Pete hoped that Gavin passed his flinch off as an involuntary tic.
Gavin turned away to muddle mint with a mortar and pestle but maintained hit-and-run conversation with several waiting customers. Pete quickly saw how affable he was. Gavin knew to slightly stick out his ass, what his regulars drank, what the regulars drank, when to give an enthusiastic thumbs-up to the poorest tipper and could playfully coaxed others into trying a drink special. I was that guy, Pete thought, maintaining some semblance of order, working the crowd, even in Provincetown where, at twenty-seven, he’d bartended an entire summer shirtless…when he wasn’t also using his new massage license to bring off the cutest guys for an extra twenty.
Gavin leaned back to fill glasses with ball-shaped ice.
“Didi’s always bra
