Page 80 of Bounced!

“We’re absolutely toasting the tea,” Dante said, lifting his glass.

Chase lifted his.

And I sat there, outnumbered, while three grown men toasted the fact that I’d memorized a man’s drink orders like a lovesick teenager.

The worst part was that I was happy.

Stupidly.

Every inch of me.

After a heartbeat, I lifted my glass, too.

“To the tea,” I muttered.

Dante’s knee pressed against mine under the table, warm and sure, and stayed there.

The food came, the ribbing rolled on, and somewhere in there the conversation turned to Sunday, which was its own disaster worth reliving.

“You should’ve seen it,” I told Chase. “The whole team, near enough, came in after the game. They took up half the bar just standing still, these guys. They’re enormous. And the one, the Swedish one—”

“Erik,” Dante said.

“Erik might be the sweetest guy in the world despite looking like he could bite through the bar counter. And this tiny one, Murph, keeps needling him all night. Erik doesn’t say a word. He just watches, real calm, like he’s memorizing it all for later.” I shook my head. “That’s a man with a plan. I’ve seen that look. Somebody’s getting maple syrup and Fruit Loops in their hair.”

“He put dish soap in Murph’s protein shake once,” Dante said, matter-of-fact. “Skyler told me. Erik waited three weeks, said revenge tastes better cold. Then he ruined the man’s entire digestive tract for a week.”

“See, that’s discipline,” Finn said, approving. “That’s professional pranksterism.”

“And Tyler filmed everything. Everything. He had his phone out the whole night, narrating, like it was a nature program.” I did the voice, low and hushed. “And here we see the barback, Jacks, in his natural habitat being crushed to death by the team captain.”

“He got Benji, too,” Dante said. “Benji tried to do a flair thing with a bottle, for the athletes, showing off. He dropped it. Tyler caught the whole thing on film. And now it’s—”

“It’s on the internet,” I confirmed. “Benji was already an insufferable star. The drop only humanized him on TikTok. Now he won’t stop talking about his brand.”

“His brand?” Chase wheezed.

“He wants a ring light for the bar so he can make content throughout his service. I told him, ‘No.’”

“He’s getting a ring light,” I said, grinning at Finn.

Chase was still wheezing when Finn set his glass down.

“We’ve had so many good memories in that place,” Finn said, his voice drifting somewhere far off. He didn’t say it dry or sharp or teasing—and that was the thing—he said it plain, and quiet. It landed in the middle of the table like a stone dropped in still water.

The laughing went out of all of us at once.

Nobody spoke.

I stared at the tablecloth.

Dante watched his glass.

Chase looked at Finn, and Finn looked at nothing at all, somewhere past the centerpiece.

He was looking at seven years of opening and closing shifts.

He was looking at the night we hung the sign.