Rose/Michael
"You can approach from the rear, if you're into th--" Michael was interrupted from finishing when Rose started to laugh, which was, all things considered, fortunate. He was about to protest that he wasn't worried, except well, that would've been a lie. Since when had that happened? Somehow she'd moved from 'that vet Steve fancies' into the circle of people Michael felt protective over -- well, she had saved Steve's life, that was always a good way to find yourself in someone's debt.
"Cosmopolitan... Cosmo, the red's cranberry juice." Michael ordered a beer for himself because even the lure of harder alcohol couldn't compete with the fact that it would be in a cocktail glass and mixed with something sugary. He took a sip and saluted Rose with the bottle. "One of my exes loved 'em, so I haven't got to revoke my man card for knowing how to mix 'em, ta."
Rose tugging on her dress only drew more attention to her legs; he guessed that wasn't the intention. For that matter, there was only so much looking at Rose that way he could handle before he started feeling seriously dirty. It wasn't that she wasn't pretty, and if she'd been a stranger he might've wanted to buy her a drink or something anyway. It was just that she wasn't a stranger, she was... Rose Zeller. The kind of girl you took home to meet your mother and who you gave flowers to, and who never slept around unless it meant something. Not his type. She was too scary to be his type. So when he caught her by the hand to make her stop yanking on the hem of her dress, he didn't even linger on the contact. "Hey, hey, I'm just fucking with you. I'll be nice now. Behave myself and everything." He raised his eyebrows, attempting to look innocent. "Free advice: when you do that, it makes a guy look. And since I'm being nice, I won't say you've got legs worth looking at, but if you don't wanna keep causing us both brain damage, leave it be. So. What's this about being boring and doing somewhat unexpected?"