Will was well used to being insulted because he liked to look good, and he was equally well trained in not rising to the bait, except for a slight flush that rose in his cheeks, which could have equally been the beer.
"Loser buys the next round," he said, and threw his weight behind it as Rob tapped to start. Will had a very strong arm, but Little John had the advantage of size, and Will's wrist cracked as it slowly started leaning towards the table. "No you son of a bitch, come oooon!"