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Sebastian shrugs. “Seems like an awful lot of chatter going on in there. I’m telling you, clear the demons. Smoke a joint and get laid, it’ll clear all the voices out.”

It’s pointless to attempt a conversation with him.

“I’ll pass. I’ve seen the shit you do high.”

He leans forward, a big stupid grin stretching across his face. “Did you see my video last week? The shit got removed because they thought it was porn. Got over three million views, though, before it was taken down.”

Rowan makes a disgusted noise. “Dude, we told you we don’t watch or heart your shit. Stop asking us, you’re making it weird.”

Unfortunately, it’s not weird for me. Sebastian and I have been friends for too long. I’ve seen his strange, and it no longer fazes me .

“Did you see it, Mav?” He sounds like a little kid, eager for praise.

I cut him a really-do-you-think-I-would-watch-my-friend-fuck-a-girl look.

He waves me off. “It wasn’t that bad. All over the clothes stuff, but the noises she made. . .” He bites his knuckle and makes this face of ecstasy. “So fucking hot.”

I finger the collar of my shirt. Fuck. I’ve been sweating. I really did get consumed.

Sebastian catches the movement. “See? So fucking scary. I’m on my third drink.”

“I just get worked up when I’m going through all these numbers. It’s fine.”

Rowan doesn’t look convinced. “Aren’t you taking the same Calculus as me?”

I shut my laptop and stuff it in my bag. “It’s harder for me than it is for you.”

Grabbing the knife from the rolled napkin, I cut into my steak. Perfect. “Thanks for ordering for me.” I know it was Sebastian.

“You would starve if we didn’t.”

I doubt that.

“And I don’t want to hear any excuses that you can’t go to Gigi’s after we leave this snooze fest.”

Ah. How could I forget?

I take a bite of my steak, and Rowan’s phone dings again.

“Do you have a problem I should be concerned about?” I nod at his screen, knowing he’s playing online poker just by the sound of the ding. I know it because once upon a time, I played it.

“If I did”—he pauses, flashing me a smirk—“I wouldn’t ask for your help.” But he would get it anyway. “I’m a big boy.”

“We know,” chimes in Sebastian, never looking up from his phone. “And if you don’t lay off all those fries, you’re going to be an even bigger boy.”

Rowan tosses a fry, and I try not to grin. I’m mid-bite of the only thing I wanted tonight when I hear Sebastian groan and throw his fork down. “Can we not eat without being interrupted?”

I chew the greatest steak ever and swallow. “This isn’t a date. Relax,” I aim at Sebastian before wiping my hands and meeting the eyes of the person who is crazy enough to interrupt us.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr. Lexington.”

Mr. Lexington. That one never gets old. It sounds like he’s speaking to my father.

I eye this frat boy’s shorts and Hawaiian shirt. “You have fifteen seconds to make your case.”

I don’t have time for this. My steak is getting cold, and I didn’t finish my spreadsheet. Neither of which makes me happy nor puts me in a very receptive mood.

“I need a favor,” he rushes out.

I hear Sebastian mumble into a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Shocker.”

“What’s your name?”

I don’t really care, but he’s nervous, and I don’t have all day for him to spit it out.

“Todd.”

I nod. “Great. So, Todd, this is how this works.”

He nods eagerly.

“You have exactly five seconds left before I pick up my fork and resume eating, after which my friend Rowan here will escort you away from our table.”

His hands drop to his side.

“My suggestion is to speed the fuck up.”

If you’re desperate enough to interrupt my dinner, you’re desperate enough to ask me for a favor in one breath.

“I’m short on rent money!”

Rowan rolls his eyes. This particular favor is common amongst college students. The first time away from home and they blow student loan money, Mom and Dad’s money, etc. Sometimes for girls. Sometimes for drugs but never for actual bills .

“How much?” My fingers itch to grab the fork. Ever since that first bite, I’m starving.

“Fifteen hundred.”

Huh. I expected more. Most of the time, they come to me when they are nearing eviction.

“I need the money by tonight,” he adds, his thick neck working to swallow his nerves.

Frankly, I couldn’t give a fuck when he needs the money. I’m never rushed. “I take thirty percent to be repaid in thirty days plus your IOU.”

They aren’t good terms for Todd, but they are very profitable terms for me.

He nods reluctantly. “I can do that.”

I reach into my back pocket and fish out a card and a Sharpie, writing the words IOU across the back. I slide it to the edge of the table. “Give your number to Sebastian.” I nod to Bash just in case this kid doesn’t know him. “He’ll send you the info.”

“But I need the money by tonight!”

Again, I don’t fucking care.

“You get the money when I say you get the money. Unless you want to add a rush fee?”

I finger another card. Don’t do it, kid. Don’t get that desperate.

He shakes his head. “I can wait.”

They always can. Even if I do plan on giving him the money tonight—I do honor deals after all—I don’t like being rushed, especially when I’m eating. “Number?”

He calls out the numbers, and Sebastian begrudgingly types it into his phone.

“We’ll be in touch,” I say, dismissing him by picking up my fork and taking a bite. Fuck. Now it’s cold. I sigh into my plate just as Todd scampers off.

“Why do you let them ask for favors at any time of the day?”

I level Rowan with a look. “The best ones always come at the worst time. Nothing beats a desperate soul willing to do anything for a favor. ”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Better here than my house.” I wave off his annoyed look and move the food around on my plate. “This shit’s cold,” I whine.

“No one cares. If you hadn’t been calling out for your demon friends earlier, you would have had most of it eaten by now.”

Sebastian, always the smartass.

“Again, I was not chanting. I was brainstorming.”

His eyes go squinty. “You were chanting.”

I go to argue, but Rowan beats me to it. “Just shut up and eat. We’re ready to leave.”

Leave or play poker? I guess it doesn’t matter. I accomplished the majority of what I needed to do tonight.

“Ask that waitress to reheat your food.”

I catch Sebastian’s half-assed concern and follow his finger to where it’s pointing to the brunette we saw arguing earlier behind the bar.

“Excuse me, Miss,” calls Sebastian. She turns, pausing just a moment like she isn’t sure if she should acknowledge him. “Yeah, you. Come here.”

I feign interest in her snug white top with a large brown stain down the front. Did she go to the back and throw down with the blonde? If so, I’m impressed.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?”

Rowan makes a disbelieving sound. We’re no gentlemen.

“Can you have this reheated?” I ask.

Her eyes narrow at my plate before flicking up to meet mine. “I’ll get your waiter.”

I slide the plate to the edge of the table. “That won’t be necessary.”

There’s something to be said for a gambling man.

Risk is always our reward. I live by the challenge and die by the loss.

And right now, I want to see the cards this girl is holding.

Is she a doormat, or does she have some fight in her?

I couldn’t tell earlier, but now, I’m in the betting mood.

Those stormy eyes of hers aren’t submissive.

So why shut down at the mention of her assistant manager? Is she scared she’ll be fired?

Her finger slides the plate back toward me. “It will be necessary. Tucker will be happy to reheat your food.”

I slide it back, a smirk playing at the corner of my lips. “I want you to do it.” I shove the plate a little farther until it meets her waist. “And quickly. I’m tired of waiting.”

I realize about two seconds too late, as my delicious steak and potatoes slide down my shirt, that I was right. Those eyes did have some fight in them.

“Oops,” she says, feigning shock. “I’m so sorry. I will have Tucker order you another.” Her eyes go hard as she backs away from the table. “I’ll even have him order it warm.”

Rowan shoots up from the table about to teach our little waitress a lesson.

“It’s fine,” I assure him, knocking the remnants of food onto the floor before lifting my gaze to the hotheaded waitress. “I appreciate that”—I read her name tag and say with a low warning—“Ainsley.”

Her throat works. She’s not so big now.

“Look, I’m?—”

I cut her off. “Going to tell my waiter to bring my food now before I call Sam personally.”

She agrees, nodding up and down. “Yes, sir—I mean, of course. Right away. Again, I’m so sorry.”

Once Ainsley has disappeared into the back, I manage to get most of the food off my shirt before—“I told you we should have gone to Gigi’s.”