Lane
Spike leaned back in his chair at a table in the corner, feet crossed at the ankle, the picture of rebellious nonchalance, watching the other people at the party. He was on his fifth bottle of beer and starting to feel mellow.
Beneath the mellowness and casual exterior, however, he was actually keeping quite a sharp eye out for Lane. He hadn't seen him for several days and he was starting to wonder if he was even still here.
The thought that he might not be bothered Spike more than he liked to admit.