Dante was surprised by the appearance of the bartender. Maybe because he was basically focusing on ways to not get snippy with his coworker. Drunk people were not quite a trigger for Dante, but they were as close to a trigger as something could get before they actually fell into the trigger category. It stemmed from a few things. Perhaps the most obvious was the fact that he’d seen a few people he cared about fall under the heavy influence of alcohol, or because he was worried that some of them were dangerously close to doing just that. That may have been the most obvious, but the most impactful was the unknown. If alcoholism was believed to be something that could be inherited, it was possible that he was pre-disposed… because of a faceless man who Dante had never met. Would probably never meet. That was completely ignoring the metric of how it would appear if some all-American white guy got into a confrontation with someone who could be described as white passing until the last name came out.
“Huh?” The extra voice snapped him back to reality and he looked over at the man, blinking to help refocus. “Oh, right… yeah… please.” He was in need of a refill. Quicker than he would have expected, maybe, but that was kind of expected. After all, if he had something in his mouth, he could, quite literally, hold his tongue. “Thanks.”
The question that was directed at Chad was also able to catch that man off guard. “Check?”
“It is getting kind of late,” Dante suggested.
“No, it’s not that late. What are you, some kind of old man?”
“Let’s just say that this is something you’re going to have to look forward to the closer you get to 30.” He snickered softly. Kind of a lie, because he wasn’t really tired, but he could put up a ruse, or at least as close to a ruse as someone like Dante could, if it meant bringing an end to the evening. The snicker was because turning 30 was something that Dante dreaded, a trait that he got from Marissa, who did not take to 30 with any amount of grace or dignity. And yet, here he was, using it for ammunition. Kind of left a bad taste in his mouth, but he’d deal with it. Rinse it out with lemonade. Literally.
Chad leered for a moment, as if looking for some type of chip in the story that was being fed to him. He didn’t find it. “Fine. I’ll take the check.” He pulled out his phone. “Let me get an Uber.” That was how Chad got to Boudin in the first place. Hardly unexpected. Dante had seen Chad’s car at work. One of those fancy hybrid things that was a present from his parents when he graduated from college. It also served as a reminder that his parents could easily bail their boy out of any kind of trouble that he could get into. Not that Chad didn’t get into college on his own merit. It wasn’t like he was on the crew team or anything like that. And Dante had seen how brilliant the guy could be. Still, the disparity was right there. “Look at that, there’s one nearby.”
Who was the patron saint of saving people from awkward evenings? There had to be one. “Good.” His eyes moved over to the bartender, clearly showing his appreciation to the man who was instrumental in bringing a hurried end to their time together.