Atlas laughed and set his pint down, half full, and shook his head as he turned his face back to her. "Sober?" he asked. "Love, I am sober. Werewolves have a remarkable alcohol tolerance."
He couldn't figure it out, but something about this girl was extremely interesting. He wanted to know more, and it seemed like the only way to do that would be to stop drinking. So, regretfully, he raised his hands and put on his best innocent face. "But if it will make you feel better, I'll cut myself off for the night. Okay?"
Then he put his hands down and leaned in once more. "And like I told you before, I'm not ashamed of what I am. I've done nothing wrong." That was a lie, but if any of the recent crimes could be pinned on Atlas, he would gladly go to Azkaban, commending the Aurors who put him away the whole time. But he was very good at covering his tracks.