A second later, Chloe jumps with a little “Yip!” and curls over her side toward Gales. “Ohmigod, stop!” she begs, laughing. She bumps the table from below, sending her drink sloshing. “There’s a beverage here, man!”

“She has a spot on the back of her knee.” Gales takes a long pull from his beer, other hand still tormenting his fiancée. “Liz, do you have it, too? Ticklish as hell. She can’t function.”

Chloe shrieks with laughter, eyes welling. A couple at the table next to us look over, clearly puzzled.

Darcy dances his fingers along my knee. “Interesting. Though . . .” He checks his watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I have a call with a client in thirty.”

“I’ll walk you out.” I cast a glance at Chloe, loading it with a subtle but direct Don’t even think about joining us.

She takes the hint. “Want to share one more?” she asks Gales, dabbing at her eyes with a cocktail napkin.

“Sure.” He extends his hand to Darcy. “Thank you for whatever you’ve done for Tuesday. If you offered up your firstborn, know I’m supremely grateful.”

“My pleasure. The two of you will be at which show tomorrow? Charles and I were going to stop in during the ten o’clock.”

“We’ll be there. Ooh! Join us!” Chloe suggests.

“Perfect. See you two then,” he says, and we head outside.

“This was fun.” Darcy nods toward the bar. We’ve crossed to the opposite side of the street, where there’s less foot traffic. “Chloe and Gales are great.”

“Yeah, Mr. Not Good with New People. You seemed pretty comfortable with a couple you only just met.”

“Easy. They were vetted by someone I trust.”

The word “trust” makes my chest go warm, but I need to confirm we’re seeing eye to eye on that subject. “Darcy, you’ve said that you appreciate what I do at the club, but I need you to know I’m not going to change that part of my life, even if you’re not totally on board with it. That’s mine. I’m going to have that flirty act in my undies a few nights a week. But with you”—I hook my fingers into his belt loops—“there’s no act. Undies and flirting, yes. But no act.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.” He steps closer to take the lapels of my moto jacket in his fingers, gently gripping the ends as he studies me. “Would you like me to say something meaningful, or do you want me to admit how many times I looked at the Four of Clubs while I was gone?”

“About that—just how ‘ungentlemanly’ did you get with that thing?”

“I didn’t have any other pictures of you. And I wanted to see your face.”

“And the other ninety-eight percent of me?”