"You do look young. After ages and ages of me smoking, I expected myself to look forty. But I suppose this Irish face was meant to look youthful." And worth punching. There were women who didn't respond well to his flirting. Often times, fists met his face and yet no nose was broken, no jaw was misplaced. He guessed he really did have the luck of the Irish. Had to have been his great aunt's necklace. He couldn't explain what else it could have been. "So I've heard. You darker skin girls sure are lucky. The other day I guessed a girl was thirty, when she was twenty one. To tell you the truth, she did look older."
Liam shook his head and pretended to be offended, arms crossing over his chest. "You really think I'm that kind of bloke? One who tells all the ladies how pretty they are? I admit, I do tell ladies that they are cute, but I never say they are beautiful unless they are. Hey, if I'm being honest, you're much prettier than your friends." He backed away a little, just in case that pissed her off. Her friends were good looking, but they didn't look nearly as good as Leti.
He moved away from her to make her drink since all the bartenders were busy. The night was getting even more hellish, so Liam decided to pull his weight while flirting with Leti. When he came back, he put an umbrella and cherry in the drink. "There you go, lass."