Jack had been getting on a jacket when he heard the noise, peering out the window to see Greg. In a ridiculously compensating car. Rolling his eyes, Jack shook his head, pulled on his boots and was out the door, locking it and grinning as he bounced down the stairs, getting to the car door and sliding into the front seat.
"Now, if I had a father who gave a damn and who was still alive and any array of conditions, he would say," And here he adapted a southern accent, though his own Kent accent sort of messed it up, "'You best be picking up a package, son, because you sure as hell ain't picking up my daughter.' Oh right, and in this situation, I would have to be a girl. Not a far leap, skip or jump, so there we are!" Jack slapped his palms against his thighs and smiled at Greg.