“Hey, you want to get a beer?” Griffin called.
Dave's jaw dropped. Griffin slouched against the limo, hands in his pockets.
“With you?” Dave asked.
“Yeah, we'll work things out. Easier over a beer, don't you think?”
Dave was suspicious, but he'd do just about anything to get things back on track with Steph. “All right.”
They walked the few blocks to Garner’s bar in silence. Griffin claimed a couple of seats at the bar. Soon a crowd had gathered, all women, fawning over Griffin. The guy didn't invent anything great like nanotechnology or even rock ’n’ roll. Griffin signed autographs and took some pictures with the locals.
Dave nursed a beer, ready to bail on this whole working-things-out idea. Only his love for Steph kept him glued to the barstool next to the puffed-up singer. A long, boring time later, Griffin finally remembered Dave.
“That's all for now, folks,” Griffin said. “I'm here to catch up with my old pal Dave.”
The crowd reluctantly dispersed. A beautiful redhead gave Griffin a napkin with her number while she leaned in close and whispered something in his ear. Griffin grinned, tucked the napkin in his pocket, and gave her a little wave goodbye.
“Nice,” Dave muttered under his breath. Real husband material. The guy definitely didn't deserve Steph.
Griffin eyed Dave. “So, tell me about you, Dave.”
Dave was taken aback. “What do you want to know?”
Griffin took a pull on his beer. “What does Steph see in you?”
He considered the question. “I'm a nice guy. Women like that.”
Griffin raised a skeptical brow. “Yeah? No offense, but you seem like a bit of a wimp to me.”
“No offense, but you seem like a bit of an asshole to me.”
Griffin smiled and chugged down his beer. “Two shots of whiskey,” he said to the bartender. “Let's make this interesting. See who's man enough to do the most shots.”
“That's juvenile,” Dave said. “I'm fine with just my beer.”
The shots arrived pronto.
“Wimp.” Griffin took a shot and slammed the shot glass on the bar. “Another.” The bartender put another one in front of him. “Too bad you haven't got the balls to do a shot.”
“Oh, I've got balls all right. Two huge ones.” Not really. Dave grabbed the shot glass, tossed back the whiskey, and immediately started coughing as it burned its way down his throat. He bit back an exclamation and shook his head in a way he hoped passed for manly.
Griffin finished his second shot and eyed Dave. “If I hadn't gone on tour, you never would've been able to steal my woman.”
Dave tapped his finger for another shot, already feeling more ballsy. The next shot arrived and Dave did that one with a minimal amount of coughing and pounding of chest. “You know what your problem is?” he asked Griffin in a loud voice.
Griffin raised a brow. “What’s my problem, Dave?” he drawled.
“Too much touring, too little Steph.” He grinned, the whiskey giving him more confidence. He was the guy for Steph, not Griffin. “I didn’t steal her. She wasn’t yours. You don’t have a woman.” He leaned closer to bring his point home. “At all.”
“Oh, I've had women,” Griffin growled. He turned to the bartender. “Four more, barkeep.”
Dave's temper kicked up into the red zone. Griffin had all those women while he was still married to Steph. “I'll just bet you have. But not Steph. She's mine.”
The shots arrived. Dave did another one and wiped his mouth. Shit. He felt light-headed. He grabbed some pretzels from the bowl sitting on the bar and shoved them in his mouth. The pretzels would absorb the alcohol. “And I've got something else you haven't got,” he said over the pretzels in his mouth.
Griffin did another shot and gave him a sideways glance. “What's that, hotshot?”
Dave's tongue felt too big for his mouth. He finished another shot, wolfing down the pretzels. The words came slowly. “Numerical prowess. What's seven hundred thirty-one times fifty-seven?”
Griffin barked out a laugh. “You think Steph cares about that?”
Dave's words slurred, but he got them out. “Forty one thousand six hundred sixty-seven.”