Page 69 of The Bartender Special

Benny didn’t know what to tackle first.

The fact that what had happened between them hadn’t meant anything or the image of them not painting at Roger’s house. Or the first comment about the hand to what the hand wanted ratio being off had Jack been more aroused.

Benny mentally held onto the last part since it seemed the safest thing to question.

“The bartender special? That makes it sound like you’re playing these games with others.”

Jack thumped the back of Benny’s hand.

This time his laugh was all mischief.

“No way, sweet cheeks.” He shook his head. “When it comes to the bartender special, you’re the only one I’m serving.”

Benny had been through a lot emotionally—and sexually—in the last half hour, but right then and there, he decided one thing and one thing only.

He hadn’t kissed Jack because it was some kind of hands-on practice to strengthen their cover or because it was part of a bit.

He’d kissed him because he’d forgotten that they were doing a bit at all.

Hashtag: I’m screwed.

TWELVE

Internet fame didn't exactly transform the bar that Friday night, but it did fill a few seats.

Benny was swallowed whole by old schoolmates and two former Cassidy's Place regulars who all admitted they'd seen his post about grabbing a drink. They buzzed around him like he was the most interesting thing to happen in Arbor Bay since the Robertsons had opened their greenhouse to the public that one random Saturday years ago.

And while Santana may not have been new to the bar, her excitement sure was. She buzzed around Jack before and after Benny left, like a very determined bee collecting gossip instead of pollen.

It was only after the ten thousandth question that Jack caved.

He took her to the office and told her about the deal.

To his abundant surprise, that made her go quiet.

Even when it was time to talk shop about the party and parade during a particularly long lull in patrons, she was more thoughtful than vocal. Which, for Santana, was saying something.

Finally, Jack couldn't take it anymore.

“You once talked about the possibility of a Veronica Mars reboot—never mind the actual reboot—for an entire shift. Open to close, that's all us poor bartenders heard. Veronica and Logan and dad-daughter crime-solving. Never mind that damn firefighter show and how two of them should be kissing because of the ‘couch theory.’” Jack shook his head. “I don't remember the specifics past that because you just kept talking and my brain could only hold so much. So, you being quiet now when we have a sitcom-worthy gambit going? I'm actually worried.”

Santana tilted her head to the side. She was running calculations. Jack wasn’t sure he was ready for them, but he couldn’t deny he was intrigued by their potential.

Her curls shifted at the movement right before her eyebrows pulled in.

“It's just that, well, you're doing things the hard way. The two of you, I mean.” She lowered her voice and gave a quick look around to make sure no one could hear. Now that Benny had gone, so had his new shadows. “I get the deal is to cover his secret while helping the bar, but you two are going all out. You probably drum up more business and convince his new followers you're a fun item just by posting a bunch of pictures with snappy captions. Maybe a video or two. Instead you’re now in a pageant? And cracking down on a decent parade float? Seems a lot for something you might not actually have to work too hard at.”

Jack was ready to defend himself but paused.

She had a point.

“But they agreed to do all the festival crap when they went to the Robertson estate,” Dixon slid in from the other end of the bar. “It'll look bad if they back out now.”

“True,” Santana conceded. “But why go to the lunch in the first place? Seems like that could have been avoided at least.”

Dixon gave Jack a smug look at that.

Jack sighed.