"And I bet you do just that," Zach said with a snort, taking a deep pull from his bottle of Killian's.
He sat up a bit straighter, however, when Brown ordered. She'd said a large steak, but Zach had figured she'd been exaggerating. Alright, a fourteen ounce steak was nothing to the Tomahawk he'd ordered, but it was more than he expected from a girl who was put together like Brown was. And usually Zach was alone in his preference for very rare steaks. He'd asked for his own Chicago style- charred on the outside, dripping red in the center.
It was nice to not feel completely strange for once.
Shrugging, Zach said, "I just don't run into it a lot. I like to go to the Muggle side of things sometimes. I feel less... on display. Muggles have got no clue who I am." He took another pull from the bottle. "Bane of my grandfather's existence, those 'proclivities'," Zach continued, making the quotes with his fingers.
When she took out her notepad and began jotting something down, Zach felt a shot of alarm. He'd gotten too relaxed. "You're not writing down what I ordered, are you?"