"Oh man. Six hundred and fifty five years of experience? Well, not exactly, since he didn't--You know what I mean. He's good at what he does. And he knows how to strut his stuff." While Kyle had no way to sense if he was being watched (another advantage that Ty had over him), he certainly knew it was a possibility. As such, he swung his hips from one side to the other every so often in the guise of shifting his weight. And, well, if there were any reflective surfaces at the bar. . . he was keeping an eye on Damien. Mostly from wanting to know just how much attention he was getting, but a small part of him. . . the paranoid part (which had developed to counteract his idiocy, and rarely had any practical use). . . it didn't want to leave his back turned to the man he'd never met for all too long.
The attention was primarily on the drinks except for in between pours, so he was soon finished. It was with a broad smile that he offered the finished drink to Damien, though the blush still tinged his cheeks. He didn't know why he was so easily embarrassed around new people, it just. . . happened. Something in his brain always fired off the 'oh shit!' signals, and while he knew he was okay, the reaction was still there. Still, not much else he could do other than hope Damien liked it. . . "You'd think there'd be an overwhelming cranberry taste, but there really isn't. It's just. . . crisp. Not a lot of jager taste, either."