Page 25 of Playing the Backbeat

“Suit yourself,” he mutters, closing his laptop.

“Why? Who are you bringing?”

“Not sure yet,” he admits. “But I’d rather not be the only groomsman without a date.”

“Aw, feeling left out,” I tease.

He shrugs again, avoiding eye contact as he stuffs his computer into his bag.

“Oh my god, you really are feeling left out.” The shock hits me like a brick. When Dylan mentioned being in a dry spell, I assumed it didn’t bother him. He seemed perfectly fine focusing on his career. I didn’t realize this wasn’t by choice.

“It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t picture all of my friends getting married before me and me being the pity invite for the rest of my thirties.”

“Didn’t youjustturn thirty this summer? The rest of your thirties istenyears. Feels a little early to be resigning ourselves to thesingle forevercrowd. Besides, I hear our 40s should be even better.”

He slides his palm over his face. “I should just admit defeat. Go solo.”

“What happened on your last date? Maybe reach out to them,” I suggest. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“That was four months ago, and like I said before, it was fine. Just fine. Now I’m stuck in dating app hell. Haven’t had a single conversation develop into a date since then.”

“But you workhere.” I spread my arms wide and glance around the expansive, empty concert space. “You’re telling me you don’t meet women at the eventshere?”

“I’m focused on working when I’m here.”

“Okay, Mr. Employee of the Month, understood. Zero flirting on the clock. But just so you know, if you followed that rule behind the bar, you’d make diddly squat in tips.” I’m not sure he appreciates the lecture, but with his bummed-out expression, I figure he needs a push. Unfortunately for him, my version of a push includes a heavy dose of mocking, sarcasm, and potentially too-honest opinions.

“Is that what you do?” he asks. “Because I swear I heard you bullying those newly twenty-one-year-olds I saw in here earlier.” He doesn’t sound mad like I figured he would. He leans back in the bar stool, crossing his arms over his chest, amused.

“That was flirting! Theywantedme to be mean.” He rolls his eyes, and I lean over the bar, pointing my finger in his face, wet from washing dishes, splashing his cheek with the movement. “Men might act like they want a nice bartender, but they tip better when I’m a bitch. Don’t ask me to explain the science there.” I finish washing the last glass and dry my hands off on a dish towel. “Why don’t I help you find a date? Give me your phone. Let me swipe.” I hold out my palm expectantly.

His grip tightens on the device, and he stares at me. “No.”

“You scared?” I lift my brows. God, baiting him is my favorite hobby.

“Of giving you control over my online dating profile? Uh, yeah, Dee. I think scared would be putting it mildly.”

“You said you need help, yet hereIam offering my talents, and hereyouare acting like I’m going to sabotage you.”

He sighs deeply before unlocking his phone. He opens the same dating app I typically use, then hands it to me. I scan his profile and, without moving my head, lift my gaze to his.

“What the fuck is this, Dylan?”

“Is that a trick question?” he asks, seemingly bewildered.

“You have next tonoinformation here. You don’t even have a picture uploaded. Are you sure you even want to date? This is worse than I thought. If you want my help, I’m going to need compensation for my time.”

He’s quiet for a second before he counters. “Okay, I’m in.”

“What do you mean you’re in?”

“I’ll help you find a date to the wedding, and you’ll help me do the same. Consider that your compensation.”

“Nope. No way. I’m out. I’m so far out.” I try to hand his phone back to him, but he doesn’t move an inch. “I told you, I don’t need a date to the wedding.” I place his phone on the countertop and gently slide it toward him. If I’m not careful, it might detonate and turn into an awful date with halitosis and a need to mansplain.

“Then how would you like me to repay you?”

I purse my lips. “Apartment dish duty. For forever.”