“I mean, I think you’re used to guys who are so self-absorbed with looking the part that they forget the point of a date is to have fun and get to know each other.”

“That’s quite a presumption,” Chase murmurs.

“Perhaps. Maybe not, but I think you were expecting me to be more like them and are a little surprised that I’m not.”

“You use a broad stroke when you paint a picture, don’t you?”

I shrug and lean back, arm on the top of the chair beside me. “Am I wrong?”

“You can’t say something like that and not explain yourself. Why do you think I only date self-absorbed guys?” she asks.

“Because you’re big city. All the big-city guys I’ve met before are self-absorbed and more worried with looking the part, with being on an Instagram date so they can post photos and get likes. They’re all about the show and less about doing something real and getting to know the woman they’re with.” I shrug unapologetically. “Standing behind a bar night after night allows you to learn a lot about people.”

“And that’s something you’ve learned, is it?”

“Among other things.”

She laughs. “And what, may I ask, do you post on Instagram?”

“Nothing. I don’t do social media. If I need to talk to someone that matters, I’ll pick up the phone.”

“Humph.” She studies me and for the briefest of seconds, I wonder what she sees. “So you think I date Instagram-fixated men who only care about themselves, do you?”

“Am I wrong?” I repeat.

“No.” She shrugs shamelessly. “You’re unexpected.” And the way she says it, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, takes me by surprise. “And I love that.”

“I could say the same of you. I expected to be at LEGO and Lager tonight, but I most definitely didn’t expect to have my ass handed to me by a city girl who can hold her liquor.”

“I think that’s my most favorite compliment to date,” she says playfully. “What about you? What’s your type? Where are you from? Give me the good stuff.”

I chuckle and prefer to avoid the topic altogether. “What do you want to know?”

“FU-Bar? Why there? Is it yours? What’s up with the name?”

“FU-Bar is named aptly after FUBAR, another term you’ll hear if you stick around here long enough.”

“And it means?”

“Fucked up beyond all recognition.”

She laughs and it’s such a great sound. “I’ve heard that before. I just didn’t put two and two together. Isn’t it used for a mission gone wrong or something?”

“A mission. A training exercise. A disastrous date. Anything.”

“I sure hope you don’t think this date has been FUBAR,” she teases, and I’m quick to shake my head.

“Furthest thing from it.”

“Whew. Good for me.”