the one having all the fun with it and you’re just . . . letting him. What about you, Finn? When is it going to be about you?”
He turned and watched Sean work his magic charisma on a gaggle of young twenties at the other end of the bar. He’d never gotten to be just a kid. The least Finn could do was let him be twenty-two. “He deserves it.”
“And you don’t? You’re working like crazy and just going through the motions.”
True or not, he didn’t want to hear it. “You want anything to eat?”
She sighed, getting the message, which was part of why he loved her so much. “No, thanks, I’ve gotta go. Gotta get up early tomorrow for a wedding. I’ve got a cake to make and flowers to arrange.”
He found a smile. “Another dog wedding?”
In on the joke that she made more money off dog tiaras and elaborate animal weddings than grooming and pet supplies, she laughed. “Parrots.”
Finn laughed too and gave her a hug goodnight. As she walked away, his gaze automatically searched for Pru. The gang was all moving to the back room and she was with them, heading for either the pool table or the dartboards. It was tourney night.
He took some orders and flagged down Sean to pass them off. “Fill these for Workaholic, Playboy, and Desperado at your four, five, and six o’clock.” He turned and caught Pru staring at him. She’d come back for the bag of leftover chicken wings she’d forgotten.
“Workaholic, Playboy, and Desperado?” she asked.
“Customers,” Sean explained.
“We all have nicknames?” she asked.
“No,” Finn said.
“Yes,” Sean said. And then the helpful bastard pointed out some more in the place. “Klutz, Pee-Dub, and Woodie.”
“Pee-Dub?”
Sean grinned. “He’s an old friend with a very new wife. He’s Pussy-Whipped. PW, which cuts down to Pee-Dub. Get it?”
“I’m sorry to say I do,” she said, laughing. “And Woodie?”
Sean smiled. “Would you like me to explain that one to you?”
Finn reached out, put his hand over Sean’s face and shoved.
“Hey, she asked,” he said, voice muffled.
“What’s my nickname?” Pru asked.
Shit. This wasn’t going to end well. “Not everyone has a nickname,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “Spill it, Grandpa.”
Sean snorted.
Even Finn had to laugh. “Well it should be Pushy.”
“Uh huh,” she said. “Tell me something I don’t know. Come on, what do you two call me?”
“Your first day in the building, it was Daisy,” Sean told her. “Because you were holding flowers.”
“From my boss for my new place,” she said. “What changed?”
“We saw you feeding our homeless guy, so we switched it to Sucker.”
“Hey,” she said, hands on hips. “He’s a nice guy and he was hungry.”
“He’s hungry because he makes pot brownies,” Finn said. “They give him the munchies. And just so you know, we all feed him too. He’s got food, Pru. He’s just got a good eye for the sweet cuties who are also suckers.”
She blushed and he laughed.
“So I’m Sucker? Really?”
“Nope,” Sean said. “You’re Trouble with a capital T.”
Finn shook his head at him. “Don’t you have some orders to fill?”
Sean laughed and walked off, leaving him with Pru.
“I’m not a lot of trouble,” she said.
His gaze slid to her mouth. “You sure about that?”
“Completely.” And then she flashed him an indeed trouble-filled smile.
And that’s when he knew. He was the one in trouble. Deep trouble. “What can I get you?” he asked, his voice unintentionally husky.
“I was sent over here to get a set of darts.”
“You play?” he asked, digging some out of a drawer.
“No, but I’m a quick learner. I can do this.”
He felt yet another laugh bubble up. “Good ’tude,” he said. “Tell Spence to go easy on you, darts are his game. And don’t bet against Archer. He grew up a bar rat, you can’t beat him.”
She bit her lip. “He said he was new at darts.”
“Shit,” Finn said. “He already conned you, didn’t he?”
“No worries,” she said. “I’ve got this.”
He watched her go, shook his head, and then got busy making drinks because Sean was very busy flirting with Man-eater at one of the tables, even though she had already eaten him up and spit him out just last month.
When Finn looked up again after fulfilling a bunch of orders, half an hour had gone by and some serious chanting was coming out of the back room.
“Bull’s-eye, bull’s-eye, bull’s-eye . . .”
He whistled for Sean. “Need two mojitos,” he said and dried off his hands before heading out from behind the bar.
“Hey, I’m busy,” Sean complained. “Getting