me

“Actually, I’m singing tonight,” I lied. “Show tunes. Maybe a little light burlesque.”

Will’s eyes were twinkling like the lights on my Christmas sweater. “I know you’re full of shit, but I’d pay to see you in elf ears.” Well, hello, friend.

“Don’t sexualize my ears, William⁠—“

We were getting weird like we do and Mike blessedly cut me off. “Is Hasan coming?” he asked, looking nervous and hopeful. I didn’t want to crush his spirit, but I didn’t want to lie either. Will narrowed his eyes at him, merciless.

“No, he’s celebrating with someone else tonight,” I said gently, side-eyeing Will. Mike nodded.

“Get behind the bar, Isa,” Eilidh barked as she swept past us milling in the walkway. I slipped through the bar gate, smiling to myself. That crusty old crone. Iconic.

I set my towel down, hands still buzzing a little from the last cocktail I shook. The room was alive with that particular holiday hum—loud but contained, merry. Like the kids inside of all of us were bouncing, excited for Christmas morning. The liquor bottles I’d been pouring nonstop for the last hour on the shelves glowed green from the lights.

I caught Will’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar as he stacked plates at one of the high tops. He lifted the tub of dishes and I snapped a mental picture of the forearm porn just out there for everyone to see. I turned and did it again when he laughed genuinely at someone’s joke. I love his laugh. He glanced up, still smiling, and our eyes met for half a second before Eilidh whipped him in the ass, hustling him into the back.

“Isa,” she said, appearing at my elbow like she’d been summoned by the devil on my shoulder. “You alive?”

“Barely,” I laughed, reaching for a stack of coasters.

She smirked. “Pour those Guinnesses without ogling the help. It’s a working bar.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The taps were cold and familiar under my hands. I moved automatically—pour, slide, wipe, repeat. People leaned in, shouted orders, wished me Merry Christmas with varying degrees of sincerity. I answered them all, smiling when it was easy, nodding when it wasn’t. Eyes searching. I’d always thought my girlfriends were crazy when they described this feeling—but Will was like shrooms.

Every so often, I felt him before I saw him. Passing behind me, hand brushing the small of my back. Reaching past to restock my glassware. Once, I turned just as he passed by, and his hand went to my hip on reflex. We froze for a fraction of a second too long. I wanted to misbehave.

“Sorry,” we said at the same time.

I shook my head, chuckling “Fuck you,” when he shot me a knowing look.

He hesitated—just a beat—then squeezed my hip before moving away. I watched him go, the way he always made space without making a thing of it. I wanted less space.

Another time we were passing each other in the hallway and he knocked me into the wall right where we’d stood. He definitely knows, right?

Mike slid onto a stool during a lull, coat on, he was heading out to be with his family.

“Well?’’ he asked quietly.

“Well—‘’ but I was distracted by Will looking at us strangely. I furrowed my brows at him before turning back to Mike. “What?”

“You got the gift he made you, right?”

“Oh,” I said, surprised. “Yeah. I did.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” I said, and meant it in the best possible way. “I thanked him. It’s gorgeous.”

He studied my face, then smiled. “Agreed. Maeve showed me pictures.”

Before I could ask what that meant, a group of young men crowded the bar, loud and cheerful and already halfway gone. I poured shots, slid beers, and accepted high-fives I didn’t earn. You couldn’t even see my tits in this sweater. In my periphery, I watched Will lead Mike out the back door, speaking close to his ear with an arm over his shoulders. Boys are weird.

A few minutes later, Will sidled up to the other side of the bar again, leaning in close so I could hear him over the noise.

“We’re heading out in a bit,” he said. “Mom’s already doing the Irish goodbye.”

I nodded. Of course, she was.