Page 92 of Mr. Hook-up

Before I could respond, the bartender placed the drinks in front of us and wiped her hands on a rag. Each of her fingers was inked with a full-length tattoo, ending in chipped black polish. “If you decide the vodka isn’t enough, you can always make it a dark and dirty night”—she turned, pointing at the top shelf of bottles behind her—“and anything on that row will do the job.”

I let out a puff of air that was a semi-laugh. “Honestly, I don’t even drink liquor, so I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but if I even glanced at that shelf for too long, I’d have to crawl home.”

Her smile was so soft compared to an exterior that came across so hard. “You wouldn’t be the first, I assure you.” She ran a hand over her black, spiky hair before she pulled a bottle off a lower shelf and poured its contents into two shot glasses. “These are on the house.”

I lifted it toward my face and took a whiff. “Tequila?”

“Only the best,” she replied.

“How about I make a deal with you.” I smiled. “We’ll take these as long as you have one with us?”

She grabbed another glass and filled it. “Done.” She raised her shot in the air. “I may have overheard your conversation. It’s a side effect of being a bartender for over twenty years. We have dog ears. So, is it appropriate to toast to love?”

I laughed. “With a capitalL.”

“A capitalL?” she asked.

“Long story.” Saara groaned.

“To Love!” I shouted.

We all clinked glasses and I downed the booze, instantly fanning my hand in front of my mouth, hoping the movement would calm my burning throat.

“Let me know if you girls need anything else.”

Once I could finally breathe, I thanked the bartender and turned my stool toward Saara, our knees brushing as we faced each other.

“Girl, tell me everything. I know I’ve seen you plenty since Germany, but if you want to start there, I wouldn’t hate hearing it all again.”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t torture you that badly. Besides, there isn’t much to tell. Things have obviously been great with Easton.”

“He’s dreamy.”

I thought about her statement, really letting that word set in. “He is, and we just fit well together. We’re friends. We like the same things. It doesn’t matter if we’re at a restaurant or if he’s cooking us dinner at his place or we’re at a Sox game or in sweats glued to the couch—it all feels the same. It’s just easy and seamless. Is that weird to say? I don’t know, nothing has ever gone this smoothly for me when it comes to men.”

She took a drink from her glass. “You guys are just über compatible. It’s not weird at all. I kinda had a feeling it would be like this.” When she put her glass down, she played with her necklace, moving the clasp from the front to the back. It was a piece of jewelry I’d just so happened to buy for her when Faceframe sent me to Switzerland last year. “Think of it this way: you got all of the hard stuff out of the way already, and this is round two. Plus, you’re older now, you’re deeper into your career, you’re both in the same city and practically neighbors. Maybe the break needed to happen for you to get here.”

I glanced toward the small crowd that had just walked in before I looked at Saara again. “It was more than a break. It was—”

“A castration.” She laughed.

I winced at her description, and she pressed her knees into mine. “Don’t stress over the details of the past. We’ve moved on. Things are fab now, remember?”

I nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

“And how are things going at work? You guys are together there every day. Is that affecting you at all?”

“Not really.” I sighed, thinking of all the effort he put in to make sure work didn’t get difficult between us. “He really gives me my space. I mean, sure, I see him, we pass each other constantly, sometimes we go out for lunch. But he doesn’t hover, if you know what I mean.”

“He gets what you need, and he gives it to you. That right there is the total package, my friend.”

“I can’t deny that.”

“And the international rollout—is everything still on track?”

I lifted the vodka off the bar and took a sip. “Hence this,” I said, wiggling the glass, shaking the ice before I set it down.

“Oh boy.” Her brows lifted. “Do I need to whip someone’s ass?”

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