Nick wasn't sure how he had ended up in such a high-scale restaurant for lunch. He had been walking along 72nd Street, starving, with only 20 minutes to get lunch and get back to work, and he was at least a ten minute walk from his usual bistro.

So, when he saw the sign hanging above his head advertising "Jay's Deli" and a very appetizing sandwich garnished with a thinly cut pickle next to it, he found himself walking inside and sitting down at the bar.

As he looked at the menu, he realized everything on the menu was way above his budget, but he didn't have time to find another place. So what if he had to skimp on breakfast for the next two weeks?

The bartender, whose name tag read Jay, was an attractive blonde man who sported several tattoos on his forearm, and after a few moments, he sidled up to where Nick was sitting.

"What can I do for you, old sport?" he asked, leaning down to rest his forearms on the counter in front of Nick, leaning in close to the brunette's personal space.

Nick sighed and shook his head. "I'm not sure. I don't come to places like this very often, to tell you the truth. It's not really even in my price range, but what can I do?"

Jay nodded, and leant closer to point something out on the menu, "Try one of these. They're really good - after all, I make them - and it's our special today, so you get it half off."

Nick smiled at the blonde, and nodded. "Thanks, I'll have that."

Jay smiled as took the menu back from Nick, and turned to grab a glass from behind him. As he went to pour a bit of amber liquid into the glass, Nick suddenly grew anxious.

"N-no, please-"

Jay interrupted him immediately. "Don't worry. It's on the house," he winked, and then turned to walk away through a door next to the bar.

Nick sat there stunned for a few moments, before moving to pick up the glass, and take a sip.

Nick was not an idiot.

He could tell when someone was flirting with him, however rarely that happened.

He was also incredibly unlucky, most of the time.

The very few times anyone else had expressed romantic interest in him, it was usually the creepy fat UPS delivery guy or the long-haired pothead Hot Topic employee. (For the record, he was only in Hot Topic because Jordan had forcibly dragged him in.)

So it was a pleasant, if unexpected, surprise to find himself with a random hot blonde guy paying for his drinks and practically hanging off his arm.

"You live around here, old sport?" said the bartender.

"I live just outside of town," explained Nick. "I work for Atlantic Specialty Insurance Company, just down the street. It's my lunch break right now."

"Really?" said the blonde, leaning in obscenely close to Nick, so close that Nick could feel the man's breath ghost along the curl of his ear. Nick held back a shiver. "Young, virile businessmen are my favorite kind of customers." And he flashed Nick a smile that practically dripped with sex.

Nick was sure his bright red face could be used in place of a traffic light. He briefly considered running out into the road to test his hypothesis.

Unfortunately, his mouth had other ideas. "Well, my favorite bartenders are blonde and hot and have tattoos on their upper arms," he blurted out. He then decided that if there was a God, would They pretty please send a ray of the Lord's wrath to obliterate him from existence to save him from the utter humiliation of seeing a slight smile spread across his bartender's face?

"I reckon you have very good taste in bartenders, my friend," the bartender shot back, clearly holding back laughter.

Another waiter, a tall man with enormous hair and round glasses, slid a plate in front of Nick.

"Thanks, Klipspringer," said the blonde, slapping the waiter on the back.

Nick tentatively tried the sandwich. And then his mind exploded.

"Oh my god," he murmured through a mouthful of BLT. "How th' hell s'this so good?"

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," said the waiter, refilling Nick's glass and sending him a slight wink that sort of made his stomach do cartwheels. (Or maybe that was just the amazingness of the sandwich.)

One sandwich and several glasses of scotch later, Nick had a near heart attack.

He happened to glance at the clock on the wall behind the bar and nearly fell off his chair when he realized that he was *nearly 15 minutes late to work.*

He cut off his bartender in the middle of a comical story about Klipspringer and claustrophobia and the walk-in freezer, and pulled out his wallet, searching for the correct amount of bills.

"Listen, I'm so sorry, but I'm incredibly late, so-"

Jay cut him off before he could say anything else.

"It's on the house, old sport," he winked, smirking as Nick paused, mouth agape.

"Go. You don't wanna be late," Klipspringer added, grabbing Nick's empty plate, which seemed to pull Nick out of his stupor.

"No, I can't let you not let me pay!"

Jay just shook his head, and waved a hand towards the door. If Nick hadn't been in such a hurry, he would have protested until Jay took his money, but he let it go this once, thanked the blonde profusely, and practically ran out the door, glancing behind him only once to see Jay staring at him intently from the bar.