"Fuck yeah it has," Samuel said, taking the little glass from Rylee's hand. "Gotta do this more often." After a brief clanking of their shots and a moment's pause to properly appreciate the excellent work he had done here, Samuel drank that down as well.
Samuel's fresh glass of whiskey had only just arrived, but he found it well timed. He put it away in three deep draughts, reaching out to brush rough fingertips across the waitress's arm. Breach of conduct though it might have been, she proved unruffled by the gesture; his grasp was measured and lax, after all, and the impressive tab they had run up further facilitated her understanding. Making good use of this leniency, Samuel gave her arm a boyish tug, leaning her ear to his lips. "The check and a cab," he said. "Thanks, sugar." She nodded, her warm cheek brushing feather light against his skin. A distant, booze-addled portion of his brain insisted that now it was indeed time to be off; slowly but surely the rest of his body began to acquiesce.
"It's all taken care of," he said, rising unsteadily from his seat as their waitress returned. It was somewhat remarkable, how well he maneuvered wallet and cash, fumbling only a little as he settled the bill. The waitress got far better a tip than perhaps she deserved, but Samuel found himself in quite high spirits given the success of the evening and the depth of his inebriation. "Gotta get you home before you change your mind," he added, clapping one hard palm on his friend's shoulder. "Watch your fuckin' step, now. Can't step outside and have you gettin' arrested for public drunk. At least not while I'm with you."