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open.”
    Teag shuddered. “Sounds terrifying.”
    She wore a beatific expression. “Yes. And the biggest rush of your life. You fly in the air, and it’s scary and exhilarating, and when you land, your legs shake, and you want to do it again.” Her eyes misted up.
    “I’ll take your word for it.”
    “No risk, no gain.”
    “Like buying this place?” Teag regretted the dig at her bad decision the moment he uttered it.
    Helen shrugged. “Sometimes you land on your feet, other times you fall on your face. That’s life. I’m not saying you must partner up with this guy, only that you should clear your head and consider all your options objectively.”
    Teag rubbed his face—he was tired—and Helen was wearing him down, but his misgivings were many. “Okay, let’s say Meathead, I mean Bruce and I manage to iron out our differences and open the bar. It wouldn’t be my place, he’d be there too, trying to do things his own way.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Hun, you’re a control freak.”
    “I’m not!”
    “Yes, you are. When we were kids, I used to mess with your precious toys just to see how big a tantrum you’d throw.”
    “You were an evil big sister.”
    “I know. And you were a horrible little brat. And sometimes you still are. Think about it this way: you’d be sharing responsibilities. I know you’re passionate about the craft, but running a bar is a lot of work, most of which has little or nothing to do with mixing drinks. Do you really think you can do it all without help?”
    His sister’s words kept gnawing on Teag even after he went to bed. He had a hard time falling asleep, despite a bone-deep fatigue. He woke the next day late, muzzy after a night of murky dreams. Helen was gone, God knew where—she didn’t leave a note.
    She’d been right, he realized. He knew jack shit about running a business. He’d been so overtaken by the shiny vision of himself at his own place, mixing drinks the way they were meant to be, that he’d utterly neglected to look at the whole picture.
    At Purlieux, Martin ran everything, and the man seemed to live there—Martin’s car sat in its designated spot when Teag arrived and was still there when he left at the end of the night, even when he’d pulled a double shift. Teag felt suddenly weighed down by the impossibility of his dreams. He refused to even think about partnering with Meathead, no matter what Helen had said, but had to admit he couldn’t do it alone.
    The emotional turmoil accompanied him to work too. Between cosmos and appletinis, his mind turned into a battleground of yearning and trepidation. The sensible choice was clear: staying put, doing the same thing forever. Not forever at Purlieux, of course—he’d soon be too old for the place, but there were other bars. The rest of his life lay ahead of him, straight and soul-crushingly dull.
    The alternative, tying himself to a tattooed maniac, scared the living daylights out of him. His apprehension went well beyond logical concerns. Something about the man made him…itch. Every time they’d met—even the very first time, before they’d exchanged a single word—his skin prickled and his heart hammered faster. It was a lot like lust, but fear too. He’d never experienced anything like it before.
    By the time the restaurant closed, Teag had worked himself into a kind of nervous fury, all his annoyance, stress, anxiety rolled into a tight ball of energy. Thankfully, Julian had recovered from his “stomach flu” and Teag didn’t have to fill in for the guy upstairs. He preferred keeping his shirt on during work hours.
    Some sort of sixth sense had Bruce glance toward the door just as Teag strode in, flushed and glorious with the determination of a soldier marching into battle. Instantly, the temperature in the Glitter Lounge jumped up ten degrees—or at least Bruce thought so. He wouldn’t have been surprised if every customer at once went quiet and stared mutely at the newcomer, but