Re: At the bar: Grant S/Cris M
"Everybody from the station comes down here." They weren't there now, but they likely would be later, huh? The people around the guys on the stools, they seemed like just regular people. But, the Mean-Eyed Cat was the place to go for the copsa Repose.—When Grant gave him that sidelong look, Cris just smiled at him. He didn't have no shame 'bout the slang he threw around. Having a kid made you immune to making a foola yourself in public more or less. He'd be as silly and stupid as he wanted, and he wouldn't think nothing of it.
The 'bumpin'' had been a joke. It was a word you prolly heard more ten years ago, fifteen years ago, and it was exactly the kinda word he'd use around Sam to make her roll her eyes at him. He wasn't thinking 'bout the interpretationa 'bumping uglies,' since no uglies were involved or referred to, but he did catch the slighta shakea blond head next to him and he laughed again, quiet.—His whiskey was slid in fronta him and Cris gave a smile thank-you, before he looked back at the gringo.
"No occasion. Sam—my girlfriend—" His stomach did stupid somersaults at the mentiona the word, but he pressed on. "—She's seein' a friend. I figured I ain't been here. Might as well come check it out." A sippa his whiskey, a licka his lips. He sat back a bit on the stool. "That or rewatch the Giants beat the Dolphins. But I can use the drink." Cris smiled around the rimma his glass. "How 'bout you?"