WTF? Herpes? Were there any women here he'd ever be remotely attracted to? He halted in the middle of the aisles of occupied tables. Calmer skies roving over mouths agape and bewildered faces, fingers, attitudes, reactions... he whipped around to see her grabbing her stuff and leaving. Leaving? Who said she could leave? Not him. And he was the one with the car... he felt for the shape of his keys in his pocket... yes, yes he was.
When he turned around, it was difficult for him not to reveal those fine, even rows of pearly whites. Even in situations where his pride was cut, or a shameless joke at his expense sought to stab at his dignity he just... he couldn't help but find the humor in it. Herpes? Who fucking thinks of that?
Vince wasn't storming after her, he was more pouncing, bounding, happily strolling but with swifter steps, much like PePe LePew. As a show of good faith he called out after her, throwing a wad of whatever cash was in his pockets onto their now abandoned table. "Peaches! I'll get the ointment just like I promised! If you just STOP accepting invitations for handing out YOUR CUP of SUGAR to busy men! Your sugar belongs to me!"