Page 16 of IOU

“Ugh.” Sebastian groans, sliding into the booth in front of us.

“I need to do a few things,” I answer him, already pulling up the stats I need to review. “Then we can leave, and go to Gigi’s.”

Now that he mentioned it, I want to go too. We deserve to wash this awful day down with a pile of cash.

“Deal,” he says excitedly. “Besides, I need a few minutes. It looks like there are new faces around here. Maybe I can cap off my night at Gigi’s with one of these hotties on my lap.”

It’s like the last few minutes never existed. He’ll either end up in jail or some jealous boyfriend’s bitch.

“Unless you have some outstanding favors for a good time? I’m not opposed to taking one for the team.”

My gaze travels above the edge of my laptop, eyeing the insanity that is Sebastian. “No,” I clip out, getting back to my spreadsheet. “Besides, the last time you handled that particular favor, it earned you a pregnancy scare. I can’t afford for you to knock them up. It voids the favor. They pay for a good time, not an eighteen-year commitment.”

Sebastian grins, not offended in the slightest. “It wasonetime, and I haven’t used that brand of condoms since.” Rowan scoffs. “What? You don’t believe me?”

That’s precisely what we think, and when neither of us responds, he takes it as his cue to convince us. “I swear. I switched brands. Even if family dramas are hot right now, I don’t want to go down that road just yet. I like being able to switch up my material.”

For fuck’s sake. The baby isn’t the issue—the material is. Everything in his life is for sale. No memory is sacred. No moment is truly alone.

“What are you doing?” The shrill sound snaps all of our heads toward the bar, where two girls have their hands on a pitcher of beer. “It’s my table!”

The blonde squeezed into a button-up shirt with the top four buttons undone shoves at the brunette who has a tight grip on the pitcher’s handle. “It’s my table, Taylor. Check the chart out front. You can’t haveallmy tables.” Her voice is calm, but it has an edge to it, like any minute all hell is going to break loose.

“I have ten on the blonde,” says Sebastian, already passing over a ten-dollar bill.

“I have ten on the brunette,” counters Rowan, digging a couple of bills out of his pocket too. “You in, Mav?”

I watch the dark-haired girl dressed in the same white shirt hold her position. “It’s my table,” she reiterates.

“No, your tables are over there.” The blonde nods to a group of high school kids who are known not to tip well. “Tucker reassigned your zone.”

At the mention of said Tucker, the brunette drops her hold on the pitcher, and the one stuffed in the shirt smiles victoriously. “Don’t try taking my tables again, or I’ll tell Sam. No one needs you bringing your drama to work.”

“I change my mind. I hope the brunette kicks this bitch’s ass.” I don’t acknowledge Sebastian’s comment.

“Is it wrong that I hope she slams her head on the bar?” That’s Rowan. He’s always the violent one of our group.

I turn and face him. “What do you think this is? WWE?”

He shrugs unapologetically. “A nice reality check never hurt anyone.”

I scoff. If Rowan is the one giving you that reality check, it does.

I shake my head and turn back to the bar where the girls have now separated.

“Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”

The dipshit waiter we were saddled with steps in my eye line, blocking my view of the door behind the bar where I assume the girls disappeared into.

“I’ll take a Scotch, neat,” says Sebastian. “He’ll take one too.” Sebastian tips his chin at me.

“No scotch, just water,” I correct him.

“I am so sick of this virgin version of Maverick,” he whines, kicking his foot onto Rowan’s and my bench. Rowan knocks it off quickly. “Where’s the reckless guy I once—”

I aim a glare right at his playing hand. One look. That’s all it would take for Rowan to jump across the table and break it. Would I do that to one of my closest friends? Maybe.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rowan growls for me.

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