Adam flagged the bartender for another whiskey and two more shots when Jack did, and he earned a disapproving look for his trouble. Bartenders, Adam thought, were supposed to be more giving when it came to alcohol. Stingy bartenders ruined his fun. And he had taken a taxi, so the bartender could suck him. Wait. No. He paused, staring at Jack for thirty seconds before he was sure he hadn't actually said "suck me" or any derivative thereof out loud. Okay. He was good. His brain put a check next to "Did not implicate self as gay" and moved on to "Daryl: Romantic partner, y/n. Why or why not? Back up your answer with measurable examples." He could answer that question, he knew he could.
Jack would just have to help.
"Daryl," Adam told Jack, throwing back his shot after speaking her name, "is strange. And will point out seemingly innocuous things when she means something deeper." Wait. He just answered the question. Except it wasn't a complete answer, and he'd be marked down for that. It was very important he perform well on this exam. He knew that. Parts of his future depended on it. "You're right. I should send her something." He stared at the full glass of whiskey and then, without asking permission, reached over the bar and stole a cork from another bottle. He dropped it into the whiskey and watched it float to the side. Very, very slowly, he added more liquid, until the surface tension made a dome above the lip of the glass. The cork floated in the center of the dome, and Adam smiled.
"She likes games," he told Jack before leaning down to carefully drink the whiskey. "I'll give her a riddle."