"That's some definition of 'cuddling' and 'waiting for the right time' that I wasn't aware of. I really should try it your way one of these days," George said with a laugh and tapped his firewhiskey glass on the bartop.
"Five...ish. Are we counting sleepovers as one or counting each act? Either way, I've lost count. Somewhere in that realm," he said, waving his hand vaguely." He peered down into his refilled glass and took a smaller drink.
"Okay, from the beginning. Um. A week ago. Ish. She came in to the shop looking for a joke to pull on her sister, and the next thing I know, she's coming on to me like a rabbit on ecstasy, and then we were suddenly in the back room. It couldn't be helped. Pure. Animal. Magnetism."
He rolled his eyes at Oliver and tipped back this new drink. "You should know better than anyone that I don't wear a bra, love."