“Fuck,” Kai mutters, looking over my shoulder at the bar. “I can’t be doing shots.” “No. I’m sure at thirty-two there’s no way your geriatric liver could handle it.” “Are you calling me old, or are you trying to goad me?” “Both.” I begin walking backward to the bar. “The other night you told me you had a wild streak. I want to see it. C’mon, Baseball Daddy, it’s time to find the other half of that balance I promised you—the fun.”
