After all, tonight was the night. He’d made up his mind that he was going to take the plunge with Jenn. If the right moment came up at least, when the guys weren’t there. And probably best to get in a couple of drinks in to unwind from the day. Be loose. Loose was good. Like, “There’s this new sake lounge we could check out, you know, laugh at the yuppies.” Or was that too casual? He didn’t want her to say it sounded great, why didn’t they invite the others. Maybe more like, “It’d be really nice to get a chance to talk, just us.” Though he didn’t want to put her on the spot.

He ran lines until his stop, but couldn’t find the right one. Maybe he’d wing it.

Rossi’s was one of those identity-crisis places, a bar-slash-restaurant that drew families for dinner but an after-work crowd for drinks. Perched on a stretch of Lincoln that fell between more fashionable areas, the place had become their haunt in the last few years mostly because with Alex there, they could drink cheap. Funny, really; in a city filled with terrific bars, they chose to meet every week at a half-assed restaurant that they’d otherwise never have noticed.

After the heat of the bus, walking into the air-conditioning felt wonderful. Mitch nodded at the hostess, moved past the dining room, with its rich smell of bolognese and carbonara, and into the bar. The postwork crowd was thinning but not gone, men in business casual, women laughing, glasses filled with pink and green and pale yellow, specialty martinis made with syrups and liqueurs. He moved through them, looking toward their customary seats.

Dammit. Other than Alex pulling drinks, he was the first one there. He should have showered.

“THAT PRICK,” Alex was saying as she walked up. “He should be, I don’t know. Drawn and quartered.”

“Who should?” Jenn smiled at him, careful not to hold it too long, then hugged Ian, the blades of his shoulders sharp through his shirt, then Mitch, still in his uniform, the jacket with the hotel logo slung over the back of his chair.