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they went on with their drinking, chattering Sunday-night business as if nothing had happened.
    Teag walked straight to where Bruce manned the bar and said, “You. Me. Talk.” No preamble, no wishy-washy dancing around.
    “Office,” Bruce replied, indicating the direction with a twitch of his head before heading that way himself. He felt Lori’s gaze on his back as he went.
    Bruce led the way into an office twice the size of a broom closet. They sat on metal folding chairs on opposite sides of a tiny desk.
    “I want to see your tattoos,” were Teag’s first words.
    After a short but bewildered moment, Bruce first pulled the right sleeve of his T-shirt over his shoulder, then stretched his arm over the desk. Teag leaned forward, apparently studying the ink in minute detail, from the sails of a ship starting at the top of his biceps, to the underwater scene below.
    “What’s that?” Teag asked, pointing but, regrettably, not touching.
    “A skulltapus,” Bruce explained the tentacled skull. He rotated his arm to give a full view of the twisting appendages. A few moments later, as Teag seemed satisfied, Bruce switched arms. His left one featured another scene above and under the water, but this starred a mermaid atop and sea life below, ending with a starfish at his wrist.
    Again, Teag studied the ink in detail, then leaned back in his chair, though apparently not yet satisfied. “What about the rest?”
    “That was all.”
    “Really?” Teag asked in a tone weighed down with doubt.
    So Bruce stood, pulled the shirt up on his chest as far as it went without actually taking it off. He watched like a hawk as Teag’s gaze swept over his unadorned abdomen and chest, snagging on the silver stud pierced through his left nipple. He didn’t miss Teag’s Adam’s apple bobbing in an unconscious swallow, but didn’t linger. He pivoted to display his equally blank back. “I can drop trou if you wish.”
    Teag swallowed again. “No. I believe you.” He nodded at Bruce’s arm. “Why?”
    “You can’t call yourself a pirate without a few tats,” Bruce explained with deliberate obliqueness. He couldn’t resist the urge to tease Teag, to draw the guy in deeper.
    Teag raised one incredulous brow. “And you’re a pirate?”
    “For six weekends in the summer. A group of us do Renaissance Faire in Irwindale every year in the summer,” he amended quickly, not wishing to stretch Teag’s patience too far.
    “You do Ren Faire?” Teag’s incredulity seemed to have reached epic proportions. “But what do you actually do there?”
    “Oh, all sorts of stuff, mock-fighting, juggling, flirting with the wenches, and helping out at my friend Ella’s pickle stand.”
    Teag sputtered. “A pickle stand?”
    “Yeah. You know what they say, a pickle a day keeps the scurvy away.”
    “And you do this for six weeks?”
    “Sure. It’s great fun. Have you ever been?” Bruce asked jovially.
    Teag shook his head, and for about a minute, he stared at Bruce as if the latter had grown a second one.
    Bruce looked back as unthreateningly as he could muster, though the electricity filling the air since they entered the tiny office was still there, making his skin tingle and hair stand up on his arm.
    Teag closed his eyes and bowed his head, as if working himself up to action. At last, he pulled himself straight, squared his shoulders, looked Bruce straight in the eyes and slashed the silence. “I changed my mind. About starting a bar together. If you’re still interested.” The words rushed out in a panicked stampede. The tension behind Teag’s determination was palpable.
    “I am,” Bruce replied with all the calm he didn’t feel. “Go on.”
    Teag’s resolve returned. “The offer’s tentative—since I don’t really know you, I’ll have to run a full background check on you. You understand?”
    “I do.”
    Teag hesitated for a moment as if a thought had just occurred to him. “You should do the same, of course. I’ll