"Fine," Eliot snorted. "I'll fight off my own stalker."
For having two different professions, they were finding enough common ground to commiserate on. "It's something in the job description. You hang out with and date the supernatural and the closest friends I have are thieves." He eyed the glass in his hand. "Vampires and covert ops. Your dating life sounds about as normal as your job," he ribbed her.
"Escape for a few hours. As long as there's a steady flow of drinks and company, the place really doesn't matter." He glanced at the bartender, hanging down at the other end of the bar with what must have been a few of the regulars.
He watched the finger in amusement, an eyebrow rising at the poof. "I'm not a hermit and neither are you," he stated, pointing at her with a finger from the same hand that held the glass. "We are, or you are and I was, workaholics but we still get out. Otherwise there wouldn't be this conversation. That better?"