"That threat would'a worked better when you were twelve, Pipsqueak," he assured Paige as followed Pete over to the coat cubby and abandoned his own, gloves stuffed into one pocket.
"Don't you mean when looking to get plastered, order the vodka?" he clarified, grinning as Pete's accent went thick and broad over the short word. "Not that I'm any kinda expert," he admitted. He'd been talked into branching out from beer or whiskey once or twice, but he was pretty much a creature of habit. "Think mud slides were actually pretty good though," he added after a moment's thought.