“Close to Orlando. You?”

“Cocoa beach,” he said. “Finally came up here for college, and I’m never going back.”

I nodded as if I could relate to what he was saying. While I had moved from my hometown to Atlanta, it was for a career opportunity, not because I disliked Florida. Wherever I ended up next, I certainly couldn’t see myself staying in Colorado. It was too laid-back.

“What kind of pitcher?” I asked.

“Whatever’s your favorite.” He slouched against the bar awkwardly and smiled at me. I wanted to laugh at his sloppy attempt at flirting.

“Coming right up.” I pulled a pitcher out and set it against a tap before pulling down the handle.

Foam filled the bottom. “Shit,” I muttered, tilting the pitcher to try and rectify the situation. I was bad at this. Every single time I poured a beer or a pitcher, there was too much damn foam. I offered an apologetic shrug to the guy but he was staring at me with googly eyes. Somehow, I didn’t think this kid would call me out on it.

“What’s your name?” he asked when I set the pitcher in front of him.

Might as well play along. Usually, the lifties tipped the bare minimum, but maybe if I flirted and laughed at their jokes, I could get a few extra dollars. It wasn’t like I was in desperate need of the money, but I did love a challenge.

“Frankie. What about you? I think I’ve seen you guys in here before.”

“Kenny,” he said, before crinkling his nose. “Frankie is a funny name. Short for Frank?”

I narrowed my eyes and my smile faltered. But Kenny wasn’t joking. He genuinely looked perplexed.

“Um, no. It’s short for Frances.”

“Ohhh, right. That makes sense.”

Suddenly, even fake flirting with Kenny felt exhausting. The bar had quieted down significantly and I wanted to zone out until the end of my shift in a few hours.

“What time do you get off?” Kenny asked.

Before I could answer, Oliver slung his arm around Kenny and patted his chest a few times. Hard. He was at least a head taller than Kenny and he looked down at him before glancing back at me. “What’s going on here?” he asked. “Thought you were getting a pitcher.”

“I got distracted talking to Frankie.” Kenny had a dumb grin on his face.

“Frankie’s busy,” Oliver said. His subtle change in tone caught my attention. I squinted my eyes and examined him. He still wore his signature smile, but it looked tighter somehow. His neck muscles flexed.

“I’m really not,” I said. The bar was lively, but no one was currently waiting on a drink.

“What time do you get off?” Kenny tried asking again, but Oliver smacked his shoulder and forcibly turned him around.

“Alright, that’s enough. Why don’t you take this—” he handed Kenny the pitcher “—and head back to the table.”

Kenny looked like he wanted to object but seemed to think better of it.