“It’s his loss, Emily,” the barman said seriously, “find someone who loves you more than snow.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “If only I wasn’t married and twenty years younger.” By the time she left to take a seat with a friend, balancing two cocktails, she was smiling. The barman was good, Jared could see that.
“Evening,” he said. “What can I get you?”
Jared followed the barman’s gesture to a board on the wall to a specials list handwritten with precision on a chalk board. Tonight’s alcohol of choice was vodka, and he was torn between going for a cocktail or just asking for a beer. Only this place screamed new adventures, he had money burning a hole in his wallet, and the description of a Madras, orange and cranberry juices with vodka, seemed a good place to start. He refused to be disappointed that Nate wasn’t behind the bar, but maybe it was for the best, because getting involved with Nate and by extension Luka was never going to end in any other way than complicated.
Even though he’d agreed with Luka that he’d be his father’s friend, there were sparks of attraction between him and Nate that he couldn’t ignore, and he had to admit that the last thing he needed right now was complications. Work on two essays due in by the end of the month fought for time with more reading, and lectures. Not to mention the next boyfriend hire was in prep stage, which meant Rowan emailing Jared a shit ton of reading material. Each booking had to be perfect because that was what clients paid Bryant & Waites for, and Jared was happy to do the research, it was just a matter of fitting it in with everything else.
So yeah, being there was the last thing he should’ve been doing, but the two dollars were in his pocket and he’d never been more aware of a contract.
“I’ll take a Madras.” He finally decided, and the older man sporting an apron in the same colors as the jersey that Nate had been wearing collected what he needed. There was a theme to Rhea’s, the deep reds, leather, wood. Every conceivable kind of alcohol seemed to be on display with bottles lining glass cabinets behind the bar. Jared turned to check out the room, watching a couple at the far table locked in a kiss, the small group of businesspeople all talking over each other, and the two others sitting on the stools at the bar. It was easy to imagine that this was the kind of warm and welcoming place that made people stay, maybe for two or three more cocktails?
“Here you go.”
Jared turned back to the barman, and handed over the money, putting the change in the tip jar as if he had all the money in the world.
“Is Nate not in tonight?”
The man’s glance sharpened in that assessing way where Jared knew he was being judged and possibly found wanting all in one go. Then the narrow-eyed glance relaxed as the barman appeared to come to some kind of decision.
“Who’s asking?”
Jared held out a hand, which the barman took immediately, his grip firm. “Jared, I’m a friend of Nate’s. And Luka as well.” He didn’t know why he added that last part, but it was true. Luka and Nate were mixed together in his head and he doubted that he could stay away from the little family and not see them as a whole.
The barman’s eyes widened, and he let out a soft expletive. “You’re kidding me, Jared, right? From the other day?”
He guessed that was the whole Luka thing that was being referred to. “Uh huh.” The barman did something Jared hadn’t expected. He tugged him to lean over the bar and then manhandled him into a sideways hug.
“I’m Luka’s grandfather, call me Pops, and thank you for finding him. You should have said who you were, I wouldn’t have charged you for the drink.”
“I’m not taking more free stuff,” Jared protested, even as Pops released him and let out a bellowing laugh.
“Luka was right,” he said and winked.
“Right about what?”
“Nothing, nothing, Nate’s out back. Hang on.” He pressed something under the counter and a door swung open at the shadowy end of the bar, Nate rushing out.
“What’s up, Pops?” He was checking around as if he was expecting some great problem but relaxed just before he saw Jared at the bar, grinning instantly.
“You’re here,” he said. “Pops, this is Jared, he’s the one who found Luka.”
“I know. Here,” Pops slid a glass of Sprite over to Jared then ushered Nate out from behind the bar. “Sit, talk. You spend too much time in the books and don’t have enough fun.”
It didn’t seem as if Nate was a hundred percent behind the suggestion and was going to disagree, but Pops sent him a look that not only spoke volumes but had Nate admitting defeat and then leading Jared to a table in the corner.
“He says I work too hard,” Nate murmured as they sat, “he’s probably got a point.” He relaxed back in the chair, exhaling, and then cracking his neck and sighing again. “Sometimes I stare and stare, and the numbers just don’t add up.”
Was Nate talking about literal numbers? Like the hours that made up his life? Both explanations seemed reasonable. “Add in percentages and they literally don’t add up. One supplier has placed stock with us, on the understanding we give feedback on sales. I can give them the money figure, but they’re all about upsell, and asking how they can help to support me, and I have no freaking idea. I’m behind the bar, and people buy drinks, or they don’t, so how in god’s name do I put a figure on estimated sales and what might affect them.” He shook his head. “Rhea always used to…” He scrubbed his face, and then made a visible effort to pull himself out
