Rowan’s stunned into silence, which makes the other man laugh again.

“Anything to drink before you head out?”

It takes him a solid five seconds to answer. “Can I have a virgin strawberry seltzer? With lime?”

As Jeremiah whips up Rowan’s drink, Rowan watches him work, deft hands twirling the glass and flipping a cocktail napkin down on the bar as a coaster.

“Hey, do you only work on the weekends?” Rowan asks as Jeremiah adds a freshly cut lime wedge to Rowan’s glass.

He doesn’t even know why he’s asking, really. Because yeah, Jeremiah is fucking hot. Especially so tonight with one of his signature black button-ups pulling tight across his chest, a silver mesh top underneath that shines like chain mail when he turns the right way in the dim light. His hair’s gotten longer too—now more of a twist style than the sponge curls he’d had the first few times Rowan had seen him.

“Wednesday through Sunday,” Jeremiah replies, gaze raking up and down Rowan’s body over the bar top with zero shame. “Why? Trouble in paradise?”

“What do you mean?”

The look Jeremiah gives him is somewhere between pitying and surprised, and Rowan is confused as hell.

“Ah. Listen, I’d love to, but I think we both know that isn’t going to end well.”

Rowan doesn’t have time to dwell on it before Mal’s suddenly at his side, one elbow planted solidly on the bar top.

“Yo,” Mal says to Rowan, barely glancing at him before he’s turning to Jeremiah and sliding an envelope to him.

“Hey, Jer. I snagged those Lizzo tickets for your sister,” he says. “Fuckin’ scalper wanted eight hundred bucks each.”

“Christ… you didn’t pay him that, did you?” Jeremiah replies, taking the envelope and stashing it beneath the counter.

“Hell no. Told him I’d fuck him up if he didn’t fork them over for a better price.”

Rowan snorts in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t doubt Mal would beat up some random guy for trying to rip him off.

Jeremiah lets out his own laugh, probably thinking the same thing Rowan did. “Thanks. Let me know how much I owe you and I’ll Venmo you.”

Mal waves him off. “Don’t worry ’bout it. Tell her to have a good time and don’t bring anyone who fuckin’ sucks.”

With a kiss to two of his fingers thrown in Mal’s direction, Jeremiah heads to the other end of the bar to help a throng of patrons who have emerged, some of whom Rowan recognizes from his little trip to the VoyEx corner.

“You ready, space case?” Rowan hears Mal say next to him, snapping him out of his daze.