Before committing to wearing real pants, Greer picked his cell phone up again and dialed Mac.
“Hey. You know it’s dinner rush,” Mac said in a hurried greeting after the fourth ring.
“I’m on my way.” Food became the most urgent motivator pushing him out the door tonight.
“See you then, buddy.”
Greer hung up the phone. With a little more pep in his aching step, Greer finished dressing, wondering what level of laziness it would be for him to Uber the two blocks to the bar instead of walking.
Several relaxing hours later, Greer leaned his back against the edge of the bar, elbows anchored behind him as he contemplated the effects of all the alcohol he’d consumed. The low-key music selected from a nearby jukebox played a happy little ditty about a sawed-off shotgun. No, that didn’t sound quite right. Maybe he wasn’t hearing the lyrics correctly.
“How you doin’, buddy?” Mac asked from behind the bar.
Greer looked over his shoulder, the swing of his head causing a bit of double vision. His content grin was instant. The easy joy in his heart wasn’t surprising. Alcohol generally made him a happy drunk, or so he’d been told.
“I’m good. It’s been a good night. I could use another.” Greer nodded toward the empty cocktail glass sitting on the bar beside him. He swiveled back around, staring out at the grill turned sport’s bar in the late hour. Groups of different people gathered around the assorted pool tables. Others played rounds of darts. Some had spent hours at the various video game consoles lining the interior wall. “You do a good business here.”
“You should know, silent partner,” Mac said proudly.
He cocked his head back toward Mac. His body followed more slowly as the barstool rotated under his butt, turning Greer in Mac’s direction. “Not silent if you say it out loud.”
A cocktail glass with clear liquid was pushed forward. Mac filled another glass with something similar and lifted it toward Greer for a toast. “The plans to expand are finished. Five restaurants by the end of the year. Six more next year. Two in the Austin area. Thank you for hooking me up with investors. I wouldn’t have dreamed it possible.”
Greer gave a nod and a wink that seemed to take total concentration and use of his whole face to accomplish. He lifted his glass, meeting Mac’s halfway with a little more force than intended for a simple toast. “It’s nothing more than knowing the right people. You’re a good risk. We’re all going to make some money.”
He took a big, hearty gulp and paused. The taste confused him. After swishing the liquid around his mouth, he swallowed, shoving the glass back toward Mac. “What the hell? Water? That’s your idea of a celebratory toast? I’m pretty sure you just jinxed yourself with that fucked-up move.”
“You’ve had enough. You’re drunk. It’s close to midnight, my friend. Tomorrow’s gonna be hell. Go home,” Mac said and lifted his hand, calling someone’s attention as he nodded toward Greer.
“It’s that late?” Greer looked around for a clock, surprised to see it was in fact midnight. He instantly sobered, reaching for his cell phone. Dammit, he had hoped for a Scruff date. Man, he could use some forceful sex tonight. Someone to grab him by the hair and own his ass. His dick pulsed its approval of the mental image conjuring in his head. It had been far too long.
Mac’s hand covered his phone screen, drawing his attention up. “I’ll get you home.”
“I might not be going home. It’s Scruff.”
Mac’s hand clamped down, but Greer pulled the phone free, concentrating on the suddenly complicated workings of the dating app. He had to admit the double vision made things a little harder than they needed to be, so he closed one eye to help. Voila! Like magic, it all came together.
“I thought there was some chick you were chasing,” Mac said, easily plucking the cell phone from Greer’s hand, and turned it to look at the screen.
“Nah, not anymore.” Greer stood, extending his upper body and hand across the bar, reaching for his cell. Mac effortlessly dodged his attempt, using his thumb to push the sidebar button to darken the screen.
“Go home, Greer.” Mac kept the phone just out of his reach. “Marisol, take Greer home for me.”
Mac was being a jerk. He handed Greer’s cell across the bar to Mac’s long-time employee and right-hand woman. Greer lost sight of the phone as he reached for his wallet, thumbing through the cash. “You know you don’t pay, you bastard. You worked that stipulation into our contract.”
Yep, that was right. He did do that. Greer’s grin split his lips, remembering the brilliance of that last-minute addition. He still put twenty dollars on the bar top. “I’m leaving a tip.”
“I was your waiter, drunk ass,” Mac barked then tightly wound the hand towel in his hands, popping Greer directly on his fingers when he reached to take the cash back. Greer’s outrage was immediate when the sudden sting spread across his knuckles. After years of practice, Mac’s snap had pinpoint accuracy.