"M'not bottling shite up," he snapped, a low growl underlining the words. "Doesn't fucking matter anyroad. Don't want to want shite. M'a fucking idiot." The words were low and rough and grumbled more than spoken, not really intentionally said and sure as fuck not meant to be heard.
He dug into his pocket for money, dropping it on the table so they could get more to drink. He was no way fucking done with that yet.
He just gave her a look. "Don't fight girls. Don't care how good you are at it, I don't do it unless I'm hauling your arse in for work. B'sides, m'talking about a fight and fuck. Not the sort of blokes you want to be fighting."