If he'd been forced to defend himself with a skillet any time before this, he probably would have wielded it like a tennis racket and swung as card as he could. Then again, that never seemed to work as well as it should in the realm of fiction, at least. "A flattered football... right." No need to mention that he'd failed hopelessly at football in high school, obviously.
Cole took the skillet with more confidence than he had with the knife, at least. Keeping a tight grip on the handle, he tried to mimic the tossing gesture without losing his hold.
"Oh-- I think I've taken up enough of your time already, but thanks." He felt bad, hanging around when John probably did have other things to do but just wasn't saying anything.