Jude rarely checked out the clientele, mostly because Jude would not have thought to pick up anyone in a bar. He was flirtatious in a quiet, pushy way that sold drinks and sought smiles and he liked to make the women who showed up looking at once shy and terrified and hopeful, feel like they were a part in a movie, the kind narrowed in on women like them. But it was gentle, and it lacked intent.
"The good ones?" He raised eyebrows, blinked at her, genuinely bemused. "You think you're not getting my best stuff?" One of those long, slow smiles with another blink. Jude had long eyelashes, and they were as curly as the thick thatch of hair on his head and the same dark brown.
"Careful, careful," Jude said, his voice mild as milk. The patron looked startled and then slid off her stool toward the windows that lined the Cat at the front. Jude wasn't threatened by anything phallic-destructive unless it was something other than symbolic.