Re: The Cat: Matt & Cat
He smiled a little when she pledged her lack of strength against the lure of money. That was the image she painted of herself, but he didn't buy it, not really. Russian wasn't comfort for him the way it was for her, but it was easier. It was a track his mind already knew how to follow. It didn't require breaking any old protocols, or struggling through layers of forgetfulness. He fought those things enough every day. Taking breaks every now and again gave him the strength for the next battle.
He wanted to bite the hollow of her neck when she tilted it back like that, a memory/desire that came complete with sound, scent, sensation (darkness and a faint glow of scarlet light under the door) and heat. It was abrupt and vivid, and it caught him off guard. He blinked for a second. She was chastising him for not making demands. He could make demands, he thought.
One drink. He actually made a face, frowning a little. One, obviously, was not enough.
The clamoring line of people at the bar wanted their two for one drinks, however, and demands for seconds and thirds kept him busy for the next ten minutes. When the rush was over and the barflies were descending into their glasses, he finally poured Cat's drink. He also plucked the vodka bottle for himself, pouring it into a highball, ignoring the shotglass entirely.
When he finally set her drink down next to her, it was a heavy-bottomed water glass filled halfway with bourbon. Two or three drinks, easily. Then he pulled a small fold of bills from his back pocket and gestured to one of the good old boys playing pool.
"I've got sixty on the lady," he said, knocking on the edge of the pool table and pointing to her. "Don't lose."