She was close to him. So close. Did he feel her breath on him? (Did she feel his breath? More importantly, did his breath smell good at least?) A crooked little grin graced his face as she put the hat back on his head.
"Ain't no one gonna know I'm a cowboy then. Gotta keep tha hat on. I would wear some spurs an' chaps, but it'd be too much. Plus tha spurs would fuck up tha floor. Can't do that to some good ol' wood like this."
As he tapped the floor with his boot, he noticed something about Darcy. Was she okay? Being an agent of the Statesman, he had been trained and known to read people. You had to if you wanted to be a good secret agent. It looked as if she was forcing her smile. He wondered if something was wrong with her or if she'd tell.
As much as he wanted to ask, he knew it was better to wait. No one liked a busybody.
People did like alcohol though and that was a much better tool. He watched her grab the bottle, then shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, we haven't, but'cha can't jus' grab that bottle! Get tha good stuff! Have ya ever tasted Statesman Whiskey? Some of the best shit around! Grab tha bottle that says Statesman an' open it!"