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began again, but this time, Keisha was very much a part of it. Will smiled.
My work here is done.
The women barely noticed when he excused himself and went over to the bar, where the guys were involved in a conversation about the girls they had secretly—and not so secretly—desired back in high school.
    The moment Will arrived they all looked at him. Danny raised his beer and gestured with it toward the empty stage.
    “And speaking of secret longings, you two seemed intimate.”
    Will arched an eyebrow. “Oh, yes. Very.”
    Nick smiled as he drew a beer from the tap. “Could it be there's a woman in the world you'd go on more than three dates with? Is the Caitlyn Curse over?”
    “There's no curse,” Will said, no longer amused.
    Danny arched an eyebrow. “Do tell?”
    But Nick had stopped teasing. He brought the beer to a woman a ways down the bar and then came back to them.
    “Seriously, Will. How long are you gonna stay girl-skittish? There's more to a relationship than a couple of weeks of coffee bars and sex.”
    Will glanced around. “Do me a favor, Nick. Point out your girlfriend or wife in this room.”
    The bartender winced and glanced away, the jab obviously hitting too close to home. “Okay, Will. We're just friends, looking out for our old bud, but okay. Nobody's trying to start anything. But for the record, I've made it to the pennant race a few times. Yeah, I blew it every time, but that doesn't keep me from stepping up to the plate again. You've got to be in the game.”
    His expression was so earnest that for a long moment, Will and Danny could only stare at him. The absurdity of it all descended upon them and Will started to chuckle. A moment later all four of them were laughing.
    “Romance According to the Boston Red Sox,” Danny said.
    “Confucius at the Bat,” Will added.
    Nick shot them a withering glance and moved on to serve another customer. By the time he came back, Will and Danny were on to other subjects. They all began to talk at once, two or three conversations happening at a time. They were laughing, giving each other shit; the drinks kept coming, and soon it seemed like no time at all had passed since they had last done this.
    Stacy was back up onstage, doing some more upbeat tunes. Will watched her, and he wondered how much of what Nick had said was true.
    After a while, Will became distracted. He would tune the guys out, just for a second, and glance over Danny's shoulder at the door. The first time he looked at his watch, it was quarter to eight. He checked it again seven minutes later. When he checked it the third time, Eric and Nick were in the middle of a debate about the New England Patriots coaching staff, and Danny took Will by the arm and pulled him away from them.
    “Hey,” he said, brows knitted in concern. “What's with you? So Caitlyn's not here. I thought you didn't want to see her anyway.”
    For a moment, Will didn't understand. Then he put it together. Danny had seen him watching the door.
    “No. I mean, I don't. Want to see her. I mean, I don't care if I see her or not. I figure she'll be there tomorrow night if nothing else. Most everyone will be, right? But it's not her I'm looking for. It's Mike. I got e-mail from him; he said he'd be here. It's been like three years, and I was hoping he was gonna—”
    “Mike?” Danny asked, frown deepening. He narrowed one eye, the way he always did when he was trying to work something out in his head. “Mike who?”
    Will scoffed. “Mike. Mike, Mike. What do you mean, Mike who? Fucking Lebo. He told me he was gonna be—”
    The look on Danny's face stopped him cold. Will blinked several times as though that would help him escape the grave disapproval that had carved itself into Danny Plumer's face.
    “Will. I know it was a long time ago, so maybe you think . . .” Danny shook his head. “That is
not
fucking funny. Sincerely. Not even a little.”
    Confused, Will tilted his head. “What isn't? What are you