“But I can’t handle the job anymore,” he says. “The long hours. The stress.”
“I thought you were pissed off with me when I turned you down for a drink.”
His head is too heavy to hold up, I notice, and his eyes start to close.
I look around the room, but nobody, even not the bartender, notices us. I whisper to Ryan, “Let’s go. I’ll take you home.”
“Wait. Wait. Let me say something.”
“What?” I stand and hold a hand out to him, helping him off the stool.
“Do you love your job?”
I hedge. “Most days.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
“Come on. You need to get home.”
“You’d make a great lieutenant someday.” He slaps my face gently, and grins.
I think about my five years on the police force working alongside Ryan. “We’ve had a lot of exciting times,” I say.
He laughs, falling into my open arms, and I have to reach out for the counter behind me to keep from falling. Ryan’s strong weightlifter chest presses hard against me, pinning me between him and the bar’s edge.